A Rose’s Thorns

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The traffic on Burnside is, predictably, terrible. The two-to-four-lane road that bisects Portland between North and South has a number of signs meant to help open the way during rush hours- No Parking on the eastbound side between 7 and 9 am Monday through Friday, westbound side is no parking between 4 and 7 pm.

Signs communicate penalties, not rules. They don’t have alarm clocks attached to them, nor do hypercaffeinated parking enforcers go knocking on peoples doors at 6:50 in the morning to tell them to get their butts outside and move their cars, and they can’t possibly tow everyone… So we deal with it and some people get creative parking on the sidewalk in the driveways of shuttered businesses. A clever plan… as long as that sidewalk is not also a bus stop. Bus drivers in Portland will not hesitate to phone a make, model, and license plate into dispatch and let the might of Trimet’s pseudo-monopoly send a tow truck.

Portland- Don’t Make Us Make It A Problem, And It Won’t Be A Problem.

It’s early evening. A sunny afternoon has given way to warm gray cloud cover and a few raindrops have fallen, making the most desperate fresh-air fan wonder if it’s time to close the windows.

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Theft of Spirit- An Under-Considered Symptom of Burnout

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It’s one of those “if you see it, it’s already really bad” things. “You see one cockroach or rat in plain view in your kitchen, you’ve already got an infestation.” That fact that you can see the problem means that it’s a big problem.

In this case, however, it’s more about what you can’t see– or not as clearly, not anymore. To quote Pastor Rob Bell, “Despair is the belief that tomorrow will be just like today.” You can’t see a better tomorrow. You can’t see a brighter future. You can’t even imagine it without a painful focus on the worst-case scenario and feeling exhausted from work not yet conceived.

Burnout includes a “theft of spirit,” and you forget how to dream.

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Life After The Line Part II- A Different Position

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When I’m not exhausted beyond reason, furious at pompous bureaucracy and the odious input of “higher ups” that outsource their problem-solving to ChatGPT, I do still in fact love to bake.

I truly do still love making things for people. I love giving my work to others, watching them eat it, knowing their day got better for a moment because of my work, and maybe even teaching others how to do that magic for themselves.

As much as previous cafe jobs put me through, it was always the environment and the management, never the work. Even when I was dragging my ass out of the French bakery at 10am after starting at 2, hoping to find a place that wouldn’t question giving me a post-shift beer over brunch, I loved looking in the display case as I left. I saw everything I’d made that morning, people and kids pressing their noses against the glass at crusty kouign-aman and caneles, and think to myself “I helped make their day start better. It was all worth it.”

It took and takes a LOT for me to lose sight of that fact. Fine dining has always been a pleasure of mine and that kind of work- being a pastry chef- is the best way to gain access to good ingredients, new technology, and have excuses to experiment. Your local bakery cafe doesn’t mess around with agar agar (unless they are vegan.) They don’t need a PacoJet, and getting obscure or rare materials is not always a priority- or even in the budget. They’re making delicious breakfast pastries, cookies, and pies- not plated desserts for $15 a hit.

When you set off on a culinary career, it’s good to know what you love about it and find the path that support it. It’s never too late to learn more about yourself and change.

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Gaps in the Armor

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The right food at the right time can give you nearly everything you need. In my case, I was back at the Beer Bus and had just pounded a tuna burrito from Saint Burrito. The balled-up tinfoil and a stained napkin were being held down by what remains of my beer.

I had just come out of the gym and needed a late lunch/ refuel. Protein, carbs, a bit less fat than your normal burrito, and 5% alcohol to help soothe the muscles. Beer doesn’t get enough credit as a post-workout beverage if it’s consumed within reason. John L. Sullivan, the legendary “knock out king” of 19th Century Boston, had an equally legendary drinking problem. All his work and fighting couldn’t keep his daily Kidney Pickling from turning his muscles slack and flabby. “Moderation in everything, including Moderation,” says verbal knock-out king Oscar Wilde.

A suit of armor on a black-gray vignette background
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Don’t Overthink It- Just Look Closer

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It was the third time I’d made those damn tarts in a week. They were a fairly simple idea from my boss.

“Matt, what do think of offering seasonal upgrades on our holiday banquet menu? Like they can order your Chocolate Passionfruit Tartlets, but for a little more they could spring for some other more seasonal flavor?”

“Not a bad idea… what did you have in mind?”

“Hmm… how about apple? Just apple with some whipped cream and pecans? We can tweak the idea later- just spitballing right now.”

“Sure, I guess that’d work. I’ll figure out batching and stuff and we can discuss it.”

The next time it’s discussed looks like this:
“Hey Matt, we’re going to need about 20 dozen Roasted Apple Tarts for next week.”

“Um… since when? I don’t have a recipe or batching for that yet. Wait- did we already sell this?!”

“Just make a good apple filling and put it in some shells. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

In my world, “figuring out the rest later” means “throw together a basic recipe and, if you don’t have perfect math for everything yet, do the recipe as many times as it takes and keep notes.” It practically wipes out the point of production baking- doing one big batch only a few times, storing it, and pulling as needed- because I have only guesswork to go on. “This should make about this many, and we should be able to freeze leftovers for later…”

That’s a lot of “shoulds” and “abouts,” and if they are wrong suddenly I am remaking the product under more pressure. More pressure means more hurry, and more hurry means more mistakes. Haste makes waste.

The pastry chef in me sees this for what it is- a waste of time and a waste of resources spent on what comes down to the impatience and lack of communication that, alas, comes from working under others. That part of me also eventually says, “Fine. You want basic, you get basic.”

The good news is that basic by no means means “bad” if you know what you’re doing.

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