Tarte Tatin for Two Big Eaters
"Karem. Karem."
"You called for me?"
"From where Alicia stands, Mary seems to have no sense of tact whatsoever."
Alicia planted her feet in the snow and looked up at Karem. Just as he had with Robin before, he corrected her.
"It's a little different."
"Different how?"
"Mary isn't lacking in tact. She simply chooses not to read the room."
"Alicia rather thinks that makes it worse…?"
Karem could not bring himself to contradict her.
Even Alicia—all of six years old, soon to be seven—had been trembling at the thought of having ruined the mood, desperately trying to stitch things back together. And then Mary had gone and overturned every last effort.
"Well… after taking a hit like that, from now on… from now on…"
Karem scratched his head, looking away from Alicia's pure, unclouded gaze.
That brazen hide of hers was not going to vanish anytime soon.
His instincts were screaming it.
"Ah, you don't have to say it to Alicia."
"Right?"
"What Alicia really regrets more is the snack."
Alicia smacked her lips with such gusto it looked as if she might summon the Margrave of Afterglow Fortress himself.
"I only got one pancake. I wanted to eat more."
For Alicia, who already ate far more than any child her age, a single pancake only whetted her appetite and left her in a sorry state.
"Then shall we go back up the tower and use the kitchen—"
"It would be better not to go in until Kitty's anger has cooled."
"Then as for another kitchen… we probably can't borrow one."
On an ordinary day they could have borrowed any kitchen in the main castle, but a welcome banquet for distinguished guests happened to be scheduled. The kitchens of Winterhome were as frantic as if they were preparing for Winter-Ascend.
"Even Sir Jigmeser's kitchen—without him present we couldn't so much as set foot inside, let alone use it."
"Alicia is still hungry."
"Is there nowhere we could borrow a kitchen?"
"Uh… hmm…"
Alicia lowered her head and scuffed her shoe across the perfectly good snow, saying nothing. It felt as though something had occurred to her.
"If we asked, we could borrow one, but…"
"Then what are you hesitating for?"
"The greenhouse. The greenhouse."
Alicia pursed her lips, dithered, then let out a long sigh. It did not suit her at all.
"Flora and Gordon are being all lovey-dovey in there."
"Well, that… aah…"
After what had happened in the office earlier, her hesitation made sense. She was clearly worried that, from Flora and Gordon's point of view, she would end up becoming another Mary.
"…Now that I think about it, I'm getting mad."
"Hm? What did you say?"
"Nothing. Just… how about we sneak over first and only check the atmosphere?"
"But if they're being lovey-dovey—"
"Then we simply step right back outside."
"And the snack?"
Click— whoosh—
Instead of answering Alicia, Karem slipped a hand into his coat, drew out his magic kitchen knife, and twisted the hilt. Winter's Lie flared a deep red.
"If it comes to it, we can just borrow a little and make something."
"Mmm. Then let us go take a quick look at the mood."
Alicia nodded with a thoroughly captivated expression.
There was one thing Alicia did not know.
The greenhouse was hardly a place of leisure.
It was the dead of winter.
The ships that once thronged Iceland's harbors, heavy with export goods, had long since ceased to call. No sensible merchant risked the seas in winter; they would not return until late winter or early spring.
Of course, Alfred—having anticipated both the season and the identity of his guests—had begun stockpiling vast quantities of provisions months earlier, chiefly vegetables and fruit.
But the world has a term called "loss."
Trimmings discarded while preparing ingredients. Dishes that had to be remade after a mistake. Produce that arrived already of such poor quality it had to be thrown out. And so on.
No one in Coldon was bold enough to skim from the back pocket.
Even so, losses inevitably occurred.
And to replenish those lost vegetables and fruits, the greenhouse—while not quite as frantic as the castle kitchens—was still bustling.
"Eek. Then what was all that lovey-dovey business about?"
"Ah, it seems the timing simply overlapped."
"Overlapped?"
"These days, with the harvest, the greenhouse stays busy until the sun goes down."
Winter had long since settled over Coldon.
