The Friday Morning Warm-Up

Last weekend felt like a test of stamina, patience, and my ability to keep smiling while my hair slowly turned into a frizzy halo.

Fridays are always big prep days here , I like to head into Saturday feeling fully stocked, every bread and butter pudding glazed, every bap prepped, every cake lined up like little soldiers ready for duty. But this Friday started with the unmistakable sight of 25 cyclists pulling up outside, five minutes before we'd even opened the hatch. You could feel the collective here we go ripple through the kitchen.

The First Wave of Panic

Panic threatened to bubble up, was the bread and butter pudding glazed yet? Would they all want hot food? I had a new member of staff on the coffee machine, and although she's coffee trained, I wasn't entirely sure she'd ever witnessed the sort of queues we get at The Whistle Stop. Thankfully, about 60% opted for coffee and cake, and the rest for hot food, which kept us teetering just on the right side of chaos.

Saturday: Park Run Meets Pastry Counter

And then came Saturday, which always starts the same way: the park run. If you haven't seen it, imagine about 150 runners charging past the door, finishing their 5K just as we're flipping the sign to Open. Their reward? Usually a slab of bread and butter pudding or one of our ultimate baps-bacon, sausage, egg, the lot-because if you've run a 5K, you've absolutely earned it.

A Blur of Baps, Scones, and Tickets

The first two hours are always a blur of scones, cakes, baps, and coffees flying out the door, tickets pilling up in a never-ending paper waterfall. By the time we'd finished the early morning rush, I looked like I'd run the park run myself - sweaty, breathless, and with hair twice it's usual volume thanks to the oven and the sheer volume of humanity crammed into the kitchen.

Baptism of Fire for New Recruits

To add an extra layer of excitement, this weekend was one of those moments every small business owner secretly dreads: the staff turnover phase. The last time I had so many people leave in a short space of time, was right before lockdown 1, and I'd forgotten how tricky it can be to find your footing again. This weekend alone, I had four new members of staff starting. Four. Its a real baptism of fire to step into a tiny kitchen where you can barely turn around without bumping into someone - and that's before you factor in a hundred runners and cyclists determined to start their weekend with pudding. I'm always quietly worried it will frighten new staff off. It's hard to explain to someone that yes, this is completely normal, and no, it doesn't ever really slow down.

The Great Americano Heist

And then there's the special kind of chaos that one determined customer can create. Honestly, I'm always a bit baffled by how confidently people will claim food and drinks that clearly aren't theirs , like they're just manifesting their ideal order into existence.

Take last Friday, when the cyclists arrived en masse. Everyone ordered separately, a coffee and a cake or bap each, so the barista was working her way through what felt like the Tour de France of drinks orders. One latte and cappuccino after another, then finally, a lone Americano. She called it out, nice and loud. A cyclist stepped up, nodded solemnly, and took his "small white Americano."

About five minutes later, another cyclist appeared, looking politely bewildered. "Sorry... is my Americano coming soon?"

Errr......that Americano already cycled off.

As it turned out, the first chap had actually ordered a cappuccino, an entirely different drink, I might add, complete with a mountain of frothy milk. But he claimed the Americano with such confidence that nobody questioned it. He sat there sipping it happily, none the wiser. Meanwhile, we were remaking the missing coffee and trying to wonder how many cappuccinos are secretly being drunk by Americano enthusiasts in disguise.

Summer Heat ( And Why I'll Never Miss Windowless Kitchens)

And while we're on the subject of heat, I should say this: I do absolutely love the summer. Even in all its sticky, sweaty glory, it feels worth it when the sun is shining and everyone is in good spirits. And truthfully, the kitchen that I run now is lucky in one respect, it has airflow. You'd be amazed how rare that is. Most kitchens are little sealed box's with no windows or fresh air, just ovens and grills blazing for hours on end. I don't miss those days - drenched in sweat before you've even served the first order, praying for a breeze that never comes. So when I find myself fanning my face with a ticket slip, I remind myself it could be a lot worse.

The Graft (And the Heart) of Cooking

Cooking for a living isn't glamorous most of the time. It's heavy bags of flour, burns on your arms, hair frizzed with heat, and the feeling that you might actually vibrate out of your shoes when the ticket machine doesn't stop printing. But if you're starting out in this industry, here's what I'd say:

It doesn't matter whether you're making a granola bar or a BLT a latte or a loaf of bread, what matters is that you care about it. That you put effort and attention into every single thing you hand over the counter. Because people can taste when you've made something with intention and heart.

More Crumbs, More Sweat, More Satisfaction

No matter how many queues there are or how many cappuccinos get claimed by accident, people will always come back to something crafted with care, consistency, and just a little bit of love.

I might never be one for an actual park run ( although I've done many in my time) but I recon running a café through one is almost the same, just with more crumbs, more sweat, and, if you're lucky, the kind of satisfaction you can't buy anywhere else.