Just waiting for my contract from The Food Network. 
I’m a pastry professional now and ready for my own show.

Last Friday, my bestie and I finally headed to the class we’d registered for more than two months earlier: Bon Vivant Cakes’s Plant Lovers cookie decorating workshop.

Just a quick turn off a busy Chicago street dotted with authentic taquerias, paleterias, and panaderías, we tumbled into white-girl paradise: a made-for-Insta studio adorned with brightly colored abstract paint, exposed brick studded with houseplants, and red KitchenAid mixers.

Long tables were set with trays of freshly baked, vaguely phallic sugar cookies and tiny bags filled with white, green, teal, brown, and black royal icing.

A high-top table in the corner had been stocked with house-made tomato focaccia, whipped goat cheese, pesto, and calabrian chili, a kale and apple salad, and a gorgeous trifle dish layered with whipped cream, crumbled pumpkin-spice cake, liquid cheesecake (😳), and Biscoff cookies.

Oh, and pitchers of a signature cocktail we poured over glitter ice cubes.

✨ Glitter.
✨ Ice.
✨ Cubes.

There were also a few laminated postcards on the table featuring the designs we’d be attempting on our cookies. I chortled, picturing the “NAILED IT!” moment I’d have at the end of the workshop. At least I’d have five cookies to eat.

But then?

We practiced piping on a piece of parchment overlaid on a sheet covered in straight lines, sine waves, and circles. We messed up and started over. The stakes were low… And I was instantly more confident.

We outlined and flooded the simplest cookies. No one died when my line hiccuped. And I was even more confident.

We learned the basics of layering icing — an exercise in patience, which I generally lack — working quickly to smooth the icing before it started to harden by jiggling the cookie, and achieving just the right pressure to lay the lines we wanted. And I was confident. Period.

I could suddenly look at that little laminated card and understand what I needed to do. If not totally natural, it felt at least intuitive from there.

Got damn, I was doing it.
And everyone around me was, too: I saw those secret smiles flash across several women’s faces.

I took my tray of finished cookies, head high, to the flat-lay photo station the teacher had set up. My little monstera and cacti got a final spritz of fine glitter and were ready for their close-up.

They were almost too pretty to eat. Almost. They’re delicious.

Bon Vivant owner Emily Nejad used to do custom cakes for weddings and other big events, and she was probably pretty successful: Her unique style, bright colors, and gorgeous finished cakes are absolutely tantalizing.

Then she started dabbling in occasional workshops for amateurs looking to learn the tricks of her trade. (Somewhere in there, she also went Pinterest viral, if that’s a thing, for her shag cake decoration technique.)

The full-time pivot happened when she realized she not only loved hosting these workshops but — and I’m just guessing here — the business model was stronger, too.

Instead of dealing with exacting brides and hosts every day just to create a single cake for one event, she could scale up a team and her profits by teaching enthusiasts skills they love or have always wanted to try.

More than anything, they’re teaching confidence in these workshops.

Starting at $95 a person.

Yep, I paid $95 for that class. (I was actually a little horrified when I looked back at my registration confirmation to double check the time.)

Definitely not a “those who can’t do, teach” sitch. 

Bon Vivant Cakes is Emily’s whole thing now, and I wonder what she thinks when she looks back on her growth. I hope she thinks, Got damn, girl, you’re doing it.

What do you tell yourself when you look back at your own life or business? What are you proud of? What have you shed that was no longer serving you?