Page 67 of Cakes for the Grump
“Is one of them how this looks rather unappetizing?”
“No, it only appears this way due to my overzealous mixing. Before I poured all my stress into it, this mixture was a delightful combination of Swiss chard, artichokes, zucchini, bell peppers, leeks, and dill.”
“If the texture is the issue, make it again.”
“No. It’s the ingredients that are the issue.”
Returning the bowl to the counter, I flip to another section in my notebook. A crudely drawn figure represents the customer, but underneath the doodle is a multi-page dissertation about who they are, what their values are, and what they are looking for in a meal kit. Then there is a crudely drawn building, and underneath there is another multi-page dissertation about who the meal kit provider is, what their values are, and what they are looking for in their business.
“I don’t have time to explain, and I know this is a lot, but if you read this?—”
To my surprise, Luke grabs the notebook. I stand flummoxed when he starts reading—before snapping out of it and turning my attention back to the stove.
My mind races back to the challenge at hand.
How I do not have a dish.
Usually when this happens, it’s best to go back to the basics of taste. If I can land on a flavor bomb, the rest of the recipe might come together more easily.
My mind cycles through options: serrano peppers (spice is polarizing), black garlic (loads of work), chipotle peanuts (possible allergies might alienate a section of the customer base), numbing oil (high risk of sounding too similar to a desensitizing lubricant)…
“Your green Shaky-sack won’t work because the ingredients are too expensive,” says Luke, putting my notes down much sooner than I predicted he would. Has he really finished absorbing everything I’ve researched so quickly? Apparently so, since his conclusion is correctly deduced.
“Exactly,” I say. “You need the meal to source out to $6 to $8. If that’s how much the customer is comfortable paying, for the meal kit provider to make money?—”
“They’ve got to cost out affordable ingredients. Not to mention storage and?—”
“Expiry dates, yes!”
“How much have you looked into the supply chain?”
“You’re speaking about sourcing vendors, right? I’ve beentryingto, but it’s hard to get contact details off the Internet, and when I do call them, theywon’t give me bulk pricing because I’m unattached to a corporation, and I’ve not got the authority to speak to anyone high enough in that department.”
“Hmm. That’s frustrating.”
“Right?!”
“Even without that information, you’ve done a remarkably detailed market analysis. You must have done this before.”
“No.”
He frowns. “But it’s quite good.”
I’m caught off-guard by the compliment, and also experiencing a perplexing amount of synergy at being able to have a conversation with someone who not only understands how business matters have to relate to food matters, but also with someone who is coming to the same conclusions as me.
“So, based on all these criteria, what other dishes have you considered?” asks Luke.
“After passing the first round of the competition, I spent a lot of time brainstorming different recipes so that when this round was kicked off, I’d be ready for it—but featuring an ingredient like eggs is unusual. People don’t typically use meal kits for breakfast.”
“Why? It’s often considered the most important meal of the day.”
“Yes, but you’re ignoring the variable of time. Customers don’t have enough of it to spend in the morning on a meal kit when they can scarf down a yogurt or a banana and get on with it. Especially during the weekdays. That being said, I do have egg dishes in my repertoire that can work for lunches or dinners. I thought about egg drop soup first, but soup might not be thought of as filling enough for the judges, and then there are French croque madames, but thatfeelsdisconnected and fussy in some way. I don’t know…”
I trail off, noticing how strangely Luke is examining me. He looks at me as he needs to shift things around in his own head. I guess he’s seeing I’m no longer just someone who bakes cakes all day. Not that there is anything wrong with that. In fact, imagining him trying to produce anything as perfectly balanced and tasty as I’ve been making for his business meetings is comical.
Still, the concentrated staring from his end is unnerving, even if I’m starting to recognize burgeoning respect and mild wonder mixed in there.
I aim at him a quintessential Punjabi hand gesture, flipping my hand upwards as if it’s scooping the air, all to communicate an eloquentwhat?
