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Cody frowns down at the array of datapads fanned out across the desk in front of him. Each one is displaying one of the sixteen different highly reviewed recipes for citrus cake he's taken from the holonet. Each one of them is different.
This calls for strategy analysis.
Step one. Identify any common features.
He pulls another datapad out of a desk drawer and minimises the open document, a requisition request for a tooka, apparently. He shakes his head, Waxer should know Cody always reads his datawork before signing, and opens a fresh spreadsheet. Titles it 'Pattern Analysis of Enemy Resources' to keep his nosey brothers out of it.
He lists all the ingredients used in each recipe, and the quantities of each. There's a surprising degree of variation for something Peeler had described as 'a science, not an art, Commander' in a tone of voice implying absolute disbelief that Cody would ever achieve any sort of success in the kitchen. Apparently all forms of cookery required a very particular set of skills that nobody other than the kitchen staff possessed. Cody has never met any skill he couldn't master with enough work, he's not about to start failing now. He's the Marshal Commander of the Third Systems Army, he's not about to be shown up by a vod. And one who isn't even a batchmate at that.
A quick analysis of the ingredient ratios shows that the sixteen different cakes fall neatly into three groups. There seem to be three basic cakes with each recipe being a small variation on one of them. If he chooses one of the groups, that automatically eliminates the majority of his recipes from consideration, drastically narrowing his options.
He just needs to work out how to choose the best base cake. The one his General is most likely to enjoy.
The ones with blue yoghurt or blue milk in, he can probably ignore. That'll likely make the cake at least a little bit blue. Citrus is not blue, so citrus cake should not be blue. This seems a logical assumption, and Cody's sticking by it. That's one decision down.
Cody doesn't yet know enough about baking to be able to make an informed decision from just the ingredients, so he pulls over the recipe datapads, and discards any without a visual representation of the finished product. A thorough examination of the supplied imagery, shows that some of the recipes appear to create cakes with a noticeably more compact internal structure.
Cody has a memory of his General once waxing poetic about a cake he had on Alderaan, which he's fairly sure included the phrase 'really delightfully fluffy, my dear'. It was followed by a caution not to eat frog cake no matter how tempting your Great Grandmaster made it seem. He remembers, on his diet of ration bars and gloop from the canteen, being confused about how a food could be fluffy. But maybe this is it.
Perhaps it's a natborn thing. The food Cody's always consumed has been uniformly designed to cram as many calories as possible into the smallest feasible space. Fluffy cake seems like one of those fancy bragging and showing off things, that you can afford to buy and transport what's basically air wrapped in a little bit of food for show.
But anyway. His General liked his fluffy cake. He pushes the datapads for the more compact cakes away.
He's left with four.
Two round, and two rectangular. There is no statistically significant difference in the ingredients or the method, only the tin used, the cooking temperature, and the cooking time.
The rectangular cake seems more practical. It should stack better, should that ever become necessary, and be easier to cut. Or maybe he's thinking about this wrong. Is it another one of those things where the fancier it is, the less practical? And would his General prefer a fancier cake or a more practical one?
His General's favourite place to eat isn't any of the fancy dining places Senator Organa sometimes takes him to, it's Dex's.
That's another decision made then. Rectangular it is.
Now he just needs to decide on the ingredients and the method. He could choose one at random, or he could use the average of the ingredients lists of the remaining options. The average feels safer. Except for the citrus quantities. For that, he chooses the one with the highest amount of citrus. Citrus cakes should be maximally citrusy. He's pretty sure. What's the point otherwise?
He stares down at the list of ingredients and instructions on his pad. Technically, this is everything he needs. But Cody's aware he's missing vital background information. He has no idea what 'cream the butter and sugar' means, for example, and he highly doubts it involves punching it. So he pulls up another pad and queues up a list of instructional holovids.
For all Peeler's mutterings about science, and the holovids uniform insistence on precision, Cody wonders if it's actually all that important. The similar recipes have a fair degree of variation, and he had just averaged them. No, he's certain this is the best avenue of attack.
He carefully marshals his resources, laying out the ingredients and equipment on the counter. The actual making of the batter turns out to be a much simpler mission than he'd anticipated. It's literally just putting things in a bowl and mixing them. He stops occasionally to reference the consistency against the holovids, and it takes him an undisclosed number of attempts to get the hang of separating the eggs, but once he's added that skill to his arsenal, it's simple enough.
The baking itself is also disconcertingly simple. He suspects the kitchen vode have been trying to scare him off. Out of their territory. He just... picked up his tin of batter and put it in the oven. And then done nothing. He has the holos lined up for comparing surface colour, and an extremely thin stick for examining the internal consistency, and now he just has to wait for the timer to go off.
He supposes he could move his plans forward a little, and use this unexpected downtime to prepare what the recipe described as a drizzle, but which seems to be some form of citrus syrup. And that is just mixing the stated quantities of sugar and citrus juice together. Hardly astro-science.
Cody carefully examines the finished product for defects. There are none visible, which is a relief. Unfortunately he can't cut it open to examine the internal structure or the taste. Which is annoying. How can he know if he's presenting his General with an inferior baked good or not if he can't test it? The entire thing is a closed crate mystery. He sighs. But this is hardly the first time he's gone into a plan with his General blind.
---
"Oh, how lovely, thank you, Cody."
His General's smile is soft and pleased. The presence of the cake has been received well.
It sits on the side while tea is brewed, and Cody hides his own fond smile. There is nothing in this Galaxy that could get between his General and a cup of tea, and Cody knows better than to attempt it.
Once the tea has been poured and plates set out, the General chattering away about the latest mischief the cadets had got up to - a happiness taskforce apparently. Diligently presenting any being they could find with hand drawn crayon on flimsi drawings - he picks up the knife and slides it through the cake.
Cody watches intently.
The structure looks good. Full of little air holes. Not dense and squidgy. He breathes out a silent sigh of relief. And then catches himself. It's a cake. Even if it's awful, his Jedi will still appreciate the effort. And Cody will be highly entertained by his Jedi's attempts to still be polite about it, then they can laugh about it after. A terrible cake might actually be more fun than a good one.
That's a thought he can keep for next time.
Cody takes a forkful of the slice his General had handed him. It's... good. Well, if his General doesn't like it, Cody can just eat the rest of it.
His Jedi is three forkfuls in, before his brow scrunches in thought, and he peers up at Cody, almost suspicious.
"Cody," he starts slowly. "Did you make this?"
"Yes Sir."
He wonders what gave it away.
His Jedi huffs, amused, and leans back in his chair, shaking his head a little in disbelief.
"Of course you did. Force forbid there's anything in this Galaxy you can't do to an absurdly high standard." The complaint is laced through with soft fondness. "This," his Jedi says, pointing at the cake with his fork, "is probably the best citrus cake I've ever eaten. My dear, you have a talent for this."
Cody's not at all sure that's true, he just spent a long time preparing, with access to much better intel than he's used to.
"Thank you, Sir."
His Jedi shakes his head again, mouth curled into something impossibly soft, and instead of reaching for his cup of tea, he picks up his fork and takes another bite of the cake Cody made for him. Cody sits back, curling his hands around his own mug of tea, something warm settling contentedly in his chest.