A Gourmand's Guide to the Hidden Delicacies of Myrengol

Across my many years serving as a diplomat on behalf of my Lord father, Praelord Aphalos Kaltar, I have travelled to nearly every corner of the Bastion. My journeys have taken me to the highest heights and deepest depths, from bustling squares to trackless wilderness, and introduced me to people from every walk of life. With this privilege, I have acquired humbling wisdom and a thorough appreciation for this place we call home. If I had to select a singular lesson to share with everyone then it would most certainly be this; if there is one thing that we all have in common, it is our love for good food.

I decided to write this guide for two reasons. First and foremost I have always been an epicurean. This disposition has been surprisingly instrumental in my diplomatic ventures - people become far more receptive to an outsider who truly admires and respects their cooking. The second reason is, admittedly, rather petty. Following the most recent gala at Elampara Manor, I suffered through a plainly dreadful discussion with some peers. Their understanding of the culinary landscape was horrendously poor. Every tasteless word that spilled from their lips felt like a dagger plunging into my chest. They discredited beautiful cuisines as "peasant-food", unashamedly suggesting a meal is only worth as much as the price of its ingredients. As you may be able to discern, their ignorance is still cause for personal frustration. It is my hope that, within this guide, I may help others evade such nescience.

Amongst the People

In search of delicious food, one does not need to look far. Despite having travelled through the city of Myrengol a thousand times, I am still enraptured by the myriad of pleasant smells that sail on the breeze. If one follows their scent, then they will likely find an epicurean delight.

Beer-battered Kraken Fry Goujons

The name of this delectable meal alone is enough to make haughty aristocrats wince. They consider beer a peasant's drink, deem kraken fry the vermin of the sea, and despise that these goujons are traditionally eaten by hand. In this arrogance, they exclude themselves from the sweet and salty taste of the fish that the common folk cherish, and the crunchy, golden batter whose natural acidity enhances the buttery fry within. Perhaps the greatest part of this humble delight is the myriad sauces that often accompany it. My heart may forever weep that a particular creamy, spicy elixir that I once had the pleasure to sample has seemingly vanished on the wind, never to be seen again.

Forge Pies

From time to time, I have had the pleasure of visiting the searing smithies of the Fire Goliaths. Whilst the thunderous noise and scorching heat are far from comfortable, my visit always ends on a high note when this hearty dish is on the menu. As the name suggests, this pie is baked in a roaring forge traditionally meant for sculpting steel rather than preparing food. Humble root vegetables and cheap cuts of meat are mixed in a large bowl with butter, herbs and a dash of vinegar, covered in mashed potatoes, and then transferred to a stone crucible. After a short while, the pie is removed and brings forth a warm, rustic smell. It is a point of light-hearted contention between communities of which type of stone the Forge Pie should be cooked in, for each one imparts a distinct flavour, with limestone being my personal favourite.

Hissing Biscuits

Annually, the common people celebrate the Whistling Festival. Friends and families come together and attempt the notoriously difficult task of baking Hissing Biscuits. Although I have never succeeded in crafting one of these tricky treats, I have witnessed talented bakers displaying their skills. First, a thin, crispy biscuit must be made and folded into an upright, triangular shape. Next, lemon juice is poured into the cavity before being sealed shut. They are then baked until golden and set onto a smooth tray. Finally, the quaint spectacle begins. A corner of the biscuit is carefully punctured, and the citric steam hisses out, causing the biscuit to whizz around. When I attempted to make Hissing Biscuits, they exploded in the oven - I must have added too much lemon juice!

Off the Coast

Since time immemorial, we have scoured the seas for their bounties. Whilst a whole host of aquatic treasures frequently find themselves upon our plates, we are only scratching the surface of what lays beneath the waves.

Sea Lemon Crab

Before my first encounter with aquatic peoples, I thought that I knew all there was to know of seafood. This belief was, at first, reaffirmed when the Sea Gnomes we had travelled to meet offered a meal of crab. However, my presumptions were shattered when I saw the fruit it had been served with. What its true name was, I never found out, but I refer to it here as "Sea Lemon" due to its citric flavour and yellow colouration, though it was longer than a typical lemon, and lacked the tough outer rind. The crab itself was served raw and still in its shell and had a slightly sweet flavour that was thoroughly enhanced by the Sea Lemon that dressed it. A soft, creamy texture accompanied every bite.

Thrice-Pickled Seaweed Salad

What we collectively call "seaweed" on the surface, has a thousand different names beneath the sea. Our subaquatic neighbours struggle to believe that we can mistake such different plants for being one and the same, stating that it is akin to saying apples, oranges, and coconuts are identical since they all grow on trees. Each edible species of seaweed (which I shall call it still since I have, regrettably, forgotten their actual names) has a different purpose in underwater cooking. Typically, it acts as a side dish, but sometimes it is the star of the show. Thrice-Pickled Seaweed Salad is a staple meal for many maritime denizens. Made from placing several colourful varieties into three different flavoured brines, one after another, this dish has a punchy, salty flavour to it. I must admit to being quite surprised by the crunchy texture and bursts of sweetness that the salad provided.

