We found ourselves perched precariously with too tall speed racks in the back of a pick up.  As the truck’s engine revved ready to pop the curb my mind flashes through this pasts weeks events.  Moving tons of product, slaving mad and crazy hours.  Tarts.  Shit tons of little tartlettes.  Cookies.  Over five hundred; twenty some odd pounds of dough.  White Chocolate Panna Cotta.  Four hundred of them, forty eight at a time.  Cleaning and processing six flats of blueberies. The truck struggling to summit the curb forces me from my reverie, the speed rack tilting, threatening to spill its payload.  Perez and I look at each other, shaking heads.  Wham!! The truck nails a huge rock and we almost lose our shit.  The shits were up on two wheels, I dropped and tucked against our stacks of plates and dug in , gripping.  In that split second I knew I’d lost the load, that I’d blew the mission.  We braced against the rocking and steadied the racks, cussing and kicking and carrying on.  I felt in that instant…peace.  I’d known it was out of my hands, beyond me.  I couldn’t be more prepared for this event than I was.  I had my product, I had my boy, I knew we had this.  Right until it all was about to fly out of the back of this fucking truck, out of my control.  Thankfully, none of that happened.  The truck rocked back level, the speed racks clunked upright.  We rolled silently over the grass to the plating area.  We had a few hours earlier spread the custards out onto about a dozen sheet pans, each on a little square of acetate; easy to slide off onto chilled plates.  They thawed slowly in the fridge for about three hours, and finished perfectly in the spanking afternoon sun.  The entire plating, 275 plates in the end, took about eighteen minutes.  We had so many hands helping, I just poked around, answering questions and pulling fucked up plates off to be replaced with perfect ones. All said and done, we nailed it.  The silky custards were ice cold but not frozen, the compote thick and rich, the simple essence of blueberry.  We retreated from the heat to the cool of our dorm room to pound tall boys and take a nap.  I slumbered happily elated, stoked to be a chef that day.