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“Yeah, yeah. Let’s start with preheating first.”

Mary expressed her discomfort with a calm, expressionless face.

But complaining wasn’t an option.

Instead, holding the bowl of dough, she strode confidently to grab the kettle and poured the dough in with skillful hands.

Karem turned on the fire in the stove and immediately placed the fish-shaped pastry mold on it. As the cold mold heated up, wisps of white steam began to rise from the bottom that touched the flame.

It didn’t take long for the mold to heat up. That was precisely why they specially made it from copper. Copper heats up quickly.

Feeling the heat rising, he promptly opened the mold and greased it.

“Here you go. The kettle filled with dough.”

“Yes.”

Just as the oil coating work was finished, I took the kettle and briefly felt the heat of the pan with my hand. Perhaps because it was cold, the temperature didn’t rise as much as I expected.

“I think we need to heat it a bit more.”

“Are you thinking of the temperature for cooking pancakes?”

“Yes. That should be just about right.”

A classic disaster occurs when trying to fry thin batter in the pan.

There are several reasons it sticks and doesn’t come off.

Either the oil wasn’t sufficient, or the pan wasn’t heated adequately, or the ingredients weren’t cooked enough.

Of course, a non-stick pan can help prevent that, but if it’s not cooked enough, it will stick just the same. To avoid this, applying oil is essential.

Before I understood this, I often made such mistakes. After all, trying to bake fish-shaped pastries with a mold was a first for me, so I was unnecessarily anxious.

So, I decided to heat it up a bit more.

As the oil shimmered and white steam wafted up, I immediately grabbed the kettle and poured it into the mold.

Sizzle—clank—

There came a metallic sound from beside me.

Mary was placing a pot on the stove. And somehow, next to her, she had a bowl filled with yellow custard.

“Are you… planning to bake as well?”

“I can only bake four at a time. Above all, I can’t just let you prepare snacks alone.”

“Sounds like that last part is your main goal.”

“That’s a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding.”

Karem observed Mary closely, but all he could see was her unmoving expression.

“Do you have something to say?”

“No. Well, by the way, when did you bring the custard cream?”

“I fetched it from the refrigerator while you were focused on the fire.”

Mary opened the copper mold over the stove and skillfully tilted it around.

“So you’re putting that pea filling after pouring in the dough?”

“Yes.”

Mary furrowed her brows without much thought.

“Why would you use peas when you have caramel, stewed fruits, or even whipped cream?”

“Uh…”

“Sugar in mashed peas? I’ve never heard of it, so it must be some kind of snack from your past life.”

Karem, who had been placing the pea filling into the dough he poured into the mold, momentarily lost his words.

The reason for putting pea filling in fish-shaped pastries?

It was ridiculously hard to provide a serious answer.

“Originally, you would use adzuki beans, but we don’t have them here.”

“Then why peas?”

“Well, adzuki beans are black and peas are green, so I thought that was the reason.”

“So the conclusion is that it’s still a bean. Why beans at all?”

It wasn’t just a current problem. In his past life, fish-shaped pastries had always contained sweet red bean paste from the start.

Variations like custard cream, whipped cream, pizza sauce, and cheese didn’t even exist when Karem was little.

“Speaking of which, the filling used in pancake cakes was also sugar-steamed mashed peas. Was that from your past life too?”

“Yeah, well, that’s from a neighboring country’s treat.”

Karem poured more dough over the filling he placed in the mold and closed it tightly.

He gripped the handle firmly to flip it and prevent any disasters from occurring.

“Don’t you think that the bean smell doesn’t come through, and the nutty flavor of the beans matches surprisingly well with the sweetness?”

At least it was clear that Mary liked it. If that wasn’t the case, she wouldn’t have devoured an entire basket of dorayaki like a sugar-crazed monster.

Pairing it with milk, dipping it in brownie joy, and stuffing it with whipped cream, she thoroughly enjoyed it.

“… It definitely paired well more than I expected.”

“Then that’s enough. Just that.”

“It sounds like you don’t really know the exact reason.”

“No, it has been made with beans for fillings ever since a long time ago…”

The first fish-shaped pastries Karem ever saw had been filled with red bean paste.

He had heard from his parents and grandparents that they used red bean paste.

Later on, the differences before diverse fillings were used boiled down to things like whether the beans were finely ground into a paste or left whole.

After all, the original taiyaki from neighboring Japan also used red beans, didn’t it?

“Don’t you know?”

“No. I knew that this kind used bean paste since well before I was born.”

“It’s common for traditional culture to forget its original reasons and purposes over a long time.”

Mary, just like Karem, placed custard cream atop the dough in the mold.

“That looks like too much cream, doesn’t it?”

At those words, Mary blinked a few times in silence before glancing down at the mold.

“More cream is better.”

“Still, they say too much can be worse than none at all—”

“This is already a reduced amount compared to what I initially wanted to put in.”

“If you put too much in, the dough will overflow.”

“By no means. I can’t compromise on this.”

Karem thought he should keep quiet. After several attempts to persuade her, and seeing her unwavering stand, he decided to give up. He’d learn his lesson by suffering the consequences next time.

