Ok, here's another story from real life: It's late fall 2017 and location is Fraser Street @ 19th in Vancouver. More specifically, SweetSalt bakery & cafe.
Early fall I had responded to an add from someone "looking for a head baker to run an upcoming bakery". "That job is mine", I told myself and agreed to meet the owner at the location, which was still under construction. My first impression as we opened the door and got behind the newspaper covered windows, was; "You're kidding me, right"?
"Ya, so this is it" she said, while beaming all over her face. "And your bakery section will be over there", she continued, as she pointed to a spot in the corner, about twice the size (at most) of a wheelchair accessible stall in a public washroom. "You gotta be fucking kidding me", I thought to myself. But being the professional I am, I'm like: "Ok, let's just get the best out of it and play with the cards you've been dealt".
Anybody who's worked with Germans before, know what a pain in the ass they can be. Proud beyond belief, even when they have no reason, and "ordnung muss sein" is everything to them. Lost in translation, it means something like "my way or the highway, so just SFU (Shut the fuck up), organise yourself, work efficiently...and hard, because I'm German and I know everything".
Well, Hanna - the owner, was an office worker in Vancouver, but "my Grandfather was a baker in Dusseldorf" she explained while showing off his journeyman certificate she was going to hang on the wall, later. Well, I guess that's why she "knew everything" - because her Grandfather once was a baker in Dusseldorf. "Well, what am I doing here then, if you already know everything?", I asked myself. But the German stubbornness and "logic" would soon be on full display.
So, we got rolling in late fall and I introduced a line of unique artisan sourdough breads the neighbourhood has never seen the likes of before, and a shooting gallery of other items that quickly became very popular. I enjoyed working by myself at night, because - to be quite honest - once the owner came in, it quickly became a struggle as it often does working with Germans. They just have that attitude of "superiority" and would rather "sink the submarine" than take advice from someone who, in reality, has a lot more experience than they do.
When customers came in and asked "Do you have croissants?" , Hanna would burst out in a sharp tone: " No!!!! We are a German bakery". I suggested to her - after the customer was sent packing - that maybe she should re-word it, because...if we are a German bakery...why are we making Danish pastries? Danish pastry is not a very German thing. Neither are cinnamon buns, or several of the other items we make". But hey, neither France nor Denmark ended up as a province of Germany and I guess that one still hurts.
When I became too busy, she hired another German baker and the two of them spent most of the day arguing about what was the "real" and therefor the "best and most proper" pretzel; his northern style or her southern style. It was unbelievable, listening to them. "Just shut the fuck up and make what the customer wants. They are the ones paying your bills" I thought to myself.
But as customers started tiring of her and her ways, including her refusal to revamp the menu as I suggested, business took a nose dive and soon enough the German baker was gone. You know: "Ordnung muss sein and my Grandpa was once a baker in Dusseldorf (pre-1950s)"...so I know what I'm doing.
She started doing deliveries in order to up the sales. But really, it was like peeing on an open fire. She started doing birthday parties for the neighbourhood moms and their kids, where the moms would sit and sip "London Fog's" in their yoga pants while the kids were 'baking'. All the while, not wanting to listen to any advice or suggestions that might save her business.
Needless to say, it went from bad to worse at a speed that out-paced her willingness to admit that she just might not be the Gordon Ramsay of baking she saw herself as, and soon enough, while I was standing there one morning, with my hands in the cinnamon buns, she came in and gave me the ultimatum: " You can either work for $ 12.50/hr (which was near minimum wage at the time), or I will give you two weeks to find a new job".
"No problem", I said. "Let me save you some money. Two weeks worth". I went over to the sink, washed my hands, grabbed my stuff and walked out.
Six months later, the place was sold and SweetSalt was a thing of the past.
************
Here is the longer version of the bakery video you saw above.
PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS - GOOD OR BAD - ON MY PAGES. SIMPLY CLICK THE "COMMENT" BUTTON IN BUTTOM OF PAGE.
No comments:
Post a Comment