The temperature dropped slowly, day by day, as autumn deepened.
One afternoon, Jade noticed that the warming bag method she had been experimenting with had made its way into the kitchen fireplace. Several fabric bags lay on a tray atop with the glowing embers, gently heated by the coal’s residual warmth.
Apparently, some of the clergy - plagued by cold feet - had already begun making their own warming bags to use at night. The feedback had been unanimously, full of praise for the bags’ soft, squishy texture.
“Works much better than the stone or iron bed warmers,” commented Brother James, the monk in charge of finances. “Quite suitable for autumn.”
“Do you think it would still work in winter?” Jade asked.
Brother James rubbed his chin before replying, “I supposed I’d need a few more to last through the night. One at the feet, one by my side as my hands would likely get cold as well.”
After weighing the pros and cons, Jade quietly reached a decision. The warming bags were long-lasting - far better than the hot-brick method her students had been using - pleasant to hold, easy to make and replace, and extremely low-cost. Their only drawbacks were the need to dry them thoroughly in humid weather to prevent mold, and the fact that grains reheated too many times were no longer suitable for consumption.
With that in mind, she decided to spread the idea among her students, so that they could make their own warming bags to carry to school during winter. They had their own ways of passing along news, even during semester break – no need for her to send stiff, formal letters.
As the weather cooled, however, another change became increasingly apparent: the air quality in the streets worsened noticeably. It grew so bad that Jade had to make herself face masks and hair scarves, replacing them daily whenever she ventured out. By nightfall, both were stained with blackish-grey soot and smog. She felt a surge of relief that the domus was located in the suburbs, where the smog was less oppressive than in the city.
She seriously considered sewing herself a hair cover – not a bonnet; the one she owned was meant for winter and far too heavy for the autumn air – despite her limited sewing skills. Washing hair scarves every day was tedious, and she longed to eliminate at least one item from her laundry. Though she didn’t mind handwashing in an era without washing machines – she had done so throughout her years at the pastry institute – she would still rather spend her time reading serialised stories in old newspapers or preparing teaching materials.
“Sensei, it’ll get worse in winter if you’re worried about the air,” Josh whispered one morning as he noticed her glaring at a face mask soaking in soapy water. “Everyone in Velport fires up their fireplace then. Every chimney pours out smoke. You won’t be able to stand it.”
“...” Jade narrowed her eyes at her pupil, then sighed and shrugged. “Unbearable or not, we still have to earn our pennies.”
Josh giggled. “Do we have enough money for the iron oven yet?”
“Almost,” Jade ran the numbers in her head. She had been settling costs daily with the domus — for flour, coal, and children’s wages. Most other expenses had been one-time purchases, like baking tools and trays, or were nearly free, donated or salvaged from nearby farms and the students’ families. At their current net profit, she would have enough to buy a brand-new iron oven by next week.
“We already have the deposit,” she added, “but I want to make sure we have the full amount before placing the order. Next week, Josh. Next week, we’ll get our oven.”
“Great!” Josh pumped his fist. “Then, we can increase production, sell more, earn more – and get better food and books!”
“Exactly.” Jade drew a deep breath, her voice bright with hope. “Our school will only get better and better.”
Beside her, Josh wrung out his clothes, mimicking her movements as she did the same. Unlike most clergy, they neither hired a laundress nor sent their laundry to the domus’s contracted washhouse. They washed everything themselves.
Whereas most laundresses beat clothes with paddles and dollies, Jade cleaned hers by scrubbing the dirty parts with a brush she had specially commissioned from a student’s parent who knew a bit of woodworking. It took more time, and the results were far from elegant - but it was free! Custom work from a professional carpenter was still far beyond her budget.
The brush wasn’t made with animal hair, but with fine, nail-like wooden sticks. Jade had used a similar tool in her previous life, though that one had been made of sturdy plastic. Paired with the soap she produced herself, it scrubbed grease from fabric effectively – if not nearly as efficiently as laundress handling dozens of garments at one.
Josh copied her technique, scrubbing, wringing, then hanging the clothes on the lines Jade had set up in the yard. Full outfits were washed once a week; undergarments and neck scarves, daily.
“The only thing I still can’t get used to,” Jade said, raising a hand to roof* her eyes against the flat, grey sky, “is how long it takes for clothes to dry. In my understanding, anything hung out in the morning would be dry by afternoon. Here, a single dress needs the entire day, just to evaporate all the water under the sun!”
“Well, Velport’s always been gloomier than most places – or so I’ve heard,” Josh replied as he emptied the buckets and stacked the basins. “And it’ll take even longer in winter.”
Jade sighed. “Guess we’ll have to dry clothes near a coal pot or fireplace, then.” Gathering the washing tools, she headed back toward their rooms. “Okay, let’s wrap this up and get to work. Josh, I need you to pick up the brush I ordered from Mr. Parkins.”
“Yes, Sensei.” Josh took the coins, then hesitated. “But, Sensei, do we really need a special brush just to remove dirt and potato skins? We could simply rinse them and use them as they are. The brush won’t take all the skins off anyway, so why bother?”
“You tasted yesterday’s chips, and we all agreed the skin-off version tasted best.” Jade replied with a shrug. “ Yes, it’s time-consuming, and I’m absolutely not letting young children use knives in the kitchen. That’s why I’d rather scrub the skins off along with the dirt.”
“They’re perfectly capable of using knives,” Josh argued. “I bet they’ve helped out in kitchens back home. Nothing’s happened.”
“Or something has happened and we just don’t know about it.” Jade shot him a sharp gaze before looking ahead again. “Especially Kent. He’s a bit slow with his fingers. I’m not eager to have a blood-stained accident happen under my watch. So, no knives. That’s why the scrubbing brush matters. It decides what kind of chips we can sell this winter. Josh?”
