THE MUFFIN INCIDENT

Working at a market stall is interesting.

You come across so many different people, from all walks of life.  Different ages, different sizes, different religions, pierced, tattooed, Collingwood supporters and just plain weird.

I don’t give a shit about any of that.  If you want to buy some of my product, your money’s all the same to me.

I do, however, take exception to people that complain about price, or try to haggle with me.  To be honest, I find it quite insulting.

Keep in mind that nothing on my stall is over $10, right?  So when someone complains that the price is too high, it’s usually met with me saying ‘It’s all right love.  If you can’t afford it, just move on.’ 

This usually snaps people back into reality, because let’s be honest: if you’re looking at my stall, you’re interested.  If you can’t spare the change, you just move on quietly.  I don’t mind.  It’s okay.  Just don’t complain unnecessarily about it.  You’re just fucken embarrassing yourself.  Really.

Then, there are the people that try to haggle.  The ones that wanna buy a $6 cake for $4.  This is usually met with me stating: ‘this is not a trash n’ treasure stall love.  The prices are as marked.  If you can’t afford them, please move on and have a nice day.’

It’s in some people’s nature to haggle.  They’ve always got to get what they feel is a bargain.  I love it when they say to me ‘I won’t buy it if you don’t drop the price’.  Really?  Oh no! How am I going to cope without that extra $2?  How am I going to make my mortgage payment this month? How am I going to afford the petrol I need to get home? Oh no!

Really? 

Fuck off.

You know  nothing about me.  Don’t try to put a value on the worth of my products and my goods.  That’s my job.  Buy it or fuck off.

I do, however, have a soft spot for kids. 

They have no idea the value of money.  Some kids come up, and they’re looking at the prices and counting the money in their hand and traumatising over what they can buy with their change.

I usually give them something within reason, if they have money close enough.  Who cares?  I’d rather give a little leeway to kids that are trying to do the right thing, as opposed to fuckers that are trying to rip me off.

That was until The Muffin Incident.

So, picture this if you will.

It’s a beautiful, sunny day beside the lake at Nagambie, and I’ve enjoying a busy, profitable day (for which I am truly thankful).

So this little fat kid, who I’m guessing was about 10 or 11, came up to the stall, and was checking out the range of muffins.

‘What’s that one?’ he points a stubby little finger at one of the boxes.

‘It’s a beetroot chocolate muffin, love.  A dollar fifty.’

Now, I will point out that I’m renowned for my beetroot choc muffins.  They’re a regular at my stall each market, and I usually sell out.  Fucken bam.

Anyway, back to the fat kid.

‘I’ll have one.’

‘Sure.’ Something stirred within me. The shackles rose on my neck, and I felt suddenly wary about this kid.  ‘Now, its beetroot and chocolate love, so it’s not going to taste like chocolate.  It’s going to taste a little like… raspberry.  Are you sure you don’t want a plain chocolate one?’

‘That’s okay.  One of them.’ He grunted, pointing to the beetroot.

‘Sure.  That’s a dollar fifty, thanks.’ I said, holding out my hand.  He raised his hand over mine, and dropped fifty cents into my hand.  ‘A DOLLAR FIFTY, love.  Not Fifty.’  He raised his hand over mind, and dropped another fifty into my hand.  ‘I need fifty more cents champ.’ Something was up here.

‘That’s all I have.’ He said, not looking up at me.

‘Okay mate.  No problems.’ I said, handing him the muffin.  ‘You take it and enjoy it, but know this: if you’re lying to me, karma will bite you on the arse.’

With that, he glanced at me and was gone without a fucken thank you. 

Hope you choke on it, you ill-mannered little fucker.

A short while later, I had a few customers at my stall, and the little fat kid returns.

He marches straight up to the stall, pushes my customers out of the way, and barks ‘What’s this?’ and waves my muffin in my face.

‘What the fuck?’ I mutter, quite taken aback by his outburst.  ‘What are you asking me?’

