“Yes. I have traditional dwarven, elven, orcish, and human spices, staples of the various species. Many people enjoy the favored spices of other species, but, whether they consciously realize it or not, they have grown up with their own and usually find them more palatable.”
“That makes sense.” Rylana wondered whatcalculationshe wanted from her.
“Traditionally, there are nine judges at the Golden Whisk. Two dwarves, two elves, two orcs, two humans, and often a half-ogre or -troll—someone with mixed blood who’s meant to have a less predictable palate.”
“No goblin judges?”
“Goblins will eatanything.Their palates cannot be trusted.”
“But ogres and trolls are more refined.”
“They at least have a culinary tradition. Goblins scavenge from other species.” Jildarin walked along the shelves, touching jars of spices. “The generally given advice for chefs is to make your best dishes in the contest without worrying about which species will be sampling them, but it’s common for contestants to select spices that appeal to certain species, hoping to sway those judges, in particular. One might use elven spices in the first round, dwarven in the second, and orcish in the third, for example. Each judge rates each round separately. The totals are added and averaged to determine the winner. I do not fully understand the math, but I’m told it is possible for someone who didn’t win any of the rounds to win the overall competition because of their average.” He looked at her with his eyebrows raised.
“Yes, that makes sense. Someone might get second in every round and receive a better total score than someone who got first once and fourth twice, for example.”
“Correct. Do you have any thoughts about how the math might suggest I choose spices in an attempt to appeal to the various species?”
Rylana straightened, realizing how he wanted her to help. She was honored that he believed she could be of assistance, but she didn’t thinkmathcould reliably be applied to tastebuds, at least not in this instance. If there had been far more elves than humans among the judges, he could have leaned toward them, but whoever had set up the contest had been going for a panel that didn’t favor anyone.
“Do any of the species share favored spices?” she asked.
“The dwarves have eccentric spices that often have different varieties of rocks pulverized in, so they share their preferences with no other species.”
“Dwarves eat rocks? Is that true?” Rylana had heard that before but always assumed it was a joke.
“Only in very fine amounts, but it is apparently for the mineralcontent. Their bodies crave higher amounts than those of the other species.” Jildarin selected a jar with a grinder attachment, the label readingcalcium salts. “Most species find these to be bitter, metallic, and astringent. Dwarves love them, but it takes a talented chef to use them in meals that all will find palatable.”
“Maybe leave out the rock spices and hope for the best with the dwarves. What about elves and humans? We like a lot of the same stuff, don’t we?”
“Yes. And orcs and ogres also enjoy many of the same seasonings as your kind.”
“Who would have thought we have similar tastebuds? Especially since orc tongues are blue.”
“Indeed.”
“I think you should cook your favorite dishes,” Rylana said, “and season everything to your taste, because it’s excellent. If you want to take a few spices that the greatest number of judges might especially like, it sounds like those favored by humans and also enjoyed by orcs and ogres would be safest.”
Jildarin returned the calcium salts to the shelf. “Yes. I will ensure my dishes have an inherent appeal to as many judges as possible.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re going to do this. I hope you kick Yerin’s ass.”
“Since the competition takes place within the borders of Tranquility, physical altercations will not be permitted.”
“I know. I meant his metaphorical ass.”
“Yes.” Jildarin waved for her to take her plate out of the kitchen. “Finish eating elsewhere. I must practice and prepare.”
Since Rylana had wanted him to stay in the contest, she didn’t complain about being dismissed. Shedidtake several more slices of bacon on the way out. For having to deal with such a pompous employer, she deserved a second helping.
22
Rylana spentthe day before the Golden Whisk balancing the books and figuring out how much the fire had set the business back. Fortunately, thanks to the enthusiastic volunteers, they hadn’t had to spend much on repairs, but having to replace so many ingredients had been costly. The diner was lucky she’d thought to snag a portion of Rolf’s earnings.
“If nothing else unexpected happens, we’ll still come out ahead for the month,” Rylana decided. “Considering the business was in the red for all the months prior to my arrival, that’s pretty good.”
Yawning, she left the office, peeking into the kitchen on her way past. Jildarin was once again hard at work, stirring, cutting, and muttering to himself as he prepared dishes that would serve both as practice and to sate diners arriving for the evening meal. With only one night left until the contest, Rylana wondered if Yerin would send more goblins to make another attempt to derail Jildarin. It would be his last chance.
Appointing herself a patroller, Rylana walked through the premises. She didn’t see anything amiss in the repaired andcleaned dining room, and none of the patrons ambling in looked like trouble. When she passed through the storeroom, she likewise didn’t find anything amiss. Outside, there wasn’t any fresh graffiti on the doors, nor were any cloaked goblins skulking, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Jildarin'sdishonorable competitor, as he’d put it, would try something else.