“...Alright. I’ll speak to Mr. Parkins.” Josh’s lips drooped. “But what if he can’t make it?”
“Then we sell skin-on chips,” Jade said, smiling. “It’s not a disaster. Like you said, we can rinse and use them directly – just like other vendors. We’ll do our best, and if that’s the limit we reach, then so be it. ”
After several lectures from Jade, Josh had come to clearly understand the core appeal she offered her customers: uniqueness, something other vendors lacked.
Plenty of stalls sold biscuits. So why did customers choose Jade’s? Because her biscuits were sweet, affordable, and visually appealing – qualities her competitors with their hard, bland, brownish goods. Her effort of developing a recipe was precisely what set her apart.
Now, if they were to sell chips during winter, Jade’s stall would need to stand out just as clearly. Competing vendors would be selling the same thing, after all. Josh understood that their key points of advantage lay in the fragrant tallow – something only Jade, and now their domus, knew how to render properly – and her frying technique, which gave the chips their superior taste.
The problem was that the taste couldn’t be judged at a glance.
That was where removing the skins came in.
Skinless chips looked cleaner and more refined than skin-on ones, and that visual difference alone was enough to catch a passerby’s eye – and, more often than not, loosen their purse strings.
“People are willing to pay more for things that look refined, even though the shape of a biscuit doesn’t affect the taste at all.” Josh recalled Jade’s lecture clearly. The same logic applied to chips. It wasn’t a dramatic difference, but if they wanted to sell more, it mattered.
“Josh?” Jade turned toward her pupil, who had been quietly lost in thought beside her. “Anything else you need before heading to Mr. Parkins?”
“Nope.” Josh shook his head and gave her a quick wave. “I’m on my way. Be right back!”
“Alright. Be careful," Jade replied, watching him trot off.
The day passed in its familiar rhythm: biscuits made, stall opened, biscuits sold, returned to domus. Jade drafted teaching materials for the next semester and reviewed the fundamentals of biscuits-making with Josh. Only after night fell did they finally begin experimenting to determine the most suitable chip.
“I think the frying time is too long,” Jade said, glaring at the bowl of potatoes cut neatly into sticks – exactly the size she remembered French fries being.
Oh… right. France didn’t exist here. So, just plain “chips”, then. Jade mused.
Josh studied the potatoes as well. Their pale yellow flesh took on a warmer, reddish hue under the glow of three oil lamps fitted with light reflectors. The reflectors made by Jade had sparked the clergy’s imagination. Before long, nearly everyone had acquired fragments of broken mirror from broker’s street and fashioned reflectors of their own.
One of the kitchen lamps, made by Sister Geenia for nighttime use, had been shaped into a butterfly. It wasn’t delicate, but it was cheerful, a small bit of charm perched on the countertop.
Josh’s reflector, like his Sensei’s, was simple and practical. Their lamps stood at opposite ends of the work table, with a third in between – three reflected light bright enough to keep fingers safe from the knife.
“We cut them evenly so they cook at the same rate,” Josh said after a brief pause. “It saves time compared to the thick, uneven cuts other vendors use. We can’t measure precisely without a clock, but I don’t think the wait is actually that long, Sensei.”
“Hm… we can shorten the time even further,” Jade said. She moved to the stove, bent down, and stirred the ember with a poker. “Let’s parboil them.”
“Parboil…? But Sensei, I thought we weren’t going to mash them,” Josh said at one, already helping her prepare the pot and water.
“Of course we’re not going to mash them–” Jade paused. “Wait. That’s actually a good idea, Josh!”
She looked up from the fireplace, bellows in her hand, her face lighting up. “I’ve been thinking about what other kinds of biscuits I could make besides our usual ones. You know, what if the malt failed to germinate? Or if we can’t get suitable fruits for jam? Strawberries and berries are seasonal, afterall. But mashed potatoes…” She grinned. We could make savoury biscuits – potatoes mixed with flour, drippings, salt, and cracklings!”
Josh pictured it. He smacked his lips. “That sounds delicious. Why don’t we experiment tomorrow?”
“Experiment, yes. Tomorrow? Probably not,” Jade chuckled. “Let’s deal with that after we finish the potatoes.”
She straightened as the fire caught properly and turned her attention to the pot, where small bubbles were forming at the bottom. “Now – parboiling. The idea is to half-cook the potatoes first. That way, when we fry them at the stall, they’ll cook faster and absorb less oil. Less grease, less tallow used.”
She winked at him. “You know how penny-pinching I am. Not a single drop of our tallow shall go to waste. We spent hours rendering it clean.That effort deserves respect.”
“Agree!” Josh nodded solemnly, then broke into a grin. “But won’t parboil make the potato mushy?”
“It shouldn’t,” Jade replied, watching the French fry-sized potato sticks bob gently in the boiling water. “They still hold their shapes. Besides, I remember someone using this technique – can’t recall who exactly – but if it worked for them, it should work for us.”
And indeed, by the end of the day, the first batch of parboiled-then-fried chips proved flawless. They were crisp on the outside, fluffy within and tasted heavenly when dipped into a sauce made from drippings flour, and skimmed milk – a donation from a nearby farm, whose owner apologetically noted that they wouldn’t be able to provide milk during winter, when production dropped sharply.
“Too bad we can't offer the sauce to customers,” Jade said, rejecting Josh’s suggestion to sell it at the winter stall. “We don’t have suitable containers for takeaway. Better to forget it and just sprinkle salt. That’s enough for street food.”
Josh considered this, then nodded. “You’re right, Sensei. Our winter chips project will be well received.”
They exchanged smiles, satisfied at last – the recipe decided.