Ascendance of a Bookworm

Nervously, I watched the oven, wondering if it would really succeed. This quatre-quarts cake was made using quite precious ingredients without sparing any.

It was someone else’s house, using someone else’s ingredients, and on top of that, it was the first time I was making sweets for Frieda, so failure was out of the question.

“Myne, is it ready yet?”

“Shall we check it now?”

Ilse opened the oven to take a look. The cake had risen nicely, but the browning was uneven—darker at the back than the front.

“Ilse, it seems the back is more baked. Could you turn it around and put it back in?”

“Ah, sure.”

She flipped the iron pan over and pushed it back in.

Even with thick mittens, I could never put my hand inside that hot oven. I was amazed by the chef’s practiced skill.

After firmly closing the oven door with a clang, Ilse looked down at me.

“How do you tell if it’s baked through?”

“Well, you usually insert a thin, long stick like a bamboo skewer to check. Do you have one?”

“Hmm, the only thing I can think of is this metal skewer used for grilling meat.”

She rummaged and found a metal skewer like those used to pierce meat or vegetables at barbecues. I’d never used one to check baking before, so honestly, I wasn’t sure if it would work without trying.

…It might make a huge hole, but if there’s no bamboo skewer, we had no choice.

I’d once used chopsticks when I had no bamboo skewers, so it would probably be fine.

Ilse smoothly inserted the skewer and pulled it out; a little batter stuck to it.

“It looks like it’s not baked through yet.”

“How can you tell?”

“There’s a bit of raw batter on it, see? When nothing sticks, it’s a sign it’s done.”

When the cake bakes fully, the top turns a slightly darker brown, so perhaps the oven was a bit too hot. But unlike the oven I use, this one’s temperature wasn’t easily adjustable, so you just have to rely on the baker’s experience and intuition.

“Next time, let’s be more careful with the oven temperature.”

Ilse murmured as she took the cake out of the oven. When removed from the mold, it looked like a soft, round Castella cake.

“Amazing!”

“Yeah, it looks delicious.”

The two of them stared at the baked quatre-quarts with sparkling eyes, and an indescribable sense of accomplishment welled up in my chest.

“Actually, it’s tastier if you wrap it in a damp cloth that’s been wrung out tightly and let it rest for two or three days to prevent drying, but shall we taste just a bit?”

Ilse cut a thin slice with a kitchen knife, and I pinched it with my fingers and popped it in my mouth. I think the best part of tasting is sneaking a bite yourself before anyone else comes, drawn by the smell, instead of using a fork.

“Mmm, it tastes like a complete success.”

I’d only eaten pound cake before, but even in this round shape, or baked in an iron pan, the taste was just fine.

Ilse, who was used to tasting, followed me and took a bite.

“Wow, this is…”

Frieda hesitated a bit before pinching some with her fingers, but after seeing Ilse taste it, she quickly put some in her mouth.

“Oh my!”

After the two tasters widened their eyes, they both turned to look at me. Their gaze was like the predatory look of the Guild Master from the morning.

…Kind of an unsettling atmosphere?

Better to escape before they ask strange questions. I grabbed Frieda’s hand.

“Well then, Frieda, let’s have this as dessert for everyone after the meal. Next is the bath.”

As we headed out of the kitchen, I turned back to make sure I didn’t forget to thank her.

“Ilse, thank you very much.”

Though we hadn’t done much actively in making the sweets, my sleeves were covered in flour from sifting. We had plenty of time, so I planned to use Rinshan to clean up nicely.

When Frieda and I left the kitchen, a maid who had helped us prepare this morning was waiting.

“Before you move around, please take your bath first.”

“Oh, Yutte says the same thing as Myne,” Frieda giggled as she walked along.