As time passed, the white steam and nutty aroma rose from the tightly closed fish-shaped pastry mold. The appetizing smell wafted up, but he kept his guard up.

In cooking, unless one could set a stopwatch or timer, all measurements had to be done by gut instinct, which meant getting distracted or careless could lead to a classic culinary disaster.

And the steam seeping between the mold decreased.

That meant the moisture escaping was also reduced.

“It seems to be fully cooked.”

Karem nodded and gently opened the mold. His hand, having strained from the effort, stung, but the result within the mold was worth it.

The fish-shaped pastry in the copper mold was well-cooked, featuring a bright brown coloration from head to tail, and thanks to the pancake batter, a sweet aroma rose subtly.

Some of the batter slightly overflowed, creating a crispy snack-like appearance, but that was just a minor fault.

“Looks like it overflowed a bit. You mentioned it wouldn’t overflow, yet yours ended up overflowing, didn’t it?”

“Even so, it’s just a little between the fins, isn’t it?”

“Regardless, overflowed is still overflowed.”

“Ha, oh please. Let’s see how well you baked yours.”

Karem knocked the fish-shaped pastries into the basket and returned the mold to the stove, receiving the kettle from Mary to pour in more batter.

“Feel free to take a look at mine.”

“I did warn you.”

Mary waved her hand dismissively. Knowing the likely result, Karem decided to relax. Like he said before, he’d learn to be cautious next time after experiencing it firsthand.

As they filled the stuffing, pressed the dough together, and waited for the cooking to finish, Karem turned his eyes to the basket nearby.

The shape engraved on the fish-shaped pastry mold, presumably decided by the jeweler who received the commission from Gobanio, resembled a slender salmon. So the pastries looked more like salmon than fish.

“I think eating freshly baked treats is the chef’s privilege.”

“First, let’s see how well you’ve baked yours.”

“It appears to be done now.”

Mary, fixated on the fish-shaped pastries, opened the copper mold.

“Ah.”

A dry chuckle.

Seeing Karem smile as if to say ‘look at that,’ Mary turned her head away.

Between each fish-shaped pastry and spreading across the entire mold was a flat pastry, perfectly browned like fish-shaped pastries.

Just touching it would make it crack and crumble, looking crunchy at just a glance.

“What did I say?”

“… Looks like a little overflowed from the batter.”

Is that even a statement? Feeling guilty after saying it, Mary remained silent until the batter in the kettle ran out.

However, Mary’s quantity of custard cream didn’t lessen.

Even so, there were no disasters like before.

But that was because she had lowered the amount of dough instead.

Having reached this point, Karem didn’t feel like poking fun, content to fry fish-shaped pastries until he used up all the batter.

Pour the dough, add the filling, a little more dough, close, and wait.

It was simplistically repetitive as long as you had time and attention.

The weight of the dough kettle and the pots, combined with the pea filling and custard cream inside, quickly dwindled as the basket visibly filled up at a rapid pace, enough to make anyone feel full just looking at it.

“Ah. Just a moment.”

“Are you planning to make something else again?”

“We still have plenty of roasted alraune left, right?”

“We were supplied with it through a commission a few days ago.”

“Then…”

As soon as the sentence ended, Mary wore a look that said ‘look at this?’

*

*

*

In the end, the fish-shaped pastries piled high enough to slightly overflow from the basket.

Karem took out a gourmet lid from the shelf. Though it was precarious, it fit perfectly on the basket. Meanwhile, Mary did the dishes and tidied up the cooking range where the first disaster occurred.

“By the way, where did Sir Atanitas go?”

“He left first, having received a request for cooperation, didn’t he?”

“So about that request…”

While Mary paused to wipe the crumbs from the cooking range, she turned her head.

“Weren’t you the one with the contractor?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“Yet you didn’t ask where he was.”

Karem was left speechless as he made his way downstairs, dressed in his outdoor clothes, holding the basket from Mary’s gaze.

“Please take the basket.”

Karem reflexively accepted the basket. Why is she giving this back to me? What sort of mischief is she planning?

“There’s no reason to be so alarmed. I simply still have tasks left to do.”

“Yes?”

“The wizards haven’t received their snacks yet because I haven’t made them while clearing the snow.”

“Ah.”

Karem opened the door and looked outside. The majestic castle wall (of snow) Mary had built while rising early in the morning was visible.

“You must hand the basket over to the contractor in pristine condition. Am I clear?”

Karem held his tongue, knowing there was nothing else to say, and waved his hand dismissively at Mary as she saw him off.

Fortunately, he didn’t feel the need to ask people about Catherine’s whereabouts, like a kitten wandering in search of its mother. Soldiers were escorting five carts as they left the castle.

“Excuse me. Are you heading toward the hunt for Jack Frost?”

“Ah, Karem. That’s correct. These are supply carts for the soldiers on the field.”

“I’m trying to join Sir Atanitas right now—”

“Hey! Clear some space on the cart! You can hop on!”

The senior soldier shouted to the soldiers and workers escorting the cart.

The cart might have looked completely filled at a glance, but thanks to the sergeant’s stern command, a spot was quickly made for the two to sit with their legs stretched out.

Once the sergeant saw Karem with the basket getting onto the cart, the procession set off.

 

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