The Rise (and Fall) of My Boutique Catering Company - PART FOUR
I lived and worked in New York City for two years. The biggest lesson I learned is that no one cares about you more than you. And it is true what they say: New York can very easily eat you up and spit you out, and it tried. I learned, I adapted, I cried a lot, and then I put on my Steve Maddens and stomped down those city streets like I meant it!
I returned to Utah, toughened up like a well-done steak and a little rough around the edges. Upfront, direct, harsh, some would say. I was proud of these characteristics at first — I had earned them. It took a while for the big city stench to dissipate, and eventually I evened out. But the core lesson stayed: no one is going to advocate for you harder than you.
When I started Maven Oak, that lesson came with me.
This core self-knowing became a solid pillar — one I leaned on hard while navigating the stormy seas of small business ownership.
I knew before I made the first platter that I wanted Maven Oak to be a real business, not a cute hobby. I wanted to make money. Like that statement or not, making money was the goal. It was fun, yes. But this was a business, and I was going to treat it that way.
That meant from the jump I was not working for free. New York taught me that too. There would be a strict formula to help me stay on track.
Food Costs - 30%
Labor - 20%
Overhead - 25%
Profit - 25%
Every platter and platter installation would hit these markers. No exceptions.
A cost structure with a profit of 25% is very abnormal in the catering industry. Profit margins are extremely thin, and IF a company is profitable, it hovers around the 8-15% mark.
I was able to hit these numbers because I kept my overhead fit, like a lean mean fighting machine. Never excess, little waste, and I did 90% of the work myself. This contributed to higher profits but also to the burnout.
During the first six months of Maven Oak, I was desperate to get an order from someone outside my friend and family circle. In May, it finally came! And it was a big one (at the time).
The client wanted to order not one, not two, but THREE platters for a baby shower for her daughter. I was so pumped! I responded instantly, said I was available, and gave her the price, bursting at the seams with hope and excitement that I was actually doing it.
The next day there was an email from her, and the gist of it was that she would like to order from me because she loved supporting local businesses but wanted a discount because she was ordering ‘so many platters’.
My heart stopped.
I was immediately filled with heat and resentment.
Why should I give her a discount? It was more work for me to make three platters, and if we go back to the formula, I could lose money on this order (or not hit my margins, which to me felt like a loss).
She wasn't a friend or family member asking for a favor. She found me on her own, which was exactly what I had been working toward. And her first move was to ask me to charge her less for more work. My first real platter sale was supposed to feel good, but it didn’t. I felt pissed off.
I took three deep breaths, and I responded. The gist— the price is the price; let me know if you want to move forward. The deal was dead in the water.
I was bummed; I really wanted that sale. And also, damn proud that I held my ground.
This moment became pivotal to how I operated Maven Oak.
The cost is the cost. I doubled down and did my absolute best work, my way of proving that the product was worth every last penny. I responded to emails promptly, was on time to all deliveries, and went above and beyond to help my clients. All they had to do in return was pay full price 🙃.
This hard-and-fast rule helped Maven Oak get the clients that were right for the business I wanted to create. Clients who wanted over-the-top, stunning, jaw-dropping, appropriately priced cheese platters.
The flip side was rejection. A lot of it.
More than I was prepared for, honestly. For every big event inquiry that crossed my desk, I probably only booked thirty percent of them.
The most common reason was that my prices were too high. After months of filtering through quotes and bidding on projects, I had to sit down with myself and think—Should I lower my prices to stay competitive?
This is where any small business can get themselves into trouble if they don’t have a solid mission statement and the courage to stand behind it.
Maven Oak was a high-end, top-of-the-line, bougie ass catering company. It looked expensive and damn it, it was expensive!
I not only didn’t lower my prices, I decided to raise them. On principle and inflation.
The inquiries kept rolling in, the rejection kept slapping me in the face, but I was learning to just shrug it off. This is also about the time when I decided not to get excited or plan on an event/platter until the deposit was PAID. Then and only then would I allow myself to bask in the glory of booking something. This was pure self-protection, and it worked (mostly).
As the time went on, my boundaries got stricter. No orders accepted within 72 hours of the event. No orders on Sundays—I needed one day of complete rest. All major holidays switched to pickup only. I had spent years running deliveries on Christmas Eve. No more. Pickup hours narrowed down significantly—to prevent unnecessary 12-hour days. There had to be a reasonable cutoff, so I could do things like book a yoga class or meet a friend for a drink.
The years went on, and the parameters kept narrowing. I stopped responding to emails the second they landed. Lead times for orders kept increasing. Platter design became streamlined for efficiency, not creativity. And my will to please was starting to dwindle.
My defenses against my own business kept going up — I was showing up with boxing gloves ready for a knockout. At some point I had to admit it: the boundaries I had built to protect myself were also slowly strangling the business I had built. And I had become resentful. Not of the work itself, but of what the work kept asking of me. This realization landed in 2023. The year the universe said yes — and I was quietly starting to say no, ma'am.
I was fighting so hard to stay myself inside a business I had built that it had become a full-time job. And at some point, without a single dramatic moment, no big KO, no final bell, I just got tired of it. Tired of fighting against something I had chosen. The real battle was with myself. And I was the one who had to decide when it was over.
Cheers,
Nicole | Butter Cult🧈
Thirsty for more?
🥕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!
Book a private cooking class! Offered in person locally OR anywhere in the world online.
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.
