"Put all the mother yeast and the flour in; we'll add cold water bit by bit," I say, my eyes darting over the group of girls in their pink aprons. "If the heat gets to the dough, it'll kill the yeast. That's why I'm having you put all that water on top of cooling runes."
Tiberius and Quintus, wearing their sharp uniforms, helped by half a dozen girls, are moving the previously-mother-yeast-filled containers on top of cooling runes. Thank God we don’t need too much water compared to other recipes.
The traditional Altamura bread recipe requires a hydration level of around 65-70%, meaning the dough contains 65-70 grams of water per 100 grams of flour. This lower hydration level results in a firmer dough that is easier to shape and form and a denser crust with a chewy texture.
“So,” Flaminia rests both her hands over my shoulder, “is that going to make as much bread as the bowl can fit today? That’s great.”
“What?” I snort. “It should make that much bread in an hour.”
Flaminia almost trips when I tell her that.
“An hour?!”
“Damn, you people really hate productivity. Yeah, an hour. Welcome to the industrial—well, Light Magic revolution, I should say.”
“But—that’s too much,” she balks at the huge bronze mixer.
“It is a lot. But don’t worry, I’ve already told Clodia that we can take things slowly. We don’t need to make all the bread at once. We’ll run a couple of batches and see how they turn out. Ideally, we would also need a way to move the bowls around. We’ll need to transfer the dough back to the big glass jars to have it rise in peace. The logistics will be complicated.”
See, the thing about Happy Bakery right now is that – as my conversation with Flaminia just reminded me – I am basically turning a very inefficient bread shop into a full-blown industrial bakery. I don’t know exactly what the upkeep will be in terms of Mana, but again, not much. And it won’t take long before the organization will catch up to this tech. Revolutions don’t happen overnight. However, they do start with a little bit of magic, I suppose.
“Alright, Quintus, that’s enough water. Add more when I tell,” I say, moving away from Flaminia, who’s been leaning on me, and placing a hand on the thing. With barely any focus, I simply pump my Mana in the general direction of the enchantments. It’s a very instinctual feeling, akin to summoning a spell matrix that you know before your eyes. It isn’t really a science.
The spiral starts whirring, and, as I peek into the bowl, I see the flour slowly mixing in with the dough.
“Now, we wait. I need to see how long it can go without me doing anything. Ten minutes, probably. That’s how long a Cantrip of mine can run for.”
Before the enchantment filled up, it barely took what I would describe as one-tenth of my Mana. I don’t really have an MP bar, though, so it’s hard to say for sure.
…
“Huh,” I scratch my chin after thirty-five minutes and the dough having already taken a decent form. “Pour more water. I’ll restart the thing.”
The enchantment went on for thirty-five minutes, undisturbed. If I loved physics as much as I love magic, I would love to know how many joules of energy I just generated with that enchantment. What I find extremely surprising is that the conversion of energy must have been hyper-efficient. I was honestly dreading the possibility of the enchantment only working for a few minutes before it stopped. Somehow, though, it went on for thirty-five.
What the hell?
Well, again, not complaining.
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Might Lady Luck be finally smiling at me?
I restart the enchantment after sticking a finger in it to make sure that the spiral is not overheating. And that’s another cool thing. Usually, the engine that moves the belt that powers the spiral(s) would risk heating the dough up if it ran for too long. But with magic doing the heavy lifting, it seems like there’s no thermodynamic component other than the force generated by the spiral.
Freakishly efficient, I think to myself, stroking my stubble.
…
There are containers of leavening dough everywhere.
I stop working the giant mixer that’s still pretty much topped up in terms of Mana. You know, I really need to get my act together and perhaps better calculate how much Mana I actually have. Do Elves even have a measure for that?
“Well, you just increased everyone’s workload,” Flaminia giggles. “Has Clodia already mentioned that her mother will probably give her hand in marriage to you?”
“Nah, I’m good. Already got Agostina’s proposal and some other stuff cooking. Can’t split my attention too much. Multitasking is the bane of good work.”
“Are you talking about baking or women?” Flaminia frowns.
“Yes.”
I turn to my little team, and a thought strikes me.
Damn, if we need to hire more hands for the bakery, it might be high time to consider whether we want to start bringing more ex-[Soldiers] into the business. With the numbers that we would run, I’m pretty sure we could pull many off the streets. But…
I look over the female-dominated environment.
Is it going to be safe?
Tiberius and Quintus have already vouched in favor of Gregorius and Lucanus as the next two employees. Honestly, considering that I can interview them with truth-stones, I don’t think it would be too risky. But we are talking two people out of the several hundred that we could potentially employ.
Would a truth-stone interview be enough?
I scratch my head as I start thinking of how to solve that problem.
Hell, if I had my own bakery, I could have already employed a dozen of the guys—if only I somehow got the money to pay off their debts, at least. But what Clodia’s scared of excites me to no end. If we really ramp up production by that much, and considering my share of the profit, I can probably get everyone out of debt with enough time. Hell, seeing the quantity of cheap bread that’ll flood the streets soon, I’m pretty sure the whole economy of Amorium will be disrupted, not just the homeless.
Damn, this reminds me that I have to check with Truffles in the morning. Not only did I promise the guy I would help with his dyslexia, but I’m also sure we could probably run a soap business on the side. That would definitely help pay off more debts. Plus, who said every other homeless guy needs to be a [Baker]? We can turn them into [Alchemists] and…
Another thought strikes me.
I briefly look around at everyone who’s kneading or shaping the dough.
Shoot, I can teach them some fundamentals of magic too! Everyone has some Mana, right? I might be good at doing magic, but my reserves aren’t that special! If we teach everyone a basic [Light] spell, the mixers can be run nonstop without any need for expensive Mana batteries or whatever they are called!
“Chef,” Tiberius walks up to me, covered in flour. I look at the peaky-blinder-styled homeless guy and feel some warmth in my heart.
“What’s up?”
“You mentioned cakes before?”
“Right! Sorry, I had completely forgotten about it. Yes. Gather the team; we need to step up our game. The bread is just the beginning.”
…
“So,” I say to Raissa, Flaminia, Tiberius, and Quintus, “the bread is only the start. We, the A-team, will focus on something else. We need to work what the Elves call Pigfeed into chocolate first. Then, I’ll teach you all a new recipe. For all I love myself a good Cassata Siciliana, it’s an acquired taste. It wouldn’t fly off the shelves the same way other things would. We can make a few for the nobles to try—or whatever they do with their cakes.”
I make a slight pause, basking in the moment for a second.
Everything went great today.
Sure, Clodia’s a bit depressed about perhaps not being able to handle the managerial part, but I was expecting to be extremely tired today. Instead, I’m as fresh as a rose. Not only that, but the mixer worked wonderfully, and now, we are about to take on one of my favorite recipes. While it is considered French, I like to think that Neapolitans claiming it was actually born in Naples are in the right. In fact, let’s do some proper cultural appropriation.
“Let’s start off with the Pigfeed,” I say, gesturing for Tiberius and Quintus to fetch the roasted chocolate nibs. I sent them to Decimus to roast—he’s the [Farmer] Stan introduced me to; also, I kind of told him I’d personally visit soon. Last time, I forgot to bring him some refined chocolate, and I have to make up for it.
“We’ll grind them here so that we don’t waste any flavor. After that, we’ll mix the paste with sugar and milk, then, strain it and cook them up. We’ll add some cocoa butter to the paste and knead it like dough.”
Raissa raises her hand.
“Are we putting that in the mixer as well?”
“What? No. That would be insane. We aren’t making a thousand pounds of chocolate…”
I catch myself halfway through.
“Well. Now that I think about it…”