District: Birra
"What can I get for you, sir?"
Jean deliberates for a moment. He doesn't have to, really, since he asks for the same order every single time.
"Bread, if you have any, please."
"Of course." The waiter disappears behind the kitchen doors before returning with a covered basket.
"My wife is the one who baked these loaves," Jean's dinner companion says. He winks. "I milled the flour myself."
"That's fascinating," Jean says, honestly surprised. "When did you have the time? I'm sure that you don't have much free time outside of work."
"Birra, as you have seen for yourself, is largely self-sufficient," the District Chief replies. "Each household is responsible for producing their own foodstuffs and supplies, so we have to make our own beer and bread from scratch. I hope you don't mind the plain fare; it can't compare to the food in Badon, of course."
Jean bites into the bread. It's hard and dark; he can't really tell if the dark color comes from the rye or merely from over-baking. Flavor-wise, it lacks salt and that extra oomph in fluffiness and texture that Badon sandwich bread has. But Jean doesn't care about that.
"It's wonderful," Jean says simply. He can taste the love baked into these rolls.