The Best Job I Ever Had (My Body Has Receipts)
The Rise (and Fall) of My Boutique Catering Company - PART TWO
The biggest platter installation I ever created was 36+ feet long and fed 400 people. Double-sided, and all the food had to be set out at once. Woah. What a ridiculous-sized table this would be — plus the 400 cookies that would also need their own home. Do you have any idea what 400 cookies smell like? It’s like a bakery punched you in the face 17 times, sprinkled sugar on top, and threw you in the oven to bake. It was sickly sweet and overwhelming. I never want to see 400 cookies staring me in the eye ever again.
This table was for the Interior Design Awards, and the creative direction was: do what you do best, with a hint of tropical. (We live in the desert, but okay.)
It was time to go big or go home. I collected every large bowl I could find in my prop storage and then rounded up even bigger bowls! I wanted Godzilla to feel right at home eating from this grazing table. I was toeing the line of epic art installation and standing in the cafeteria queue waiting for a slop of food to land on your tray.
There were swimming pools of hummus, a whole pig’s worth of charcuterie, a planet-sized platter overflowing with carrots, cucumbers, peppers, celery, and anything else you’d want to take a dip in the hummus jetties. Cornucopias bursting with carbs, mosaics of ripe fruit, papayas peeking out of every corner (the tropical element), too much cheese to keep track of, dips scattered across the scene like purposefully placed shrapnel, and sneaky bowls of olives, nuts, and mustard mixed into the palm frond foliage.
It was breathtaking. It was epic. It was a shit ton of cheese.
2023 was the year the universe said YES to Maven Oak.
There was an ease in the air, and I just had to keep up. My slow season was no longer in existence, much to my chagrin. I had envisioned a European Summer where I took off every August to parade around the world, but then I was asked back for a second season at a summer concert venue. I promptly accepted and revamped the menu to make it bigger and better. A wholesale account is pivotal for the ups and downs of event work, and European Summer be damned — we had landed some solid consistency.
Speaking of consistency, I had accumulated quite the collection of corporate clients, and they must have a catering group chat because my name was being passed around the Utah startup scene like a vintage Châteauneuf-du-Pape. There were more events at the haunted mansion, a semi-annual event for the School of Architecture at my alma mater. Maven Oak was also featured in Salt Lake Magazine and again in the Salt Lake Tribune that year, which felt like the universe giving me high-fives, so I carried on.
This was also the era of the brie cake, an offensive tower of brie cheese decorated like an actual cake with fruits, flowers, honeycomb, and sometimes a ribbon of prosciutto.
The tables got cheesier, and the opportunities got grander. A table made strictly of desserts. A Halloween-themed bridal shower with prosciutto flesh clinging to a plastic skeleton, kitschy but cute. An upscale art gallery that was strictly dress-to-impress, the cheddar looked real sharp that night. I was embracing a minimalist energy, loving the clean look of not too much but just enough, which was a challenge, all things considered. Traveling long distances for events was becoming a regular request, and the client footing the travel bill was par for the course.
The most heartbreaking event I ever catered was a memorial for a teenager. Two hundred charcuterie cups for a room full of grief. It was a reminder that food shows up for all of it, the celebrations, the milestones, and the moments when words aren't enough.
There were opportunities I grabbed without hesitation and others I regretfully turned down because I was scared. Scared of what, I'm still not sure — Maven Oak was clearly succeeding. Being asked to judge the Local Cheese Awards was a delight and also a detriment. I never thought I would say this, but there is such a thing as too much cheese.
Maven Oak was building the reputation of an elite and upscale business in the catering world. I was sought out for the quality and artistic integrity of my work, and it felt good, until it didn’t.
More than one high-ticket client turned out to be a complete nightmare. One situation ended with the client picking up my Maven Oak sign and tossing it off the table while scathingly saying, “I don’t want this.” There had been a significant misunderstanding on her end, and I finished the table, packed my things, and got the hell out of there. I received an email the next day with an apology for her behavior. I curtly accepted but did not forgive.
I’m sure I wasn’t the only person she had treated poorly. Perhaps the first to not stand for it. Sometimes the temptress of a dream client turns into a good riddance scenario and a permanent spot on the blacklist. I may run a small business, but I sure as shit have morals.
If I wasn’t traveling, I was booked and busy. Alabama → platter → Boise → platter → Taylor Swift Concert → platter, platter, platter → camping → platter → platter → platter → platter → Goth wedding → physical collapse.
Right after the fall mania, my body was hanging on for dear life, kindly waiting until after my last big event before the Thanksgiving rush to show me exactly how much I was overdoing it. I had booked a trip to my favorite hot springs, as I do every year, and by the time we were on our way, the full-blown sickness had taken me down. Thankfully, the whole point of this trip was to rest, relax, and recharge. I needed all three, but would have preferred to do it without the daggers in my throat and body aches. My body was keeping a detailed book of receipts, and it was time to pay up.
I should have predicted this rebellion. My body had been expressing itself in different forms since I started my culinary career. When I was working 60+ hour weeks as a chef in Seattle, it started slowly; it was just a sore wrist. Then it turned into a fully numb right arm with shooting neck pain. This was during butternut squash season, when the knife work was relentless and heavy. I saw doctors and holistic specialists, and the common theme was: stop doing the motion that is causing you pain. What, should I just quit my job, doctor?!
Maven Oak brought its own additions to the file. Intense migraines that would take me out for days at a time, before Maven Oak had anything to be proud of. A virus that threw a party in my nervous system and threatened to take out a retina if left to its own devices. My body had been submitting receipts for years, and I had been throwing them straight in the trash.
My wrist never fully forgave me. When Maven Oak took off and the events started stacking up, it came back with a vengeance. I wore a brace, did my stretches, and said nah to pickleball (too much wrist action); it was never meant to be. I managed it the way you manage something you’re not ready to actually fix: carefully, quietly, and in complete denial.
I survived the final push to the end of the year with the excitement of another adventure booked, because, of course, there was. The cracks were starting to show despite the most successful year Maven Oak had ever had. The rat was getting hungrier.
I boarded my flight to Iceland, determined to find some clarity in the wild and rugged Arctic landscape. The earth had literally cracked open right before we got there, spewing red-hot magma. The pure power and energy of the earth here was something I had rarely experienced. And somewhere underneath the awe, the rat began to chew.
Cheers,
Nicole | Butter Cult🧈
Thirsty for more?
📻 Get yourself a Side of Butter the Butter Cult Podcast. It is the dramatic reading of your favorite newsletter, plus more asides, more funny business, and I bet my cat meows and ruins everything, which you will also be privy to. Drops like a hot potato every Thursday!
🥕Grab my free guide: The Butter Cult Guide to Life-Changing Cooking Hacks, 21 Kitchen Secrets That’ll Change Your Cooking Game Forever, Even If You’re Just Here for the Wine
🔪Invest in your culinary future with the Butter Cult online workshops!
Need help, guidance, or just a friend to bounce ideas off of? Book a Butter Service—the cool, casual, get shit done 1:1 mentoring sessions.
Have you read this one? It’s tender and juicy, just like a medium-rare ribeye steak.
Your Dream Job Might Not Be Your Dream Life
Thanks for your support💛 I am here to help whip your confidence into shape, inside and outside the kitchen! We are going to tackle all things culinary together, you will be filleting a fish and hosting that dinner party of 10 in no time😏, or maybe you just learn how to cut an onion the right way. For more adventures in and out of the kitchen, follow @buttercultcooking on Instagram and Threads.
