In late September I had two very different experiences that I’ve found myself thinking about a lot since then. One involved chocolate, and the other involved bacon, and both involved ignorance.

My wife and I were taking a bacon making class one Sunday evening. I’d tried making homemade bacon before, but the results were disappointing, and I wanted some expert instruction. I’d been looking forward to the class for months.

While we were in the area, we decided to stop by Dawn’s Candy and Cake to inquire about tempered chocolate. I’ve been making chocolate treats for decades, and have tempered chocolate many times, but always found it to be a finicky pain in the butt. Dawn’s offers chocolate tempering classes, and I was hoping that there would be some way I could pop in to use chocolate that an employee had tempered to use with truffles I had made myself. This would let me focus on flavors, and let someone else worry about the annoying parts.

Sadly it was not meant to be. Although the young woman who was working that evening was very helpful, all of the tempering classes in the time-frame I needed were completely booked. But all was not lost. This amazing 17-year-old^[1] stepped up to save the day. She printed out the tempering instructions they hand out during classes, and walked me through them in detail. They were pretty much what I’d done in the past, but with enough differences that i was happy to receive them. It was obvious she’s done this before; she explained the processes and concepts clearly and concisely…

So I asked her some follow-up questions, abut selecting chocolate with the right viscosity^[2] for different purposes. She said she’d never even heard of viscosity, and wasn’t sure what to tell me.

When we got to the bacon class, we learned that the instructions we would be using were the same instructions I had followed in my earlier failed attempt. This was disappointing, but the middle-aged man teaching the class was very forward in letting us know how he’d made bacon scores of times, and how everyone who had tried his bacon was spoiled forever on the store-bought stuff. He let us know very explicitly that he was an expert…

And as the class progressed, he proceeded to read the copied-from-the-internet directions, evade every substantive question, and inform the students that the things they were concerned and asking about weren’t important for unexplained reasons, all while continuing to tout his expertise. The class itself turned into something of an ordeal, as the instructor used every trick in the bulshitting-to-cover-up-your-ignorance-in-front-of-the-class book.^[3]

Sigh.

The two experiences came back to back, and they could not have been more different. One instructor was confident enough to admit that she didn’t know, and the other was not. One instructor let his ego get in the way of his students’ learning, and the other didn’t let her ego get involved at all. One was focused on helping, while one was focused on not looking like an idiot. One succeeded, and the other one failed.

I’m not going to dwell on the fact that one of these people was young, and the other was middle-aged, or the fact that one was female and the other was male. While these factors may be significant, I know enough exceptions to the stereotypes^[4] that I’m not going to go there. I’d rather focus on the behaviors themselves.

I strongly believe that the willingness to express vulnerability or weakness – including ignorance – only comes with confidence.

When you’re not confident in yourself, if you don’t know your strengths and weaknesses, and if you haven’t made some sort of peace with them, it’s incredibly difficult to say “I don’t know,” especially if you’re in a position of authority.  Some people choose to deny gaps in their knowledge, trying to cover them with bluster and obfuscation. Some may get away with it some of the time, but it’s never a long-term strategy for success. This behavior eventually builds a reputation as an unreliable blowhard.

People who admit their ignorance accomplish two important things. First, they give themselves the opportunity to learn something. Second, they encourage trust and confidence in the people around them^[5]. When you show that you’re able and willing to express ignorance, this adds weight and confidence to your words when you’re expressing knowledge and expertise.

Anyway… where was I going with this? What’s the moral of this story?

I think the moral of the story is don’t be that guy.

Following my two culinary learning experiences, I have returned to Dawn’s Candy and Cake on at least three occasions, and have recommended their training events and supplies to multiple people. I’ll never take another class at the other place. And after talking to other participants after the class, I know I’m not alone in that decision.

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^[1] I know she was 17 because when my wife and I were talking about my upcoming tattoo appointment, she talked excitedly about how she wanted to get a tattoo when she turned 18 in a few months. Yes, I felt as old as I’ve felt in ages.

^[2] In case you’re interested, this is a decent overview: https://www.reference.com/food/viscosity-important-candy-making-459c24a3ca10028b

^[3] I started my IT career as a trainer, and spent years in the classroom. I could write this book.

^[4] And I try to be exceptional, every day.

^[5] If the people around you are the type of people who would ridicule you for admitting you don’t know something, you have also benefited from learning that you should be surrounded by different, better people.