‘What’s this!’ he raises his voice at me.

‘It’s a muffin?’ are you a fucken idiot or something.

‘Yeah, but what’s in it?’

‘I told you.  Chocolate and beetroot…’

‘It tastes like crap! I want my money back!’ he demands, and slams the half eaten muffin down on my table.

Great.  Stall full of customers, and I can see out of the corner of my eye, that the people on the next stall were watching as well.

‘Get that muffin OFF my table now!’ I barked, pointing at him and the offending consumable.  He whipped it up in a heartbeat, and swallowed.

‘I want my money back.’ He said.

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t like it! It tastes like crap!’

‘And that’s my fault?’ I asked calmly.

‘Yep.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you sold it to me!’

‘Ohhhhh…. I see.’ I smiled, crossing my arms over my chest.  ‘So, if you go into a book store, buy a book, read it and don’t like it, do you take it back to the book store?’

‘No…’

‘Why not?’

‘Because the bookstore didn’t write it.’

‘No.  And the bookstore cannot guarantee that you will like it, even though heaps of other people do.  Such is the case for this muffin.  Everyone else likes it.  It’s not my fault that you don’t.’

‘But I want my money back…’

‘Won’t be happening, champ.  You see, I bake my products to a standard, and that muffin meets that standard.  There is nothing wrong with the muffin; you just don’t like it.  That’s not my fault.  I cannot be responsible for your palette, or should I say, lack thereof.’

Fat kid just looked at me and blinked, seeing his $1 floating away in the distance…

‘Well, if you don’t give me my money back, I’m just going to throw it out!’

‘You paid for it.  You can throw your money in the bin if you like.  Doesn’t worry me.’

‘It’s not fair…’

‘You know what’s not fair?’ I uncrossed my arms, and stepped closer to the table, stretching an arm out and pointing as closely as I could get to him.  ‘You telling me that you only had $1 to pay for the muffin, but I let you have it anyway.’ I said slowly, and his face blushed.  ‘I told you the flavour was unusual.  I asked if you were sure you would like this one, and not the plain chocolate, but you insisted.  I told you that if you were lying to me, karma would get you, and it would seem to me that it did.’

‘I’m going to tell my parents.’ He whimpered.

‘No problem champ.  Send them over here.  I’m happy to chat to them about how their rude little boy conned me out of fifty cents, then tried to get his money back.’

Fat boy just blinked, turned and walked away.

I was fucken fuming!  My heart was pounding in my chest!

The customers at my stall just watched him walk away, and slowly turned back to me.  Oh fuck…. Here it comes.

‘You handled that so well.’ One of them said, smiling.

‘You think so?’ I asked, my hand fluttering to my chest.

‘Yeah!’ said another.  ‘I would never have thought of comparing it to buying a book…’

‘Sometimes you’ve got to give an example of something similar so kids understand…’ I offered.

‘He was so fucken rude…’ another lady said.  ‘Little shit.’

‘He tried that on another stall holder too.’ A voice came from the stall next to me.  It was one of my regular customers.  ‘He told the jewellery lady that he didn’t have enough to buy a bracelet that he wanted, and kept dropping the wrong amount into her hand.  He said he didn’t have enough to pay for it, and she told him to bugger off or she’d keep his money!’

‘Ha! Well, he conned me, little fucker.’ I said. ‘He’s been trying it all over the market then, I dare say.  Wonder where he learnt that from.’

‘Possibly from the parents that will come and visit you.’ Offered one of the ladies.

‘The parents that I can pretty much guarantee I won’t see hide nor hair of.’ I smiled, and I didn’t.  ‘So, are any of you interested in purchasing some crappy beetroot chocolate muffins?’ I laughed.

‘Well, after that, I’m totally intrigued, and I’ll have a couple thanks.’ One of the women laughed.

‘Sure, no problem… but understand… they don’t taste like chocolate….’ I smiled.

