A Splash of Humor and a Dash of Asshole

Sweet Tarts

So what’s the difference between a pastry chef and God? The answer, God doesn’t think he’s a pastry chef. Pastry chefs get a bad rap. They have less stress, they don’t have to deal with the heat, they have to measure everything, I disagree. I actually like most pastry chefs. I sure know that it takes a special person to choose sweet over savory. I consider the kitchen my second family, and I would have to categorize the pastry chef as the stepmom. You consider them part of the family until they do something lame and then all of the sudden they aren’t blood.
I worked with some badass pastry chefs in my time, and they are all a bit interesting. From the one who drank Sambuca and Dr. Pepper at 7 in the morning to the one who took bong rips in the freezer throughout the day to “stay focused.” Or how about the badass who would jam DOA as loud as the radio would go and sleep in the locker room using a pillow of dirty linens when he was too wasted to go home at night. Some made the best cakes and tarts I have ever tasted, and one made the best barbeque sauce.

Sure, I have never met one that could hang on the sauté station completely weeded on Saturday night, but I have also never met a line cook that had the patience to make a beautiful genoise. People will usually remember that perfect lemon tart they had right before they paid and left a lot more clearly than the carpaccio they had as an appetizer two hours prior. Sure, they might bitch about you being in their space or using their favorite spatula but cut them some slack. I sure know I would not want to be responsible for any part of their job. But seriously to all you pastry chefs out there we appreciate you but please stop being such pussies.


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