The oven opened with a steamy click. A flavourful aroma rolled out with it, vanilla, sinamon, cream and others. A mittened hand pulled out the rack, presenting three small cakes on it. A deep sigh tumbled out their throat, clearly disappointed.
Miss Bell gave the disgruntled youth a glance. The cakes he made looked very appetising and smelled wonderful. Someone would pay good money for those, yet the young baker was as unsatisfied as ever. She chuckled and got back to chopping the carrots for the days meal.
The young frustrated baker wanted to slam the pan on the floor. Multiple attempts but no satisfactory results. He heard a chuckle and looked at the only other person in the kitchen with amusement. She was busy chopping the vegetables, humming an old tune.
She stood tall and strong. Her smooth dark skin was without creases or wrinkles, the only thing that gave away her age were the graying hairs at the base of her well crafted braids. Apart from Miss Adelaide, the deceptively youthful Miss Bell had been here the longest. She'd taken care of him long before he'd been potty trained. And now she was watching him fumble his way through baking.
He looked at the cakes then back at the recipe books. He wondered what he had done wrong. A quick taste of each realised the worst of his fears. They didn't taste any different and that was exactly the problem.
They were quite well made, the consistency was just right and the time in the oven was spot on, yet they didn't taste any different from the previous batch despite his meticulous ministrations.
He could also be wrong about the taste. Afterall he trusted his dull senses the least and after tasting so many he must have grown numb to it. He needed a second opinion and luckily it wasn't very far. "Miss Bell, can I have some help? I need you to help me taste my cakes, I can't discern the taste myself."
"Of course darling. I don't mind some dessert." She rinsed her hands in the sink and walked over. She took a bite of the first and froze. "You made this Luke?! It's absolutely delightful," She took another bite and creened with delight. "With that frown on your face I would think you made some abomination. People usually smile when they do a good thing."
Her brows arched, there was no way she'd continue helping out if he didn't smile—and did it sincerely. His facial muscles twitched, he found his smile much easier than expected. Of course he did, just a glance at that beaming face got him smiling as well. "That more like it." She patted his cheek and forked up another piece into her mouth.
"Can you tell me what you think, describe the flavour profile to the best of your ability."
"Well it's a nice cake, very fluffy—just the right density. As for flavour, I taste cinnamon, strawberry and ginger. It's an interesting blend, the cinnamon is overpowering at the beginning, maybe you can tone it down a bit. I do like the ginger, it leaves behind a wonderful aftertaste. The strawberry ties it all together and with this many you could tone down the sugar. A very nice cake indeed."
"So I need to be light handed with the cinnamon and pitch down the sugar a bit. Understood." Miss Bell watched him scribble down something in his notebook and cross something over, with a smile on her face.
"On to the next one." He retrieved the first cake before she could take another bite and punched the second to her.
"Hmm lemons, it's been a while since I had a lemon cake. It's very rich, the cream filling is amazing, peaches and... Blueberries."
"Blueberries? I didn't add any..." The young baker checked his notes again and flipped through the recipe books. Miss Bell did her best to hold back her snicker and maintained a passive face.
"Hmm hahahaha, oh Luke haha I was just joking. You'll rip out the pages with how quickly your flipping. Haha, calm down there aren't any blueberries." He relaxed, but didn't join in the laughter. He was far too stressed in her opinion.
"So what are your critiques on the cake?"
"Well it's nice, the balance between sweet and sour is just right. The cream is a bit too sweet, it's throwing off the careful balance the cake made. Peaches were a nice choice and it's just a airy as the first.
This one's my favourite, just sour enough for my old pallete. You know us elderly can't be having too much sugar anymore."
"I don't think you can classify as elderly just yet Miss Bell. Most people would be none the wiser of your age. Besides it's a bit early to decide your favourite, we still have one more to review."
She patted his back after his complement. He passed her the last cake and waited for her final critique. She forked a generous serving into her mouth. He watched her every action, she chewed slow and her eyes gave nothing away.
"Luke you never told me what you were trying to achieve by making all these cakes. I'd assumed it was because of the upcoming birthday party, but now I'm not so sure. It's a recurring theme, these cakes aren't for someone else... They are for you aren't they?"
"I'm not sure. They were meant to achieve many things, a new task at the bakery, a snack for the birthday... but most importantly I wanted to prove it."
"Prove what Luke?"
"I wanted to prove to myself that I could improve, that I was improving, that I could change. Everyone's been telling me to embrace change and I did. It's not enough though, I need to improve quickly... or at least prove that I can."
"Hmm, okay I understand. Well Luke in my opinion you've proved yourself quite well. Just knowing that it's okay to change and it can impact you positively, just being willing. That is enough proof. I want you to be proud of yourself Luke, I am proud of you."
That warm smile made her words all the more believable. She pulled the young baker in for a hug and patted his cheek. The baker smiled in content, choosing to ignore the hand sneaking behind him for another piece of cake.
"Ah yes, where were we, I had to give my earnest review about your final cake. Let's just take another bite to refresh my memory..." Miss Bell forked up another bite into her mouth, taking her time to chew. "This one is the simplest in flavour profile, just plain vanilla and a hint of mint. Yet, it's the most sincere... it moved me, sparked emotion. All the others had exceptional taste and texture, this one doesn't really compare with them. But it feels the most like you."
Her judgement was stark and accurate. There was an obvious reason for the change. A reason that gave him insight. Up till that point he had made all his cakes based on recipes he already knew from Mrs Alba's café. They had all been modified versions of pre-existing recipes. Nothing new, nothing personal, nothing he had done himself.
Contrary to his belief, he did know how to bake a cake. No one could go multiple months doing something and not pick up in it themselves. He had grossly underestimated his abilities and his vast mind played large role in his learning velocity.
Yet. He had hesitated to do something himself. He forced himself to stick to the mold and procedures he had become accustomed to. Mrs Alba always said that his cakes were perfect—or rather perfectly aligned with the recipes. She always did say that they lacked emotion, lacked variation. A human touch.
That didn't stop them from being good—but just like an automated company's snacks were still good, they didn't feel homemade, they felt monotonous.
He had always tried to understand what she meant. Did introducing randomness to the baking parameters really make a cake better. Previously, he was very much against that whole idea, why shake up a proven, trail and tested method.
At that time he did not know. How could he know. He had never baked for himself. He had only ever baked for customers, only in exchange for monetary gains. He had never baked for people he cared about.
That's why it was so frustrating. Suddenly, they weren't good enough. The cakes he made were not good enough for people he cared deeply for. He wanted to give them his best, give his all. Not in exchange for money—he wanted to see them smile, just like Miss Bell smiled right now. He wanted to envoke emotion, to make them feel something, to make them praise him, hug him.
That was why his previous methods proved ineffective. He was in desperate need of a new approach. He threw out the recipe books, did his best to forget the recipes he'd learned at the café. It was an epiphany.
For the first time ever he baked because of feeling. He didn't measure, he didn't use accurate metric or taught methodologies. He baked because of how he felt in that moment. What he craved in that moment.
And the result. A simple vanilla cake infused with mint. It was burnt around the edges. dense at the center. Lacked the airy, fluffy quality with which he had always made his cakes—the ones from learned recipes. Lacked the perfectly engineered bake-times and mix methods.
The cake was rougher, less refined. Simpler. Plain. But it was his. It was Lukehiem Fitch.