Tiberius is showing me a classic pie decorated like an Italian ‘crostata.’ The strips are much thinner than those on your average American pie, and that’s because I had him put less sugar in the peach jam.

Taking a knife, I start testing the consistency with little taps. There’s no crisp metallic sound when the knife gently taps on the rim.

I do the same for the stripes, and this time, a slightly crusty tone lands in my ears.

“Perfect to touch,” I tell Tiberius with a smile. I’m not exaggerating; it’s truly well made. “The stripes, as you know, are supposed to be slightly harder if you give them a cylindrical shape. This grants a difference in textures when you bite the pie.”

I cut a slice and a piece of the border crust. After putting it in the palm of my hand, I check the consistency.

Tiberius and Quintus know me very well. I don’t shout, nor do I like to be mean, but they both care so much about this trial that the two middle-aged men seem on the verge of crying as I try to conduct a professional inspection on this pie.

“The crust is friable but soft. The base is a bit too hard, meaning that the oven experienced the wrong change in temperature,” I say while looking at the inside. “It’s natural for a pie to have the lowest part more cooked, but when you go for a soft ‘crostata,’ you have to minimize this effect as much as possible. Next time, experiment more with the oven. Try not to use skills. You have to develop your own sense for the oven and the raw materials you are using. For a professional baker, it’s hard to change ovens and materials and still perform at the highest level. It takes time to get accustomed to a recipe and the tools.”

Tiberius nods briefly with the face of a man who just lost his other leg. Quintus nods somberly in his fellow soldier’s direction, mourning his fall.

These two are so damn dramatic, I swear.

Tasting the pie, I notice a spicy undertone in the jam.

“You put the ginger-like spice in the jam?” I say with a raised eyebrow.

“Chef, I didn’t know if I was allowed to do it. But you always say that a true [Baker] is meant to experiment a lot before reaching their maturity.”

I chew on the thing, and the taste takes me back to one of those cafés where they serve weird teas and infusions with original cake recipes, most of them containing weird spices. It’s nothing classic, like my style, but that’s exactly why I’m so impressed. The spice is mild and doesn’t kill the flavor of the jam, even though the balance is still slightly off.

“There’s something here, Tiberius. You have got something. Keep experimenting like this, and you will make an incredible [Baker],” I smile and nod.

As if I just crowned him a knight with the Queen’s sword, the man nods with emotion barely restrained on his face. I take in his rugged face, full of wrinkles and bit by the sun. This man has seen a lot of shit, and he couldn’t be happier I liked his cake. He has the smile of a person who finally has something now.

Goddamn, Tiberius, don’t make these old eyes tear up, you and your damn wooden leg.

“Quintus,” I say to the other man after making sure I won’t bawl. “Show me yours.”

Quintus nods and goes to fish out something from a cupboard with the freezing enchantment. Goddamn Claudius took forever to calibrate the runes.

‘What’s the difference between cold and too cold?’

Stupid [Enchanters].

You don’t want to freeze your products.

Quintus loves the cold recipes. He doesn’t like getting near the oven, and, from what Tiberius has told me, he has his reasons. I shoot a stare at his closed and scarred eye before moving my gaze to his preparation.

“Mousse au chocolat,” I say out loud. “Or chocolate mousse.”

He brings a glass chalice we had custom-made by a [Glassmaker], or whatever that’s called. I look at the simple arrangement Quintus used to decorate the mousse and nod to myself. I’m not a fan of over-the-top compositions unless they are done amazingly well.

I look at the thin slices of orange that line the border of the chalice. I pick one up and stare at the submerged half.

“You put the raw half inside the mouse and covered the rest in almost raw chocolate,” I say after smelling the chocolate on the orange, “the raw chocolate barely touches the mousse, but it’s still enough to create darker and bitterer flavor spots in it. The orange contributes to such taste, and I imagine you used something inside the mousse to counter it.”

I take a spoon and gently put it through the famous dessert.

“A good mousse has the right amount of air in it. This one is puffy, but it’s also dense, Quintus,” I tell the guy who suddenly despairs. I raise my hand before he can speak. “Let me taste it.”

When the mousse hits my tongue, I feel the tangy taste of the orange, the bitter chocolate, and—wait, there is more.

“This chocolate has a very particular taste,” I say while savoring the dish. “It has some hints of alcohol, and it’s very sweet. It’s not just the sugar but the chocolate itself. How did you do this?”

“I fermented the chocolate using some sugar and a sweet plant,” Quintus replies with a proud smile. “Stan helped me, Chef. I couldn’t have done it alone.”

I take another spoonful. The different tastes blend pretty well, creating a unique mix. Then, I take one of the orange slices, half-covered in chocolate, and pop it in my mouth.

“You will have to work on that fermentation, Quintus. However, not only have you made an original variant of the mousse but you have also come up with a new chocolate preparation technique. That earns you extra points.”

The man almost jumps in place before I can finish.

“But this orange is too soft, and it still has too much liquid. It creates a squishy mush in your mouth when you bite into it. You have to dry it and maybe candy the exterior before you cover it with chocolate.”

Quintus swore like a sailor for a few seconds before recomposing himself and nodding at me.

“Yes, Chef.”

I won’t repeat what he just said to avoid hurting someone’s ears but rest assured, it wasn’t pretty.

“Well,” I yawn, “someone get me a coffee, now. Who did you say was coming again?”

“Claudius and an [Architect], Chef,” Tiberius replies while Quintus fetches one of the new employees who already knows how to make coffee.

I rub my eyes and nod, bored.

“Yeah, whatever. Can we take them out for lunch? I’m hungry.”

“Sure, Chef,” Quintus and Tiberius reply while standing in attention.

“As you were, soldiers,” I say with a hint of desperation in my tone. “You did an excellent job, both of you. Let’s get something to eat together with whoever is coming. Alright?”

“But Stan said this is a ‘management’ meeting,” Quintus says with a note of uncertainty in his voice.

“Well, you are management, then,” I raise a thumb-up, “congratulations on your promotion.”