The new restaurant is in a building that still has offices being built out. The construction team is usually nearby, which can be helpful when you lock yourself out while taking out the recycling. Not that it’s happened to me or anything, just a hypothetical that it would be useful to have them around, you know?
One of the construction foremen is in and out frequently and every time he sees me he calls me the Dessert Queen (and yes, I decided that it should be capitalized since it’s a title). “There’s the Dessert Queen,” he’ll say when he sees me rolling dough or assembling cakes. It’s only been a few weeks, but in that short time I’ve really started to embrace the fact that I am the motherfucking Dessert Queen.
At this point in my career, I’m not really comfortable calling myself a pastry chef. Chef is not a title to be taken lightly; it assumes a high level of skill and expertise, a dedication to the culinary arts, hours upon hours on your feet, heavy lifting, multiple cuts and burns, and ignoring all that crap b/c most important of all is the passion you have for food. The passion for food? Check and check. But all the other crazy important aspects that culminate to make a remarkable Chef? Still working on them.
I’m also hesitant b/c people hear “pastry chef” and assume you’re friggin Cake Boss. Cakes are absolutely not my thing. I like making cake; I like eating it even more. But the elaborate Pinterest and TV creations that everyone needs for their wedding cake and kids’ first birthday? Get the fuck outta here. I don’t like working w/ fondant and my piping skills are not all that and a bag of chips. Cakes have become a whole other level of attention to detail that I’m not that interested in.
Dessert Queen is a title I can get behind; Dessert Queen implies someone who is in charge of the desserts and ascends from royalty, so….done and done.