But this was the greenhouse of Winterhome.
Each section had its own climate and season carefully maintained, and there were zones deliberately kept so that vegetables and fruit could be harvested even in winter.
"Then may we borrow the kitchen for a bit?"
"Huh? What about the kitchen in the magic tower?"
"Well… something happened."
When no further answer came, Gordon tilted his head. Of course Karem would not explain—Gordon would seize on it and tease him without mercy. In his place, Alicia patted Gordon's waist to get his attention.
"Mary interrupted the lovey-dovey and did something that deserved a unicorn's horn through her."
"…Oho, oho."
This dense guy. And here I thought he was mature beyond his years.
Karem sighed and covered his eyes.
That blatantly sly expression said it all.
With a single sentence Gordon had clearly pieced together the entire situation.
And he was right on the mark.
You cannot fool a Sword Master's senses.
"You little rascal! Acting all tight-lipped like that!"
"Oh, shut up. Anyway—the kitchen. The kitchen. Ah, but Corvus isn't here. Is it all right if we use the kitchen in the nest?"
"Should be fine?"
Gordon shrugged, glancing around the greenhouse.
"Just make enough for the two of us while you're at it."
While they spoke they reached Corvus's nest. To Karem's eye nothing much had changed.
Except that apples, pears, lemons, oranges, peaches, every kind of berry, cabbages, turnips, green onions, onions—fruit and vegetables of every sort—lay piled haphazardly everywhere.
Alicia's eyes lit up at the sight of the thoroughly ripe fruit.
"Gordon. What are these fruits?"
"They say the quality isn't good enough for the banquet."
"This many? Then what about the ones that are good enough?"
"Those'll be in the storehouse, I suppose."
As he spoke, Gordon casually pointed a thumb toward the storehouse deeper inside the nest.
The fruit and vegetables might be misshapen or scarred on the surface, yet every one of them was dense and ripe to bursting. There was not an unripe specimen among them.
They're ugly and blemished, sure. And that's exactly why.
Karem's assessment was accurate. Even in the modern world, no matter how perfectly ripe a fruit or vegetable might be, if it was ugly or scarred it would be graded as mid-grade at best.
"It seems such a waste."
"Well. Commoners might not mind, but for the table of the so-called high and mighty it lacks a certain dignity, I expect."
"Then are all these fruits simply going to be thrown away?"
"Nah. Other nobles might, but not our lord. He'll just hand them out generously to the people of the castle. Probably."
Even in the modern era expensive fruit never came cheap, and Europa was no different.
Unless you lived in the tropics or owned an orchard, fruit was worth its weight in gold.
Only people with money to spare discarded windfalls as inferior; ordinary commoners or those of modest means were grateful for even that much.
"Then may I use some of them?"
"Take the lot if you want."
"No, using all of this would be too much… even so, using every last one would feel a bit cheeky."
"No, seriously, it wouldn't matter."
Gordon flicked an apple into the air with his toe and snatched it.
Crunch—
"We'll get at least three or four more piles like this before long. Even if you took everything it wouldn't make a dent. If we run short we'll just use some of these too."
"Didn't you say the quality was poor?"
"Peel 'em and chop 'em up—who's going to notice?"
"Fair enough."
Karem nodded, then looked down at the small hand patting his waist. Alicia was staring up at him fixedly.
Buuuu—
"Snack."
"Ah, right. Snack. Is there anything in particular you'd like?"
"Originally I wanted the pancakes we had earlier, but—"
That was a little troublesome. He could make pancakes easily enough, yet the thick ones Mary had produced made him uneasy even before he considered the tools required.
"Seeing all this fruit has changed my mind."
"A fruit tart? A pie?"
"Mmm. Alicia would like a soft dessert made with fruit."
He had hoped for something else, but the request was even more awkward. A soft hum of thought escaped Karem's lips unbidden.
A soft dessert meant bread or cake. Pastry he had grown comfortable with while training his divine power was one thing; cake of any kind still refused to spark inspiration.
"How about castella?"
"Castella baked with fruit in it? Does such a thing exist?"
"Hm… no, it doesn't."
What Alicia wanted was not simply a dessert with fresh fruit on the side. If it had been, she would have said so outright.
"Ah, wait. That'll work."
"Hm?"
"Just a moment. Gordon—do we have ingredients in the storehouse?"
"Of course we do."
Gordon turned and gestured toward the storehouse.
"Unlike last time, the deliveries came in properly this round."
"Baking ingredients too, I assume?"
"Flour for sure, plus sugar, butter, cream, vanilla, yeast. Pretty much everything you could want. Just say the word."
Then there was no problem. He had made pastry with missing ingredients before; with a full pantry there was no chance he would fail.
"Would a tart be all right?"
"A tart? Fine, but isn't that the crunchy kind?"
"Well, there are ways around that."
Tarte Tatin.
Born from a mistake, yet so long as you had the ingredients it was easier to make than most desserts—all the more reason he could not fail. Provided, of course, that one knew a little baking.
Necessity is the mother of invention.
In the modern age, few people remain who have never heard the phrase.
Chocolate-chip cookies, Bêtise candies, oyster sauce, Worcestershire sauce, mozzarella cheese, burritos, raisins, cornflakes, cola… the list goes on.
True to the saying, the number of dishes created by simple, stupid, idiotic mistakes is beyond counting, and somewhere in the world that number continues to grow even now.
Yet as always, what looks like creative accident to some is mere foolishness in the eyes of others.
Which is why Alicia's suspicious scrutiny of Karem's every move in Corvus's outdoor kitchen was entirely justified.
"This is strange."
"Pardon? What is?"
Alicia fixed Karem with a dubious look. At the sudden question he set down the knife he had been about to pick up.
"Karem. Alicia distinctly heard you say you were making a tart."
"Yes. That's what I said."
"Then why are you covering the pan with dough?"
"Because without the pastry it wouldn't be a tart—just caramelized stewed fruit."
"This looks closer to a pie."
Alicia pointed at the dough that completely covered the pan.
Beneath it lay assorted fruit pieces—apples, peaches, pears and more—sautéed in a caramel sauce rich with butter.
The most ordinary of pie or tart fillings.
Up to this point there was nothing wrong.
Had they been sitting in a pie shell instead of a pan, that is.
Of course Karem had his reasons.
"If I made an ordinary tart, you'd have to wait until lunchtime. Could you hold out—"
"Karem has never disappointed Alicia. Alicia is curious what sort of snack will appear."
Alicia spoke firmly and looked straight at him. The suspicion that had lingered in her eyes moments before had been replaced entirely by curiosity and appetite.
"Well, has the kid ever made anything that tasted bad?"
"Mmm. Never. At least not that Alicia knows of."
"I don't know of any either. Even if some parts look suspicious."
"Suspicious?"
"Eh, there are things."
Gordon snorted at Alicia's stare and waved a hand as if to say it was nothing. Then, as he reached for his knife again, he suddenly asked:
"So how many more of these do I have to peel?"
Gordon grumbled at Karem. In front of him rose a mountain of fruit already pared down to their flesh, and an equal mountain of peels.
"You've still got a long way to go."
"More than this?"
"If you're not going to eat any, you don't have to peel another one."
Alicia already ate a great deal.
Gordon ate far more than she did.
If he declared he would not eat, Karem's workload would shrink—welcome news.
But Gordon, as if he had never complained, whistled and stripped another fruit in a flash.
With that complaint dismissed, a different worry settled on Karem.
Will there be enough pans? Probably not.
Tarte Tatin.
Simple to make, yet it required an entire pan for each one.
Which meant one pan per tarte tatin.
"…"
"Karem? Something wrong?"
"No. Nothing at all."
Without a word Karem pulled every pan from the kitchen.
Five in total.
Plenty in ordinary terms, yet woefully insufficient to fill the bottomless voids that were a bear cub and a Sword Master's stomachs.
Well, I'll figure something out.
Karem silently set the pans on the burners.
— Attached Material —
Tarte Tatin
A picture drawn by ChatGPT.