A little while later, I saw the fat kid walking around near the Scouts BBQ, still with the half eaten muffin in his hand.  He looked over at me, and I pointed to him, to my eyes, and back to him again.  I’m watching you mate, and he turned and scurried away.  Little fuck.

Shortly after that, the lady that bought a couple of beetroot muffins came back to my stall with a cute little whisp of a girl.

‘My daughter has something to say to you.’ She smiled, and knodded at her little girl.

‘I ate a whole beetroot muffin on my ownded, and I really likeded it.  It was yummy.’ She smiled happily. 

‘I bet you did, sweetheart.’ I laughed.  ‘Here, have a cookie you gorgeous little thing…’

Well… that’s karma for you.

Peace out.

30 REASONS

Hi peeps.

Interesting article, so I thought I'd share.

enjoy :)

http://www.lifebuzz.com/just-stop/

THE NEXT STEP

Hi peeps.

So, having completed my initial studies, and scoring the ‘dream job’ for me, I want to further my studies.

Patisserie is the thing for me.

You know I love baking, and doing the desserts at the pub is right up my alley.  So I wanna take this further by expanding my knowledge on all things patisserie.

When I initially started my TAFE course, the trainer said to me ‘what direction do you want to head in with your food?’ I had absolutely no fucken idea.

I would love to have my own café, but I think anyone that ventures into food wants the same fucken thing.  I love pub food and comfort cooking, so I sort of leaned toward that.

I recall saying to him that I wanted to keep an open mind.  Again, I wanted to trust the universe, because it would naturally present something to me. 

Of course, that was baking and desserts, which I excelled in at TAFE.  I would have loved to have landed a job in a patisserie, but I also wanted to cook meals for people as well.  At the pub, I seem to have found the perfect role for me.  A balance of sweet and savoury. J

So, looking toward the future, I met with my trainer at TAFE last week to discuss my options.  I’ve done the Cert II and III, so the only way from there is up.

Now, I have three options.  I could do a Certificate IV in Commercial Cookery, a Certificate IV in Patisserie, or a Diploma in Commercial Cookery.

Even though my trainer explained that I’m more than competent to skip the Cert IV’s and go straight to the Diploma, there are two things that stop me. 

Firstly, it’s commercial cookery.  I’ve already studied commercial cookery; I don’t think I want to major in that.  Secondly, the Diploma level is not government funded.  So I would be looking at a cost of about $10,000.00.  Fucken BAM!  I can’t afford that.  I’m poor white trash, and the idea of hocking my box on top of everything else I have to do over the next two years, is simply not that appealing to me.

So, considering I don’t really want to do more in commercial cookery, and my heart does lean toward patisserie, that’s the certification that I’ve opted for.

Certificate IV in Hospitality – Patrisserie.  BAM! 

36 units is what I’m facing this time around. 

Last year it was about 30 units crammed into twelve months.  It was a hard slog.  So instead of pushing hard, we’re spreading the units across the next two years.

Most of the study is off-campus.  Theory is online, and practical application is in the workplace, where my trainers will come and assess me. 

However, in August, I will have to attend classes on campus for specific practical applications.  Cakes, pastries, petit fours, yeast products, gateaux, tortes, chocolate work and sugar work. 

How fucken exciting!!

Sugar work!

Chocolate work!

OMFG!!!

I can’t wait to see what I will learn!  I love playing with chocolate, and I can only imagine what baking treats I’m in store for!!

I would really love to go as far as I possibly can with my education, but like everything else in life, you are restricted by your financial means.

Fucken.

So, hopefully by the time I finish my next certification, I will have won tattslotto, and can afford to pay for my diploma. 

Who the fuck am I kidding?  If I won tattslotto, I’d be hiring a fucken chef to cook for me! Idiot! What am I thinking? Keep studyi? *face palm

Be that as it may, this course will cost me between $2000 and $3000, which I can thankfully pay off over the duration of the next two years.  Again, without this facility, I possibly couldn’t afford to do this.

Thank the universe for small mercies.

So, my new course should start about the end of March, and I’m really keen to see what is going to be thrown at me.

Obviously, I hope that I can infuse some of what I earn into the workplace, and either spunk up my desserts even more, or create something new and exciting for the customers to enjoy.

It shall be an interesting two years, I believe.

I wonder where this journey will take me?

Peace out peeps.

DREAMS CAN COME TRUE

Sometimes, you’ve just got to throw it out there.

You’ve got to trust the universe, take a risk, and pray to fuck that things work out.

Such is the case for myself and my new career.

So this was the plan.  Resign from my job and give twelve months’ notice.  This gives the boys time to adjust and time to find someone else.  When my course finished, I wanted to finish work, so that I’d be free to find a new job in my new career, without the delay of notice.

Thinking back, I don’t know if I handled my ‘resignation’ very well.  I basically told the boys I wanted to go back to school, so I needed to cut back my hours.  And I was doing this with a view to changing careers.  They were shell shock, and I think I was too, because the reality of my situation really hit home.

So, as my studies progressed, and my second course started in July, I mentally started thinking about what direction I wanted to take, and where I would like to work.

Considering the main type of employment I have had was administrative, I really didn’t know where to start with hospitality. 

Also taking into consideration the fact that I had not had a job interview or prepared a resume for nearly fourteen years, the entire concept of a career change at 43 years of age was frightening.

I started second-guessing myself and having panic attacks again, and wondering if what I was doing was the right thing.

I started panicking about my car payments, mortgage payments, health, impact upon Charlie… everything.  It was totally freaking me out, and as the end of my course drew closer, I seriously didn’t know what the fuck I was going to do.

Then, out of the blue, I received ‘the’ phone call.

Picture this.  I live in a small country town, in North Central Victoria. There is fuck all here.  Fuck all.  A general store, a primary school, the CFA, a concrete statue business, a hall and of course; the pub.  That’s it.  About three hundred people live in Tooby, spread out over quite a few hundred hectares.  Fuck all.

What is the likelihood of someone with my experience and training getting a job in town? 

A million to one.

Well, I’m never taking that ‘million to one’ statement lightly again, because I’m the one in a million that landed a job at the pub.

So, around the middle of last year, Charlie and I accidentally had dinner with the owners of the pub.  We went in for dinner one night, and the owners were having dinner at the same time, and invited us to join them.

Was a lovely night, just chatting about all different sorts of bullshit, but I planted the seed that I was studying hospitality, and would be looking for work toward the end of the year.

So, how’s this for an example of all the fucken planets aligning.

A few months after this dinner date, one of the chefs at the pub decides it’s time to move on.  No problem there.  It happens. 

So the Head Chef is having her hair cut by one of my friends, and just so happens to mention that they’re looking for a new chef.

What does my darling friend do?  ‘You know Lee Buttler is studying hospitality at the moment?  She wants to be a chef? You should talk to her?’

Of course, the Head Chef knew me, and knew I could cook (thank you Facebook for allowing me to post up a million photos of the food I love to make, allowing everyone in the southern hemisphere to see that I am a relatively competent cook that is passionate about food), and immediately lost her shit.

She picked up the phone and called the owner of the pub, whom had had dinner with me but a few months before, and said ‘What about Lee Buttler?’ and the owner was like ‘Shit…. I forgot she was studying! Let’s get her in here!’

So I get ‘the’ phone call that changed my life.

The owner asked me where I was at, what I’m looking for and if I would like come in for a chat.

Fuck me.  Shit just got real.

Bring on a mild panic attack.

So, I had my interview with the owners and the Head Chef, and got the distinct impression that I already had the job before I walked in the door.

I love the Head Chef.  She’s awesome.  It’s interesting, through our discussions, that we seem to complement each other’s cooking.  She’s awesome at everything except desserts, and I’m pretty good generally, and really good at desserts.

When the last chef left, they had lost the person that does there desserts, so it would appear that I had the potential to be a good replacement for her.

Five months later, I feel that I’m settling in well, getting the hang of everything, and am running a good, diverse dessert menu which changes on a weekly basis.

I’ve designed the desserts so they can be plated up by pretty much anyone, from the owners to the fifteen year old kitchen hands.  All they have to do is follow the instructions, and BAM! Awesome looking dessert.

I had a very proud moment today in the kitchen.  When I was cleaning up the kitchen after service, one of the kitchen hands on the next shift came in.  She saw me, her face lit up, and she ripped her phone out of her pocket and started flicking through it.

‘I did all the desserts last night, Lee, and I think I did really well.’ She said.  Bless her heart, she’d taken photos of all the plates she had done (just like I do!) and showed me.  They were fucking sensational!  She’d done an awesome job, and I made a point of saying that in front of the owner and Head Chef, who were standing there.

I like to praise the kids for a good job, because sometimes, the kitchen can be incredibly stressful and fast paced, and it can leave your head spinning.  They are good kids that do exactly what you ask them to do, when you ask them, without complaint or question, and do it to the best of their abilities.  They need to be acknowledged for this, I think.  Encouragement and praise goes a long, long way.

We all like it really, don’t we? :D

The thing I find about this place though, is that everyone there is really nice.  Like, you naturally have the odd political issue pop up every now and then, but generally, everyone is really nice. 

I learnt a month or so ago, that they were a little nervous about me starting, because they didn’t know what to expect.  Would I be cranky and surly, demanding and unrealistic? Would I be dictatorial and inflexible; would I be selfish or a team player?

Needless to say, they all love me, and get excited when I’m rostered on because… well, they’re only human :D

I figure that I don’t give them too much grief, and try to work with them. We’re all one big team, after all. 

I don’t leave the kitchen until the kitchen hand has finished the dishes. I would feel guilty leaving them there to slog away without helping them.  Doesn’t seem right.  I’m certainly not above doing dishes and mopping floors.  When I am rostered on by myself in the kitchen, I have to do it anyway, so what’s the difference if I help someone else?  Gets us both out earlier. 

If I finish early, I often ask the front of house team if they need any help, and may mop the toilets or something for them.  In turn, if I’ve been under the pump, the front of house guys may come out and sweep and mop my floor for me.  It all works out in the end :D

I feel that it’s like a family there, and I’m the newest member J  I feel welcome and appreciated, and everyone seems to like my desserts.  A bit different to what they’re use to, I believe.  That’s ok.  No negative reflection on chefs of the past.  It is what it is, and nothing more.

When I’m working through the week, the front of house guys come floating into the kitchen to see not only what I’m baking or making dessert wise, but hoping that there may be some samples, like chocolate mud cake, to nibble on! LOL! It’s gorgeous :D

I said to Charlie the other day that I feel like I’ve landed on my feet after leaving TAFE.

For starters, what’s the likelihood of landing a job so locally?  Like, I use to drive four hours a day for work, now I’m driving about a fifteen minute round trip.  242 kms to 12.  Fuck me.

Then, I fully expected to land a job as a kitchen hand, and work my way up from there.  But no; just skipped over all of that.  Sure, I wash dishes and mop floors, as I’ve said, but my role there is too cook and present food.  To prepare and cook a dessert menu.  To run service shifts on my own and with others.  Not something a fresh graduate would be expecting to do.

Most of my other TAFE peeps are still unemployed, or they are working as kitchen hands doing basic cooking tasks.  None of them are as full on as I am.  However, that’s just the luck of the draw, isn’t it?

So, this is where I become thankful.  This is where I become appreciative.  This is where I count myself lucky, right?

You fucken bet it is.

Sure, I’ve worked very hard and taken a lot of risks to travel down this path, and thankfully, the rewards have been there for me at the end. 

