But not for long. Gniknik entered carrying a tray, the swinging door almost bumping Rylana in the rump, and she skittered to the corner table with Sylin.
“Chef Jildarin, we’ve gotsixcustomers this morning,” the gnome said with excitement. “That’s a record for the opening hour. Forallhours. And only two requested the special soup.”
“The soup is not served for breakfast,” Jildarin growled.
“Oh, I told them. And they decided not to leave. They said the aromas wafting out of the kitchen smelled too good not to try. They’d like some of your eggs and the bacon flight.”
“The bacon flies?” Sylin murmured.
“I think that means there’s a variety of types,” Rylana said, having vague memories of her father hosting wine tastings at the castle and the visiting vintners using that term for a selection of their offerings.
“Crusting or rubbing bacon with different enhancements is one of my specialties.” Jildarin sounded a touch smug. “Today, there is maple-bourbon bacon, spicy chili bacon, blueberry-glazed bacon, and one of my newest creations, bacon encrusted with spruce tips.”
Rylana blinked. “Spruce? As in… the tree?”
“The needles,” Jildarin said, “have an excellent flavor with hints of bright citrus and pine.”
Rylana made a face. As a mercenary, she’d eaten a lot of dubious fare, but the cook had never fed the troops tree branches.
“They’re a common foraging staple in temperate forests,” Sylin said.
Of course, leave it to anelfnot to bat an eye at the thought of eating pine needles.Spruceneedles.
“They’re good for you too,” Sylin said. “They boost the immune system.”
“Improving health is always my goal when eating bacon.”
When Zalani came in, also carrying an empty tray, Jildarin removed pans of bacon from a warming oven so his servers could make up plates.
“I’ve also created four varieties of soufflé to test my baking skills, which are much improved since I’ve focused on them.” Jildarin withdrew circular pans of baked egg dishes, the tops puffed over the sides and a beautiful golden brown.
Despite the conversation about spruce tips, Rylana's mouthhadn’t stopped watering, and she couldn’t wait to try the food, but she made herself let the servers go first. They were, after all, attending actualpayingcustomers, and, as the bookkeeper, she approved of that.
“That is a blended herb soufflé,” Jildarin said, pointing, “that one is cauliflower and goat cheese, that one features spinach, andthatone,” he said, beaming with pride, “is a new recipe made with eels.”
“Eels?” Zalani had been in the process of loading plates onto her tray but paused.
“Fresh eels,” Rylana murmured. “Freshglowingeels.”
Jildarin nodded at her but lamented, “The baking process destroyed the glow, unfortunately. I suspected that would be the case since I’ve also had that experience grilling and roasting fish from that lake.”
“It’s all right,” Rylana said. “Humans don’t want their food to glow blue. Trust me.”
“You are certain?” Jildarin asked. “I’ve heard the gnomish chefs here often employ what they call magical and molecular gastronomy to create dishes with unique textures, flavors, and colors.”
“That is true,” Gniknik said, hopping onto a stool so he could reach the plates that Zalani had prepared, then sweeping them onto his tray and heading back toward the dining room, “but they rarely glow in the dark.”
“Hm.” Jildarin's contemplative expression suggested he thought that making food glow sounded like a challenge rather than something to be avoided.
After the servers departed, Sylin laid five copper coins on the counter, grabbed a plate and filled it with bacon and soufflé, not hesitating to try the more interestingdishes. In fact, she took extra pieces of the spruce-tip-encrusted bacon.
“Maybe you should target elven customers, Jildarin,” Rylanasuggested as she filled a plate for herself. “They’re adventurous eaters.”
“The spruce-tipped bacon is excellent.” Sylin saluted her with a piece. “It’s clear the needles were recently harvested, young and fresh with the spring. You don’t want old spruce needles. They get tough and resinous.”
“I do loathe resinous food.” Rylana popped a piece of the maple-bourbon bacon in her mouth. It was excellent—and didn’t taste at all of a forest.
The door opened, and Gniknik hopped in, waving his empty tray. “Chef, afood criticis here.”
