There seems to be a common belief that because I work in a kitchen all day, I must love hot weather.

Let me assure you...

I don't.

Last week, the temperature outside reached 34 degrees.

Inside the café kitchen, standing next to the oven all day, it was considerably hotter. I've been a professional baker and pastry chef for thirty-five years, and I genuinely can't remember another week quite like it.

It honestly felt like I was working inside an industrial-sized air fryer.

While everyone else was posting pictures of paddling pools, BBQs and Aperol Spritz in the sunshine...

I was trying to persuade butter not to melt before I'd even used it.

The bags of chocolate pistoles had quietly welded themselves into one giant chocolate brick.

The little portions of butter we'd carefully cut into portions had simply given up and were slowly turning back into one enormous block.

Chocolate didn't want to set.

Cream was having trust issues.

And pastry had simply decided it wasn't participating anymore.

Friday was particularly memorable because I'd planned a morning of making sweet pastry.

Have you ever tried making sweet pastry in 34-degree heat?

My professional advice is...

Don't.

Honestly, don't even bother.

The butter starts softening before you've even finished weighing it. Your worktop is warm, your hands are warm, the rolling pin is warm... you're desperately trying to keep everything cold while Mother Nature quietly laughs at you from outside.

There are moments in baking when everything comes together beautifully.

This wasn't one of them.

Eventually, after lots of refrigeration, plenty of muttering under my breath and considerably more patience than I naturally possess, I got there in the end.

The thing nobody tells you about working in that sort of heat is that you're not just hot...

You are permanently, spectacularly, ridiculously sweaty.

I have never sweated so much in my entire career.

Every few minutes I was wiping the drips off my forehead.

At one point it was running into my eyes and I genuinely couldn't see what I was doing.

Not ideal when you're carrying trays of hot food.

By the end of service, I'd peel my apron off and honestly looked like I'd just entered a wet T-shirt competition.

Thankfully, one piece of equipment became the undisputed hero of the week...

The walk-in fridge.

Every twenty minutes I'd mysteriously disappear for five minutes.

Officially, I was checking stock.

Unofficially, I was standing in the corner wondering whether anyone would notice if I simply stayed in there until September.

The strange thing is...

The customers never really see any of this.

They see beautiful cakes in the counter.

Freshly baked scones.

Coffee.

Smiling faces.

They don't see the baker behind the scenes desperately trying to persuade chocolate to behave while quietly questioning every career decision that led to this exact moment.

Talking of chocolate...

The brownies.

Oh my goodness, the brownies.

I don't think I've ever seen brownies behave quite like they did last week.

They genuinely looked as though they'd just come out of the oven... all day long.

Normally I'd be delighted if someone thought my brownies were warm from the oven.

Last week they actually looked like they were.

For about eight hours.

And then there was the gentleman who wandered up to the counter and cheerfully asked,

"Where's the frangipane tart today?"

I smiled politely.

Inside my head?

Pastry?!

Absolutely not.

Last week wasn't a pastry week.

Last week was survival.

Don't get me wrong...

I genuinely love my job.

I love making cakes.

I love cooking wholesome food for people.

I even love the organised chaos that comes with running a busy café.

But if anyone ever tells you,

"You must be used to working in a hot kitchen..."

Send them to me.

I'll hand them an apron, stand them next to a hot oven for eight hours, ask them to make sweet pastry and keep chocolate set...

...and we'll see how confident they're feeling by lunchtime.