I think I knew, in my heart, I would find work somewhere pretty quickly.  I just didn’t know where.  Charlie questioned the validity of pretty much taking the first job I was offered. He wondered if I should hold out for something else.

I remember saying that I had nothing to lose by taking it.  If I didn’t work out, I could just move on to something else.  Simples.

Luckily for me, it seems to be working out, and for that, I’m truly thankful.

Keep chasing your dreams, peeps.  Sometimes, they do come true.

Peace out.

HAVE YOU MISSED ME?

Have you missed me?

I’ve missed you.  My beautiful, invisible friends J

Please forgive me; it’s been twelve months since my last confession… err….blog.  March 23 to be exact, and so much has happened within that period of time, that I have had to sacrifice my blogging.

But do not despair! I am back now, and hopefully, will be able to blog a little more now, as my life seems to be settling into some semblance of normality.

So, what’s happened to keep me away from you?

Last time I blogged (and you read), I was starting my new adventure at TAFE.

Well, since then, I have completed my studies, changed my twenty-five year career, left a job I had been at for fourteen years, and continued running a business from home.

It’s been a busy year.

So, let’s look at things in a little more detail (cos I know you have nothing better to do than read about my exciting life! LOL!)

Studies.  Well, I’ve passed my Certificate II in Hospitality (Kitchen Operations), and my Certificate III in Hospitality (Catering Operations).   According to my wonderful trainers (who have over twenty years cheffing experience), I am now qualified.  I can now call myself ‘chef’.

I’m a chef.

Fuck me.

Strange really, as I never thought it would happen.  Like… I don’t know why I never thought it would happen… I was studying with the purpose of becoming a chef and working in the industry…

It’s like… being in the safety and comfort of normality; life as you know it, understanding that ahead of you, there is major change.  However, part of you thinks that the change will never come…. That it will never happen, even though you’re barrelling toward it… then the reality of the change hits you, and it’s… surreal and confronting.

I’ve dreamed of being a chef for a long time, but never really understood that it could happen, and what it would be like when I achieved it all.

At the end of my studies, within a week, I had said goodbye to TAFE, goodbye to the career I had enjoyed for twenty-five years, and hello to a new way of life.

It all seemed so quick.  So final.  I think, four or five months later, I’m still catching my breath.

The study, looking back, was easy.  I do theory stuff well.  I get the importance of deadlines, and I’m quite capable of interpreting text and completing assignments.  The challenge is retaining the information and apply it practically! That’s where the fun starts…

With everything I had on my plate; working three days a week, on campus two days, running my little business and a household on the other two days, I was amazed that I was able to meet the deadlines set.  Shame that most of the other students in the class struggled to.

When I first met with my trainer, she said that I would make friends for life through this class.  I thought she was fucken mental.  I was so NOT interested in making friends.  I just wanted to study, kick ass, and change my life.  100% all the way, and I didn’t want any distractions.

It would appear that my trainer was not so mental after all.

I have indeed made some wonderful friends during my time at TAFE, and not just in my own class.  I made quite a few friends with the VCAL and VETIS kids that were studying there as well.

They were good kids.  Troubled and sometimes little fuckers, but good kids.  My trainer and I figured that I was one of the few adults that wanted nothing from them, and treated them like human beings, so they warmed to me.

They are only human, after all… J

Some days, my fellow cheflings and I would go to one of the café’s for lunch, or get take away noodles and eat them in the student lounge.  We would have coffee and chocolate during our breaks, or I would bring in some baked goods for them all to sample. 

Good times. J

I miss my girls, who I have come to affectionately refer to as my molls.  Friends for life indeed.

As for work, well… that wasn’t so easy.

The boys found a replacement for me; a lovely lady with a lot of experience doing exactly what I did.  She was a perfect fit for the job, but her biggest challenge, like me, was adjusting to change.

She had been forced to leave her last job, as they were going broke and owed her a heap of money.  You can only give charity for so long before it starts impacting upon you personally and financially, so she jumped ship, and came to work with us. 

Five months later, she’s still there and starting to get her head around it all and settle in.  She’s such a nice lady.  I hope that she’s there for as long as I was, because I think she’ll be happy.

As for letting go?  Well, it was easier than I thought it would be.  It was hard to say goodbye to my family of fourteen years, but I was ready for the change.  Ready to move on.

I think of my boys and my old job every day, and wonder how they’re going… hoping that they’re going okay and that they’re happy with their lives.  I haven’t contacted them much… and I don’t really know why.  I guess… I just wanted a clean break for myself, as well as them… space to focus on my new career, and space for them to focus on the new lady that was performing my role… I wish all of them nothing but the best.  I hope they achieve even greater success than they experienced during my time there.

 

So this brings me to my new job.

About August last year, I was contacted by the owner of the local pub.  A chef who had been working there for some years, had just left.  Sometimes, people leaving is not a bad thing, if you know what I mean.

So, how’s this for lucky.

The Head Chef at the pub (a local lady) was getting her hair done by one of my girlfriends (another local lady), and was telling her that this chef had left the pub, and they were looking for someone to replace her.  So my friend (god bless her fucking heart) said ‘you know Lee Buttler is studying hospitality at TAFE?  Why don’t you see if she wants a job?’

Fuck me.  Do I want a job?

So the Head Chef is like ‘Fucken what?’ and immediately rings the owner of the pub, who said ‘Oh shit yeah! I forgot about that!’ and rings me to offer me a job.

A few days later, I’m sitting at the pub, chatting with the Head Chef and the owners, and talking about my future at the pub.

I did a couple of shifts there before I finished TAFE, just to get a feel of it, and for the pub to get a feel of me (lots of feeling going on here…) and as soon as I finished my studies, I finished one job, and started another.

Fucken BAM!

My head’s still spinning.  It all happened so quickly, and just like a dream!

The Head Chef said to me in the interview, ‘So you’ve resigned from your job, which finishes when your course finishes, and you have no prospects for work, or anything lined up.  So you could finish TAFE, and have no fucken work at all?  That’s a big risk.’

She was astonished, but I simply explained that it was a risk I had to take.  A risk to move forward and make a change.  I knew I would eventually get work, but I simply didn’t know when or where.  I trusted the universe, and knew that something would turn up.

Sometimes you just need to back yourself and take a risk, right?  Luckily for me, it paid off.

Lucky for my fucken mortgage, too J

So I’ve slipped into the routine of the pub now, and everyone there seems happy with me.  One of my roles there is a second to the Head Chef, helping her with menus and kitchen routines and shit.  Plus, I’m responsible for the dessert menu. 

Fucken BAM! I love desserts and baking and shit (as you know), and as I progress, I’m getting better and better at it.  I’ve worked out good menu’s that sell, and the right quantities to meet demand.  So, if the staff don’t eat them all (and they often do!), the customers seem to be happy.

As for my little cake business?  Well, it’s still ticking along nicely.  I had to make a few choices at the end of last year, which resulted in me missing a couple of markets.  After all the hard work I’d put in through the year, I didn’t want to throw it all away because of the markets.  The market wasn’t going anywhere, so I shelved it for a few months, and focused on my study.  Big picture stuff.  I feel it was a wise choice, and certainly one I haven’t regretted.

It’s been a massive year of change, and somehow, I’ve managed to come through it relatively unscathed. 

Even Charlie has survived!  Poor bastard. He’s gone from me being home every night and weekend, to the demands of hospitality shift work.  He’s cooking for himself most nights, as am only home a couple of nights. Come winter, I will leave stuff in the slow cooker for him, to give him a break.

Though, in saying that, for twelve years, I would come home after two hours in the car, and cook him a meal.  So fuck him; he can see what the shoe is like on the other foot.

Poor bastard. J

So, that’s pretty much where I’m at for the moment. 

Let’s see what new adventures 2014 can provide.

Peace out peeps.