That means that you make a sweet eggy, milky custard hours before you make the frosting. German buttercream frosting is pastry-cream based. But suddenly my social media feed was full of German buttercream recipes touting, “best frosting ever” “this recipe changed my life” “I’ll never go back to regular buttercream!” and I couldn’t deny the temptation. She chose my hazelnut cloud cake as the birthday cake which is a gently nutty, extremely light cake that I usually make with a simple buttercream frosting and drizzle of chocolate sauce. I want to give them a night of food and service they’ll never forget. People trust me with such important nights in their lives and when I get to know them, the pressure mounts for me even more. When I worked with this client on her husband’s birthday menu, I was overtaken by her excitement. That is the moment when my ego whispers in my ear, “You could make this better than anyone has ever made it EVER!!” My overdrive to succeed only truly rears its head when I start thumbing through cookbooks and websites for recipes. It’s hard to convince people you’re living your dream when you’re splattered in sauces, dusted with flour, and so tired you can barely stand. Clients frequently ask me, “So do you someday hope to own your own restaurant?” Or “Maybe someday you could have a cooking show on tv! Or a line of your own cookware!” I don’t ever respond with, “Why can’t I just be happy doing this job?” because it sounds like I’m stuck no matter how true it is. But these days that means you’re ambitiousless. I don’t need to be the best, the richest, the most famous anything. The success that I desire is wanting to continue to perform well at a job that I’m in love with. I misrepresent myself (to myself even) as having very little ambition. ![]() I was thinking about the broken buttercream in the client’s fridge. Panting nervously into my mask, I wasn’t thinking about salad. My staff had lined the 16 salad bowls on the counter so that I could easily plate the lettuce and croutons once they were dressed and then grate some fresh parmesan on top. I was in the kitchen chopping romaine heads for the Caesar salad that would be waiting on the table when the guests entered the dining room. My masked waitstaff passed wild mushroom parcels with leeks, thyme, and aged gruyere endive spears with blue cheese and candied pecans drizzled with a balsamic reduction and grilled shrimp with a spicy paprika red pepper dip. The guests were led through the open living room/ kitchen into the courtyard where magnolias, honeysuckles, and hydrangeas were bursting at their stems. This was more of a sprawling farm-style home with acres of land and a massive, well-tended vegetable/ herb garden. They are all the same.īut not this house. They’re beautiful and expensive, just not my style. When she gave me her zip code, I expected her house to be the same mini-manse that I cater in all the time, with identical wood cabinetry, marble countertops, shiny stainless-steel appliances. The dinner would begin with a few appetizers while guests enjoyed the client’s gorgeous backyard. ![]() ![]() The client was a self-proclaimed foodie and loved my extensive menu choices from which she designed her own. This was the biggest multi-course, table-service meal I’d catered since the pandemic began and my passion went to battle with my anxieties. How could something with such delicious possibilities wind up tasting like a pharmaceutical putty thats aftertaste would haunt my tongue for days? I can still taste that dissatisfaction, that wrong sweetness- so close to pleasure but so, so far.Ībout a month ago, I was hired to cater a birthday party with 16 guests. Somewhere in the back of a closet, there is a shoebox full of sepia-toned pictures of me, birthday princess, forcing a smile through my annual disappointment, a plate of only-one-bite-taken cake in my hands.įrosting is basically sugar and butter. Every October, as my birthday approached, my mother would trek all over New York to find a cake that wasn’t spackled with cloyingly sweet “butter” cream that was probably more shortening than butter. When I was a little girl, I despised cake frosting.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |