[Ned looks taken aback, as if that wink was actually a slap in the face. He's realised just who he's serving now and isn't too happy about that fact. Magicians. He swallows reflexively. The serving spoon in his hand prevents Ned from crossing his arms, so he just grips the handle more tightly - still holding the spoon above the pot. Some porridge slops off of it.]
No. [Ned's tone is a little harsh, though less so when he continues after swallowing again.] There's molasses. Not specifically for you ..or anyone else. [The piemaker offers what could be a smile. For those not well acquainted with smiles, anyway.]