Things To Remember Part 3

Experience is the hardest teacher there is- it gives the test first and teaches the lesson after.”

I’m still plugging away at my book at mentorship and training. It’s slow going, partially because of lack of metaphorical spoons on a given day and partially because going back over some parts involves frankly unpleasant memories. What I tell myself about why this particular book has taken so damn long compared to my last two is because I’ve been in a position of Actual Documented and Titled Leadership- first as the kitchen manager of the pie shop and now as the pastry lead of a winery.

Neither title includes the word “chef-“ but it’s the team that makes the leader.

I’ve told myself that these experiences were effectively ongoing research material and proof of concept for the book and that that’s why I effectively put the book on ice for a bit. “This is good advice? Ok, how’d it work when YOU tried it?”

On an interpersonal level, not badly. Plenty of folks left their jobs, a few stayed, those who stayed were happy. Not everything is for everyone, and that’s just how life goes.

On a professional level, though, and especially as a middle manager, there is a lot that went wrong no matter what I said or did. There is only ever so much one person can control, and the role of a leader, in my mind, is to lead, communicate, serve, and protect their team. Eventually people have to look after themselves- as a leader, I can only ever advocate and look out of them as much as I can.

If you’re doing this whole “life” thing right though, you live and you learn. I made a poster of my previous axioms of kitchen wisdom that you might apply to daily life, but there always more to learn… and I can always fix the poster.

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How To Live Forever

If you would not be forgotten, as soon as you are dead and rotten, either write things worth reading, or do things worth writing.’

– Ben Franklin

You don’t get to decide whether or not you are a mentor. Your apprentices decide that when they determine whether or not they can learn from you- and the absolute greatest feeling on Earth is when your apprentices succeed.

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We Don’t Need Permission to Be

The winery where I work has an excellent view. It’s a major selling point as far as our clientele goes- people can look down on the valley over vineyards and woodland while sipping a glass of wine and take it easy. It’s a magnet for photos and set dressing when weddings and celebrations buy out some space.

When I arrive to work early in the morning, that view is usually all mine- but I don’t take advantage of it at all. I have work to do.

That’s no one’s fault but mine, of course. I get in early because that’s when The Baker shows up. I get the most space and most access to the ovens for a limited time before the rest of the kitchen rolls in mid-morning to afternoon, and I need to get to work.

So I show up early, knowing I have work to do, but I always want to walk out on the patio where the guests sit- where I absolutely don’t belong during business hours (and in fact would prefer not to be)- and just soak up that view for a moment. The stillness. The vastness. My smallness. The soothing balm of scale and insignificance to start the day, and keep with me while I obsess over rolls, bites of cake, and bits of chocolate that manage to mean everything to me… and absolutely nothing at all.

I never do, though. I have work to do, and I don’t get paid- OR pay- to enjoy the view.

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Seeking Stillness for the End of the World

The creation of the world did not occur at the beginning of time, it occurs every day.”
Marcel Proust

All you can do some days is keep going.

I come into the kitchen and assess the production list for the day, keenly aware of my struggles to lose weight again.

Next comes reviewing the banquets for the day and make sure I block out time to individually decorate and tray the desserts people paid for, knowing that people I called friends are agitating for my death (intentionally or not) because I’m a Jew.

I build out the list, grab ingredients, and start mixing the day’s breads, fully conscious that my government is a joke and that folks like me are continually convinced to focus their ire on each other than the higher-ups with every reason to keeps us all angry and hateful all the time.

I make my silly little pastries, bake my silly little breads, and carry on like none of it is disappointing and hurtful and frustrating and sad. I do it because I know someone out there IS disappointed, hurt, frustrated, and sad, and what I make can be the One Good Thing that they get to enjoy today.

I can grieve. I can rage and piss and moan and cry… but not when I’m baking. There’s someone else’s day at stake then, and it’s not mine to ruin.

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The Alchemist

Baking and pastry, I’ve often noticed, gets treated with a mixture of awe, admiration, and contempt among kitchen workers. On one hand, we’re often the guys that have easy-to-grab snacks on hand. “Hey Matt… um… any of these cookies happen to ‘fall on the floor?’” Our weighing of everything, our techniques, and (frequently) the vision of us patiently stirring pots of bubbling stuff that smells amazing makes what bakers do look like alchemy or wizardry. Occasionally, there are some cooks with chips on their shoulder that insist we’re “useless” and “can’t do anything without a recipe book.” (Yes, I actually had someone say that to me once. To my knowledge they still have all their teeth, God knows how.)

Somewhere along the way, though, I’ve managed to cultivate an image out here that compels this question from my coworkers: “Dude, how old ARE you?”

My mannerisms aside, I don’t think I look a day over “ageless.”
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