When I look back at everything I've learnt since starting The Bittersweet Palate, a surprising amount of it has nothing to do with baking.

Of course, I have learnt how to make better cakes. I've learnt what happens when you overmix something, how different chocolates behave, how the weather can completely change the way cream works, and how to fix things when a cake doesn't quite turn out the way I wanted. But some of the things that have changed the way I work the most have come from customers.

Usually, in very ordinary conversations.

Someone will message me, "It's for my husband. He doesn't like very sweet cakes." Another person will say, "My daughter only likes chocolate." Someone else will send me a picture and say, "Something like this, but not exactly this."

At first, I didn't realise how much information was hidden in those little sentences.

Now I pay attention.

I have learnt that "not too sweet" is probably the most unreliable instruction in the cake business. It sounds specific. It isn't. I've had people taste the same cake and have completely different reactions to it. One person thinks it is perfectly balanced, another wants it less sweet, and someone else is probably wondering where the extra chocolate is.

I used to try to figure out what people meant.

Now I ask.

"What kind of desserts do you usually eat?" "Do you like dark chocolate?" "Do you prefer more cream or less?" These questions take a minute, but they can save you from getting an entire cake wrong. I've realised that being good at something doesn't mean you always have the answer. Sometimes it means knowing what to ask.

That has changed the way I take orders.

The same thing happened with cake designs. I used to think a reference picture was fairly straightforward. If someone sent me a cake, I assumed they wanted that cake. But after enough conversations, I realised that often they don't. They might like the colours, the flowers, the shape or simply the overall feel.

And then there are the "you decide" customers.

I have a slightly complicated relationship with those two words.

Because "you decide" sounds like complete creative freedom until you're standing in your kitchen with a blank cake and wondering whether "you decide" means simple, elaborate, pink, blue, chocolate, flowers, no flowers or somehow all of the above.

I've become much better at asking a few questions first. Who is it for? What do they like? What don't they like? Is there anything they absolutely don't want?

Once I know that, I can actually make something instead of guessing.

I've also learnt not to underestimate simple cakes.

There have been cakes I've spent hours on that I thought were fantastic. I was happy with the colours, the finish, the decoration, everything. And then a customer will tell me that one of my simple chocolate cakes was their favourite.

That used to surprise me.

Now I get it.

As bakers, we can get very caught up in how a cake looks. Especially when we're constantly seeing elaborate cakes online. You start thinking that if a cake doesn't have enough detail, maybe you haven't done enough.

Customers have reminded me that they don't always want more.

Sometimes they want the cake their child loves. Sometimes they want their husband's favourite flavour. Sometimes they just want chocolate cake that tastes really good.

And honestly, there is something quite nice about that.

I've learnt a lot from the little personal details people share too. Someone mentioning that their mother loves pineapple cake. Someone telling me their husband doesn't like frosting. A child who has decided that strawberries are non-negotiable.

These details stay in my head.

Maybe because once you know them, the order feels different. It isn't just "one cake for Saturday" anymore. You start thinking about the person who is actually going to open that box.

That's probably one of the biggest things customers have taught me. A cake can be technically perfect and still not be the right cake for someone.

You have to listen.

I've learnt patience from them too. I'm still learning, by the way.

There have been last-minute changes that have made me put my phone down, take a breath and decide how I want to reply. There have been reference pictures sent after I've already started decorating. There have been those innocent little messages that say, "Can we just change one thing?" when that one thing is definitely not going to take two minutes.

Earlier, I would get irritated much faster.

Now I try to remember why they are asking.

For them, this isn't another cake on my schedule. It's someone's birthday. A surprise. An anniversary. Something they have been planning.

That doesn't mean I say yes to everything. I've actually become much better at saying no when something isn't realistic. But I don't automatically assume that a difficult request comes from a difficult customer.

That distinction has made my life easier.

And then there are the messages I really wait for.

"Everyone loved the cake."

"My daughter was so happy."

"He had two slices."

"Can we order the same flavour again?"

Those messages mean more than people probably realise.

When you're a home baker, you don't see what happens after the cake leaves your kitchen. You don't see the first slice being cut. You don't hear everyone saying whether they liked it. You pack the box, hand it over and move on to the next order.

So when someone comes back months later and remembers the flavour they ordered from you, you notice.

I definitely do.

I've also had customers teach me that my idea of a good cake is just that. My idea.

I might be obsessing over whether the frosting is perfectly smooth while the person eating it only cares about the chocolate. I might think a cake needs one more decorative detail and the customer might be happier if I leave it alone.

That has been a useful lesson for me.

I don't have to convince everyone to like what I like.

My job is to make the best cake I can for the person who is actually going to eat it.

And I think that's something I understood much better after running the bakery for a while.

I started The Bittersweet Palate because I loved baking. But somewhere along the way, I realised that the actual job is bigger than baking.

It's listening to people.

It's figuring out what they mean when they say, "Not too sweet."

It's knowing when to suggest something instead of simply following a picture.

It's remembering that the cake is going to someone who matters to them.

And sometimes it's standing in the kitchen looking at a finished cake and wondering, I really hope they love this.

No recipe book teaches you that.

You learn it from people.

And I suppose that's why, even after all this time, every order still teaches me something.