Whale Cheese Fondue

The domestication of animals is not unique to dryland. Beneath the waves of Crownwater Bay, herds of miniature whales graze on troves of krill under the watchful eye of subaquatic ranchers. Traditionally, these pods are not kept for their meat, but for their milk. Amongst many underwater communities, Whale Cheese is considered a luxury good that is only eaten on special occasions. Being naturally high in fat, with a heavily creamy texture, it is not typically eaten alone like some surface cheeses are. Instead, it is sealed in a special container and melted. Then, small pieces of salted fish are placed on skewers and pushed through the ingenious air-lock chambers of the container. The flavour is rich with a surprising nutty undertone.

Beneath the Earth

It is difficult to comprehend how deep the ground beneath our feet runs. Wherever one stands there exists beneath them fathomless depths of stone, interspersed with suffocating darkness and otherworldly landscapes. It is in these strange biomes that an abundance of exciting delicacies can be found.

Cider-poached Rothé Meatballs

As distant relatives of surface-dwelling cattle, the rothé is a favoured beast for many subterranean farmers. Their herds are far smaller than the ones that we know since there is far less pastoral land in their realm, and so the finest cuts of rothé meat are reserved for the wealthy. Everyone else must suffice with the scraps and offal. To assume that a meal made of these overlooked ingredients would be unpleasant is a foolish mistake. The ingredients are minced, mixed with chopped mushrooms and sculpted into little balls. These are then poached in a broth made from a sweet and tangy cider, which itself is brewed with native subterranean berries. The result is a delicious dish with a sweet and sour flavour.

Cindershroom-Smoked Cave Fish

Throughout the Underdark, copses of towering mushrooms sprout. Of the countless varieties that have carved out a niche in their shadowy homeland, the Cindershroom is perhaps the most vital, due to its woody composition. Besides its value in tool-making and construction, it is essential for many Underdark cuisines. By placing a salted fillet of cave fish over the burning Cindershroom, one imbues it with a smoky and somewhat nutty flavour. The fish itself is reminiscent of salmon, though somewhat more oily.

Grilled Snake with Stiffbone Sauce

The Duergar have stronger stomachs than most folk, and thus their diets consist of several ingredients that may have detrimental effects on outsiders. I can attest to this fact anecdotally and promise that the flavour was worth the pain. Snake is a peculiar meat, with a texture and taste between chicken and cod, but the real excitement lies in the marinade. By coaxing venom from the fangs of certain vipers, the Duergar create Stiffbone Sauce - a bold, spicy flavouring with a bittersweet aftertaste and a vibrant yellow hue. As the name would suggest, however, there is a consequence to indulging too greatly into this meal; my shoulders were so stiff the next morning that I could hardly use my arms until noon!

Deeper Still

As one descends even further into the depths of our world, life and light become even more scarce. Despite this, some hardy folk still thrive in these desolate environs. Those that call these caves home know how to find food in every crevice, and the wisest amongst them know how to make it delicious.

Deep-fried Spider

Like many other surface-dwellers, the thought of eating spiders was initially repulsive to me. It became even more off-putting when I saw the muddy brown grease that the creatures were deep-fried in. Unwilling to offend my hosts, however, I steadied myself and gratefully took a reluctant bite. The crispy, sweet coating gave way to tender, delicate meat inside. It was exquisite! Whilst I understand apprehension upon looking at this snack, I urge everyone to stifle their presumptions and try this delectable treat.

Honey-Glazed Lizard Legs

The Obsidian Honey that the Underdark's Shadow Bees produce is a versatile ingredient. It has found its way to the surface, becoming a pantry essential for chefs across the land, but nobody has mastered its incorporation into cooking as well as its original harvesters. I was fortunate enough to sample some lizard legs that had been marinated in Obsidian Honey and slow-roasted over an open flame. The result was buttery soft meat with a savoury, salty flavour and mild earthy undertones. Nearly every town in the deep Underdark makes this meal, though they all taste wildly different; the Honey's flavour varies depending on which minerals the Bees had access to.

Magma Snail Soufflé

Most of the Underdark carries a chill, but some caverns exert a sweltering heat. Near volcanic fissures, throngs of Magma Snails coalesce to feed off the rich nutrients that the molten rock leaves behind. It is these nutrients that provide their meat with a rich flavour. After heavy whisking, a Magma Snail develops a consistency similar to that of chicken eggs. By combining this mixture with rothé cream, it transforms into a vibrantly orange dish that resembles a soufflé. It has a strange texture, similar to a thin jelly although more chewy. The flavour too is very unusual as it finds a middle ground between meaty, earthy, and somewhat cheesy. That being said, however, this delicacy is not to be missed.