- For a number of years in my early adulthood
I ran a cafe bakery in Salt Lake City.
And a lot of people came through my store.
Most of them were humble and pleasant,
that is, they gave me no trouble.
But there was one customer whom I will never forget.
One unremarkable afternoon, this woman comes in the store
as if she is the Greek goddess Hera,
the goddess of goddesses, descending from Mount Olympus.
She was elegantly dressed, slightly overdressed,
thin, not a hair was out of place.
She struts her way to the counter and orders a cake.
My bakery was a high-end operation.
We used only good ingredients.
We set up in an affluent part of town,
and we charged top dollar.
One of our most popular items was a mocha bourbon cake.
Coffee buttercream, cocoa whip cream filling,
and a bourbon-flavored simple syrup.
Most of my customers were members of the LDS church,
Mormons who were forbidden to drink alcohol.
We actually wrote "mocha bourbon" on the cake
in chocolate lettering.
This is what she ordered.
The following day, at lunchtime,
when my place was full of customers,
she charges in, you know, stalks over to the counter,
and screeches out, "You stole my money!"
You know, "Give me back my money!"
Here's where I made two mistakes.
First mistake was, is I argued with a customer.
The second mistake was to argue with a customer
in front of other customers.
But I couldn't, I couldn't resist.
I was being slandered in public.
Now, she had brought along with her
a diminutive white guy, the type of person
my mother would have called a nebbish.
Now, she would have none of this,
and she continued ranting and raving.
And while she was doing this, the nebbish explained to me
that she had bought the cake
to serve at a reception for her Mormon bishop.
And the bishop knew what bourbon was
and didn't really appreciate this grandiose gesture,
humiliating the woman.
Now, I could see her trying to make a splash at the party,
putting out this really beautiful cake.
So I explained to her that we took the trouble to write,
look right there, we wrote bourbon on the cake.
And she said to me that she thought
that bourbon was referring to the French royal family,
you know, the "let them eat cake" crowd.
I said, "No, no, come on, we're in the United States.
"This is bourbon, it means whiskey from Kentucky."
I knew that this would not be the last time
I would hear from this woman.
A couple of days later, I get a call from a guy
from the state alcohol and beverage commission
who says to me that there had been a complaint
about my cakes.
They went and purchased a bourbon cake,
tested it for the presence of alcohol,
and it tested positive.
And they decided the cake was declared to be a mixed drink.
So I composed myself, and I said to the man,
"What can I do to make the state happy
"that we're not serving mixed drinks?"
He tells me that I just gotta be a little more diligent
about cooking the alcohol off the bourbon,
and it'll be no problem.
I said, "You know what, this is not a problem.
"There's a simple resolution.
"We'll do it."
Somehow or other, the Salt Lake Tribune
heard about this and ran a story about me and the cake.
Then the local NBC affiliate catches wind of this,
does a little feature story, and sends it up national.
Business boomed.
Not only that, I had people calling me up,
asking me if they could come to the back of the store
and get the original full-proof version of the cake.
And in addition, I'd be walking down the street,
and Mormons would come up to me,
and they would hug me and apologize
for the ignorance of their brethren.
And instead of punishment, what I got from her
was fame, fortune, and friends.