For the largest part (the
very largest part), my experiences with chefs and restaurant staff have been overwhelmingly positive, like 99.9% positive, so I don't have much room at all really to complain, except that the .1% negative experience can sometimes pack a real whallop.
One was more confusing and irritating than anything. A chef who kept me in the kitchen for what seemed like an hour one day, pulling extraneous kitchen staff in to taste and exclaiming over my breads and telling me how he wanted to use them and that he was thrilled to see a new artisan bread alternative in Louisville, and he was 100% committed to my stuff. He said he'd call, but that if he didn't by X day because he was so busy I should call around X time on X day. So I did. He came to the phone, said he'd been so overwhelmed he hadn't had time to talk about the new stuff with the owner, please call back at around X time on X day. That went on for about three weeks. I finally emailed the restaurant, noted that a simple yes or no was really all that was necessary and that any response at all would be helpful by saving me time and energy. Never heard back from them.
A couple were sort of minor annoyances, chefs who said, yeah, great, come in next X day at X time and I'd be happy to meet with you. So I do that and they're not in that day. Nobody knows I'm coming, nobody knows anything. Guess what? My time really is important to me. If I make an appointment with somebody, I either keep it or call to say I can't. I expect the same courtesy.
The worst was a run-in with what I think of as a celebrity chef wannabe who was so outstandingly rude I nearly walked out after about 2 seconds. He took one bite of the butt end piece of what he'd ripped off of one loaf (and admittedly not even my own favorite of the lot, but because so many people like it, I brought it in), told me it was bad, that I'd never be able to compete with the noted baker in town, and then proceeded to rip the loaf apart, as if digging through a purse looking for a lost hanky. I stood my ground, responding politely while trying to keep my face from registering my extreme alarm, and then he began to ask questions. I explained how my own product is different in many ways and why, and then he asked if I'd be willing to do a signature bread for them, something exclusive only to them.
So let's review, boys and girls: my breads are godawful, I'll never be able to compete, but maybe I could produce a special, exclusive bread just for him?
I reiterated the very weird and decidedly unpleasant experience to my husband, noting that when I approached a man in the place who'd asked me if I was there to see X, I said, "Who?" X being the celebrity chef wannabe who happened to be standing just a couple of feet away. My husband said, "Well that explains it. You as much as told him he had a three inch dick."