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January is usually the month where I reflect, reset, and look ahead with optimism. This year, that reflection required a little more honesty than usual.
From the outside, Sheer Ambrosia Bakery often looks like a dream — a beautiful bakery, elegant packaging, handcrafted baklava, and national press. What most people don’t see are the long nights, the relentless decision-making, and the risks that come with choosing growth over comfort.
This past Christmas season was, without question, the most difficult one I’ve experienced since starting this business.
Last year, I made a very intentional decision to strengthen Sheer Ambrosia’s presence here at home in Salt Lake City. Shipping costs continue to rise, and while I am deeply grateful for many of you who are out-of-state customers, I worry about how much more I could reasonably ask you to absorb. I wanted to build more local support — something sustainable — so the business wouldn’t rely so heavily on online sales alone.
After a successful summer selling in Nordstrom, I felt hopeful. If baklava could thrive during the summer months, surely the holiday season would be an even bigger success. I committed to a two-month kiosk at the mall, knowing it would essentially function as a second location during the busiest time of the year.
What followed was months of planning, execution — and expense. City licenses, state approvals, Department of Agriculture and Food requirements, tax compliance, staffing, signage, design, logistics, inspections — and yes, a small fortune in fees just to get permission to open the doors. Making the kiosk beautiful cost money too, but I believe presentation matters, especially for a handcrafted product like ours.
I was incredibly fortunate to have Monte McDonald (husband to a long time customer), who helped me build the structural elements that gave the kiosk its character and swagger — and he didn’t charge me a penny. Thanks to his generosity and craftsmanship, there wasn’t a single day that went by when someone didn’t tell us we had the loveliest kiosk in the mall.
All of this was happening while I prepared for our usual holiday production rush — and when my only kitchen helper quit on Labor Day, I pivoted and kept going. Seven days a week, I planned, adjusted, and executed every moving piece.
By October, behind the scenes, Haneen and Iqbal (my new helpers) worked tirelessly in the kitchen alongside me — learning my processes, assembling 45 layers of phyllo by hand, eventually cutting endless samples, and ensuring quality never slipped. Desi helped me power through packaging at the main location, making sure orders went out beautifully and on time. Their dedication kept the bakery running during an extraordinarily demanding season, and I am deeply grateful for them.
At the kiosk, I want to thank Patricee, Mara, Steve, and Camila for hanging in there with me. Your hard work, patience, and commitment to spreading the word about Sheer Ambrosia did not go unnoticed — even when the days were long and the crowds were challenging.
We opened the kiosk on November 1st, hopeful and prepared.
What I did not fully anticipate was how difficult it would be to turn curiosity into meaningful support. Sampling — which should be a bridge to connection (and was at Nordstrom) — became overwhelming. Large retailers like Costco have created a culture where people expect unlimited samples without any obligation to buy. That model works for billion-dollar companies. It does not work for a one-woman-owned small business.
Many visitors wanted to taste but had no intention of purchasing. Samples were taken without asking. Children were pushed forward for free treats. My staff was rushed, discouraged, and many times disrespected. We gave out thousands of samples — often at the expense of production — simply trying to keep up.
Instead of selling, my team was constantly cutting samples. Instead of connecting, we were crowd-managing. The emotional and financial toll was heavy. I lost employees at the kiosk — some quit, some weren’t the right fit — and I found myself filling in wherever the business needed me most.
For much of November and December, I barely went home. I slept at the bakery, working around the clock to hold everything together. I was present at the kiosk daily (sometimes to work and other times to check in) and in the kitchen nightly, determined not to let standards slip.
And after all of it — the planning, the staffing, the sacrifice — the kiosk did not generate profit. After Christmas, daily sales didn’t even cover payroll. On December 30th, with the mall’s permission, I closed one day early, moved out, went home, laid on my bed, and slept.
This experience was painful — but it was also clarifying. Entrepreneurship isn’t about pretending every decision works. It’s about taking full responsibility when something doesn’t, learning quickly, and adjusting with intention. I was reminded that not every environment holds the right audience — and that visibility alone does not equal alignment.
Since the new year began, I’ve slowed down just enough to care for myself again. I’ve been to the doctor. I’m sleeping in my own bed. I’ve cooked real meals. I’ve reconnected with my home — and with the truth that sustainability matters as much as ambition.
And here’s what I know for sure:
Sheer Ambrosia is still standing. Still handcrafted. Still worth building.
2026 will be different — not because I’m working less hard, but because I’m working smarter and more aligned. I’m exploring growth paths that respect the craft, the people behind it, and the customers who understand that supporting small business is an intentional choice.
If you believe in what we do — in food made by hand, businesses built with integrity, and entrepreneurs willing to tell the truth — your support matters. Every purchase, every recommendation, every moment you choose Sheer Ambrosia helps carry this work forward.
Thank you for standing with me. The next chapter is already being written — and I’m committed to making it stronger, wiser, and more sustainable than ever.
With gratitude,
Rita
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