“No, no, no,” Sam said, once again looking up from the table in disgust.

“The bottom of the fish pop is too flaky?” Chip said, shrinking back.

Once again the pair were in the kitchen, this time working through the shaping of the fishes that Uncle Brit wanted to use for the contest.

“You gotta make those Britpops as I do,” Uncle Brit said,”With that flaky crust underneath. That’s the way that we’re going to get the Blastfurnace for the next year. And if we can get the Baron's nod to get the Blastfurnace, I’ll name my Britpop after, him I swear.”

“You want to call them Cornflower Britpops?” Sam asked, getting up to wash the fish tin.

A whole set of fish tins were on order and Chip expected them to all come in similar sizes. One was supposed to have a special corn image on it when they baked it for a certain VIP, and another was of a little Blast furnace. Of course, this all supposed that Chip could nail the quick bake requirement. But that was why they spent all day for two days. All of their free time was spent fixing up savory and sweet pies with the tin.

Only midway through the second day did their work bring fruits. Of course, then they had to start outsourcing the tasting to neighbors when the three of them got full, but it wasn’t a problem for Sam, who started interrogating passerbys about their meat and fish pie preferences.