And so it began...

I guess I should start at the beginning of my sweet love affair with food and the journey that has led me to this crazy process of opening a food cart. For starters, I have been baking for twelve plus years weaving myself in and out of bakeries, restaurants and hotels. Some so inspiring that it has left a permanent imprint on the way I bake and create my desserts to this day. Others, so heinous and god awful that it too has left a permanent imprint on the way I bake and create my desserts.

If you've ever worked in a kitchen then you know what I'm talking about. It's gritty, dirty, often smelly, chaotic, exhilarating, fast, furious, intense, fucking hot as hell, bloody, sweaty, burny goodness. It's a camaraderie special to its own and a family that is often closer to you than your own flesh and blood. Why? When you spend at least 12-15 hours with the same people...they know your stink pretty damn well. For every shit job I have turned, there is nothing like working in a kitchen with like minded people who also have passion and true love for food. Even the fuckheads I've had to deal with (as you're screaming at me, spittle bombarding my face) I fucking salute you all! You've made a better cook for it.

In the end for me it's all about the passion and drive to eat, create and feed people really amazing food. It's a warm comfort like and old familiar blanket...feeding the hungry gnomes in my belly. Each grumble getting louder and louder as I bring the first, sweet bite to my lips I fucking love to eat! Perhaps, it's a mighty expression and nod to my childhood..watching my mom bake for dinner parties at home and proudly assisting by serving the houderves that consisted of mom's famous cheese puffs and smoked oysters. To this day, I remember leaning over our brass candle holders that flickered a cozy flame...then sizzled as my long, blond hair caught on fire while setting the tray on the table. My ego bruised, I sulked for the remainder of the night as my brother ran around telling all the guests that I smelled like a fart. Thanks Dave! I also spent a great deal of time at my father's smokehouse munching on liverwurst and pumpernickel sammie's sitting on the cool stainless steel counter tops curiously observing my dad washing away pools of strong smelling irony blood into the cracked concrete drains. His sausage like fingers (no really he wears a size 20 ring band) would grasp the lever to the smoker and with one swift movement the heavy, char crusted door would pop open and there was this instant flurry of the alluring smell of smoked meats. It had super powers that would seep deep into your clothes and hair and for the rest of the night I would smell like a smoked sausage...thanks dad! There lay racks and racks of glistening meat, dripping it's infinite gloriousness, pitter pattering and sizzling onto the gristly floor. These images are forever seared like a good cut of meat into my memory. Whatever it was that sparked this fascination with food I am grateful.

And so it began...

PS: This is my first post...so try to forgive the grammatical errors:)