Gimme Some Sugar Baby

A frequent customer at the bakery where I'm interning came through the kitchen to use the bathroom.  On his way in, he noted, "Every time I see you, you're holding chocolate!"  To which I replied, "And that is why my job is awesome."

The other day, something happened to me that was just so funny I have to share it with you.  There's a very nice girl who works behind the counter of the bakery - let's call her "Jolene".  So Jolene is still in high school and reminds me of the women in my husband's family because she could easily fit in my pocket.  She's also very handy to have around because she speaks Spanish fluently, and she will readily translate for Santiago and myself when we're having one of our "I don't understand you!" fits. 

So yes, I'm standing at the prep table when all of the sudden Jolene comes running up to me and yells, "Brooke!  I hate being a teenage girl!!"  I was a little caught off guard, so I very warily said, "Is this a Judy Blume moment? Because I didn't come prepared for that today..."  She brushed it off and pointed emphatically at her face and said, "Look!!  Look at this!  That wasn't there this morning!"  And there, near her chin were the beginnings of an only slightly noticeable pimple.  At this point I had to chuckle, meanwhile she's whining and looking awkwardly to the side, claiming that she can see it if she looks down, that's how big it is.  I sighed and told her it was barely noticeable, she didn't agree and said something along the lines of, "It's not fair - you have great skin!" So I told her, "Yeah, but I'm 29, when you're 29 I'm sure your skin will be fine too.  Having someone run up to me claiming to hate being a teenage girl was definitely my hilarious moment of the week, I can't remember anyone ever saying that to me, and I used to be a camp counselor for 20 14-15 year old girls *shudders*.

Chef Katie always used to brag about the "guns" she had when she was working at restaurants and folding, punching & molding bread doughs daily, and I definitely see what she means.  I don't have great arms like my mom or my sister, but I can definitely feel myself getting stronger with all the whisking, heaving lifting, etc.  Oh the whisking...that's one of my major issues.  I'm trying to teach myself to be ambidextrous so that my right arm doesn't get worn out (that's what she said), but whenever I try to whisk with my left arm, it just flails around, as if to say, "Seriously Brooke?  I wasn't made to work this way.  Let's dispense with any feelings to the contrary right now..."  I'm just worried that I'm going to wind up with one crazy arm and look like this:

Not that I think I'm as attractive as Bruce Campbell, but I do not fancy having a machine gun as an arm.  Or being chased by skeleton armies...I don't think it would be helpful in my chosen field.  Just a thought.

Black Holes and Frustrations

It's hard to believe that I only have 2 1/2 weeks left on my internship.  I wish that I felt confident about what I'm going to do after it's all over, but I don't.  In fact, I'm utterly terrified about what will come once August 16th rolls around. 

I like my internship, but it is kind of far away.  The Chef has made fairly definitive statements about keeping me on, but he hasn't made me an official offer and has also said that if I stayed, he could probably only keep me on part-time.  This doesn't exactly thrill me because I've been running myself ragged with the internship and the part-time job I already have as it is, and was really looking forward to having 1 full-time job.  If it's my only option, of course I'll do it, but I hope that it doesn't come to that.  Also, the office manager at the aforementioned pt job is hassling me about staying longer than I'm hoping to.  I asked if I could have 2 days off to go to my camp reunion in August, and she basically said I could only take those days off if I stayed there till at least Sept. 15th.  Then when I said I couldn't definitively say that I could be there till then, she started giving me this speech about how she, "did me a favor" by giving me a job, knowing that it wouldn't only be for a certain period of time, etc.  It took me a little while to wrap my head around her saying that, but I eventually came back and told her that I wasn't trying to give her the run around, but that I hadn't had any official job offers from bakeries - full or part-time, and that my main priority is to have a full-time income because, seriously, I'm running out of money.  I hope that she really heard me because I'm really scared about what's going to happen and how I'm going to have money coming in.

I got my self all jumped-up about going home to Buffalo after my internship, but now that almost seems laughable given the severely limited amount of income that I currently have.  Not to mention the fact that I'd have to quit my pt job, because there's no way that the office manager will give me that amount of time off now.  I keep trying to come up with ways of increasing my income, trying to sell more goods on etsy, selling things I don't use anymore on ebay, etc. but I doubt that I'd be able to turn enough of a profit to have it make a difference, plus I'm stretched so thin as it is, I don't see myself having enough time to make that much stuff.

The other thing that's got me wrapped up is that the Chef at my internship asked me what I wanted to do with my career.  I told him that I really wanted to get more experience with cakes - baking, decorating, etc. So...he told me that he could probably get me connected with another chef he knows for a position at his bakery.  A really famous chef....super well known cake person, so much so that I don't even want to mention their name.  What's wrong with this picture?  Well, the position he'd possibly be able to get me is another internship.  AKA - I will not be getting paid.  I hate to admit it, but right now I'm more than a little jealous of the other people starting out in this industry who are still living at home in with their parents.  Even the Chef at my internship said that one of the reasons he was able to get so much quality experience when he started out was because he was 19-20 years old and still living with his parents.  I just cannot continue to only make a part-time salary, but the thought of passing up this internship (if it comes through) makes me physically sick to my stomach.  Deep down I know that if I want to get to a certain level, and am willing to work hard enough to make it happen, that I'll be able to achieve it without this shot, but right now that's a little hard to accept.

Sorry for being such a downer today, I guess it can't always be sunshine and puppies.  I'll keep you all posted on what happens and what I decide to do.  I'm desperate to get home to Buffalo for a visit, hopefully I won't have to wait till my birthday in September, but if I at least get to go then, so be it. 

