I run a small cafe, so my danger zone has always been the last hour: broken cookies, a spoon of ganache, a “test” bite of whatever didn’t sell. Eleven months ago I’d finish clean-up and call that dinner, then wonder why my portions never matched my intentions.
Tonight I boxed the unsold lemon bars for the morning crew, poured a seltzer, and ate the actual dinner I packed—chicken, rice, roasted zucchini. Not a dramatic night. But compared with the same week last spring, the weird part isn’t willpower; the background negotiation is just quieter.
I still taste things for quality. I just don’t turn the whole closing shift into a meal anymore.
Anyone else notice the workday defaults shift before the scale does?
👍 1