Page 10 of Cakes for the Grump

How did you manage to put me to sleep in the middle of a director’s board meeting?

P.S. Chocolate.

My cheeks flame with indignity! Here I am withering with stress and he is being…cheeky? I think? What does it mean? Have I engaged in mental warfare with my new boss?

With that minuscule bit of very generic information, and after working myself into a tizzy, I pick Wuzetka, a traditional Polish cake. The chocolate sponge cake is constructed of flour, eggs, sugar, butter, cocoapowder, whipping cream, rum, gelatin, and plum jam. Chocolate icing made of butter, milk, and dark chocolate is poured over the entire top, and when the cake sets, the Wuzetka is cut into cubes.

Effectively, it is chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate.

Every step of the process, I try to be perfect, spending as much time on the cake as possible. The back of my tank top is damp with sweat. I’ve never obsessed over a baked creation this intensely ever in my life.

After it’s done, the next few days are radio silence, so I’m left going back to my regular schedule of cooking, but anticipation and nerves have eroded any sense of serenity I might have experienced before. Was my choice a good one? Did the Wuzetka work? Are his business partners satisfied? Or did my baking not live up to the overblown expectations? Do I still have gainful employment? Is this what sends me home?

A few more days later, I receive the following:

LUKE

Make another cake for Friday.

Is he serious?

Is that it? There is no feedback, no indication if he wants more of the same or anything done differently. Am I supposed to wait alone in his kitchen for marching orders, stressing and obsessing over every bake as if it’s my job on the line each time?

I fire off a reply without thinking.

ME

Anything else, my lord? I beseech myself on the foot of your altar and await further commands.

I’m getting fired for sure. I’ve taken it too far. Why did I have to be so honest and rash? Why can’t I be docile, sweet and superficially cooperative when it comes to Luke Abbot? While wondering whether I should follow with an immediate apology, my phone beeps.

He responded.

LUKE

Are you aware you’re the only employee who speaks to me like this?

This is it. The hypothetical question preludes an ax coming down.Feeling nauseous, I try to recover this conversation with some light-hearted joking.

ME

Guess the baking is getting to me! Hopefully that means you think I belong in rarified air?

LUKE

Your vocabulary is not half bad, meal-prep chef.

P.S. Today’s salt and pepper ratio in my dinner was adequate.

An egg cracks in my hand, spilling yolk everywhere. Blindly, I grab it with my fist, needing something more to crush with my fingers.

Adequate. Isn’t that another way of saying serviceable?

Okay, I decide he is the worst.

And again, very rashly, I react by sharing my real opinion with him.

ME