I'll have funnier stories for you in the next post - promise.

So, when do I get my own Spanish-language soap opera?

Ding ding ding!  We have a winner!!  Rachel S, since you were the only one to correctly guess that I referred to my new co-worker, Tarrel, as an ass hat, you have won the delicious prize of peanut brittle!  This will be presented at a prestigious prize-winning ceremony that will take place...um...whenever I see you next!  Yes, it will be very special, just you wait.

Things have been very hectic lately, lots of running around and trips to Albany two weekends in a row.  We got to see several members of Dave's family, including his grandparents, mom, aunt, uncle and cousin.  Games of clue, diving lessons and general shenanigans were enjoyed by all - Dave's mom almost blew-up a clothes dryer!!  Just kidding Sue!  Nothing but love for you here :) (p.s. no lie...as I was typing that out, I started to spell "blew-up" as "bluew-up"...I'm smart!).  Apparently the family are big fans of my blog (who knew I had that many readers?  I kid...), and are particularly fond of the stories where I injure myself.  Ahh...now it makes sense.  Not being one to deprive you of Brooke-safety stories, here we go:

I almost feel a little guilty that I don't have a better clumsiness-induced story for you, but it does involve a scene from the new Brooke & Santiago variety hour, so I'll continue.  As you already know from reading this blog, Santiago isn't, shall we say, so fluent in English.  He speaks enough to get by, and the rest of the time just enjoys saying the same things to me in Spanish over and over again, and then laughing when I tell him I don't know what he's saying.  Then he'll give me a rapid-fire quiz on random Spanish words (Bracelet?  Really?  Why do I need to know how to say bracelet in the kitchen?) and laugh at me when I can't remember any of them.  So one day I was feeling particularly frustrated with him and was going to put the salt and baking powder containers away on his side of the work table.  What I did not know was that he had put one of the dishwasher trays half-way underneath the table.  Only half-way, otherwise what happened next would never have occurred.  I start making my way around his side of the table, holding my containers and as soon as my foot hits the tray, down I go.  Seriously, it was like a tree being cut-down by a miniature lumberjack.  It happened so slowly, but amusingly enough, I didn't drop the salt or baking powder.  Now if I'd been holding an actual baked-good, it would've gone way up in the air and landed upside down on top of my head, but at least that didn't happen.  Not yet anyway.  So yes, I'm lying on the ground at Santiago's feet and he's yelling and literally trying to yank me up off the floor, all the while I'm yelling, "I'm fine!  I'm fine!  Stop pulling me!" but he doesn't understand me...Eventually I got up, but he didn't talk to me for the rest of the day, I think he was so scared I was mad at him.  In the end, I lived to fall another day - Brooke-safety be damned.

I've really been trying to focus and remember when I make a mistake so that it doesn't happen again.  Santiago's been having me make a lot of sponge cakes, and the only problem with this is that when we whip the sugar and eggs in our mixer it rises so much (by whipping air into the eggs you're creating a lot of volume), that when you have to fold in the flour, you literally have to do it by hand.  I want you to picture me should deep in a mixing bowl, because that's essentially what has to happen.  I have to take a bowl scraper in one hand, and while Santiago is adding the flour into the bowl, fold it like a crazy person, practically jumping into the bowl to make sure that it's perfectly incorporated.  The last time I made the batter, the Chef was telling me I had to be more careful next time because he found some flour chunks in the finished cake, so this time I went to town on that batter.  I defy anyone to find any clumps of flour...as a side note, none of my chef's jackets are clean anymore.  Even when I wash them I can't get everything out.   When I make the sponge cake, even though I have my sleeve folded up past my elbow, I still wind up sticking my entire right arm in the sink, drenching it with water and letting it dry while I work the rest of my shift - that's how much batter I get on myself.  Ah, to do what you love ;)

In case you haven't noticed, it's been unbearably hot lately...and I know, I'm the girl who says that anything above 75 degrees is too hot, but seriously?  Temperatures in the late 90's to low 100's day after day when you're standing in an already hot kitchen, inches away from an oven for hours on end?  Let's just say that I am quite the sight to behold at the end of a long shift.  News flash: I've discovered a new walk of shame, it's what happens when you've been sweating in a professional kitchen for 6+ hours in long sleeves and pants and you have to park two blocks away because there aren't any available spots left on your block.  I love walking by fancy people coming home from their office jobs when I look like I just climbed, fully-dressed, out of a pool.  It makes me feel so pretty.

In a related story, you know what else is funny?  Working in a kitchen and then thinking that you can go shoe-shopping afterward.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Funny, right?  I had that brilliant idea the same day that I experienced my walk of shame.  If I wasn't fit to walk down my own street, I certainly wasn't going to be able to walk into a store without being asked to leave on grounds of stinkiness.  But what's a girl to do?  I desperately needed new shoes for a wedding that we were going to (which accounts for our second trip to the magical city of Albany).  I eventually found a cute pair of red flats on the day before we had to leave.

Not bad for $7, right?  They certainly held up great while we danced the night away.  On that note, I want to send a special shout-out to Jenn & Mike.  I believe that you're still on your honeymoon, and I hope you're having a great time in San Diego.  You joked with me at your wedding that you were "stalking" my blog, what you call stalking I call, "love from a distance" - that sounds healthy, right?  Congratulations again, and send me your address when you get back so that I know where to send your chocolate/baked goods care package!