Cogitations of Perriwig P. Doubleday...
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Thoughts, published and unpublished of a Peltarch-based gnomish gastronome, entrepreneur, big-game hunter and fashion-icon Perriwig P. Doubleday.
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A Galloping Gastrognome’s Guide to the Eateries of Narfell: Jiyyd
_The most readily accessed of the outlying towns, Jiyyd is located on the Long Road, tucked between the humps of Coldstone Mountains and the eastern elbow of the Rawlinswood. Although often unsympathetically characterised as a rural slum, Jiyyd is not totally without rustical and historical appeal. Commandeered by black-armoured militaire Legionnaires, the town’s smell and muddy-frontier appearance gives travellers a real taste of the “edge of civilisation” lifestyle. Built alongside and atop a large hill, crowned by a rather tasteless temple dedicated to the human God Helm, Jiyyd acted as the nerve centre of the campaign against the evil, and would-be world-tyrant dragon, Sharn. The captured wealth of the white dragon’s horde has apparently done little to improve the town’s aesthetic lot, however. Its crooked-spined houses, and the downtrodden and grimy look of the populace may not appeal to holidaymakers seeking luxury.
The Regal Whore Inn, Jiyyd * (half a star)
While the exterior of Jiyyd’s premier accommodation facility, The Regal Whore Inn, may charitably be described as unprepossessing, the interior merely aspires to that merciful description. Brown prevails, remorselessly. A hopeful investigation reports that the beer-stained carpets surrounding the central bar may once have been red, but their glory days have past. Matched with the wood-panelling, the prevailing impression left by the main bar is one of premature burial.
Inspecting the smaller chambers off of the main room, one of our reviewers was startled by a gyrating clotheless female. Suspecting some sort of illicit activity, an examination of the common sleeping area confirmed our worst fears. A sort of rumpus room, its cots centred around a mound of distinctly sticky cushions. After extensive discussion, the Committee have come to the considered conclusion that the Regal Whore Inn may also be some sort of retrograde bucolic bordello. If so, its crowd showed little sign of excitement, and is primarily patronised by gloomily supping locals.
A quick examination of the menu – which is the only manner in which one could examine the sparse and predictable document - disappoints. As does the stew which eventually materialises. Care has been taken to overcook the meat, while ensuring that none of its native flavour survives the process. The Inn’s range of quaffables is less limited. The beer on tap proves biddably hoppy, which is a mercy, since the rest of winelist promises either instantaneous inebriation or immediate nausea. The brave or the foolhardy may be tempted by the authentically sourced “Orcish Brew”, which my spry salesstrumpet advised me is redolent of the distilled perspiration of twenty orcs – although I confess my courage failed me, and I left the bottle sniffed – which confirmed its distinctly sweaty nose – but unsipped. In the alternative, the barmaid cheerfully suggested that I might try “Dead Man’s Breath”, also known by the more prosaic title of Crescent Moonshine. A local favourite, I attempted a thimble full. Not to be recommended. Wryly, I proposed another title: Drinking to Forget. The delicious gag apparently didn’t translate terribly well into the local parlance, as our hostess didn’t smile.
For the lonely traveller intent on slumming it, or a depressed soul seeking a spot to drown his woes – or indeed himself - the tender mercies of The Regal Whore may provide. For those of you keen on your creature-comforts, or gastronomes seeking the flavourful and the appetizing, this establishment is not worth the trip. Drab stews, bilious liquors – and a venereal disease of your choice. Not so much ‘See Jiyyd on a shoestring’ as ‘See Jiyyd and get a tapeworm’. Not to be recommended.
**Rats & Bats Restaurant, Jiyyd ****
Tucked inside a cave system in the south-western corner of Jiyyd, only persistent travellers and those-in-the-know will find the Rats & Bats Restaurant. Having negotiated one’s way around wandering livestock, their ubiquitous pats - and at the request of local residents – please not trampling the crops – it was with a quiver of anticipation that your gastrognomes located the ghoulishly dubbed Rats & Bats.
Guttering candles illuminate the cavern, warming the bare rock, while the air is aspice with atypical cooking aromas. The austere décor will primarily appeal to geological enthusiasts, mushroom connoisseurs and the robustly-bladdered, able to resist the siren squirt of constantly running water. However, the hazard that anything so pedestrian as a button mushroom strays onto one’s plate in this establishment is slight. Under the discerning eye of the owner, Ms Horbag Hurkink, who resides on the premises, Rats & Bats uses only locally-sourced, sustainably-cultivated and technically inedible ingredients. Presented in a brisk, no-nonsense style, the eclecticism of Ms Hurkink’s menu cannot fail to impress. Diced badger reposing in crispy shortcrust, crunchy bat wings flapping with blisteringly outspoken spices, and an enigmatic mystery meat lathered in gleaming spider sauce.
We order a roasted rat to share, and a bowl of crispy bat wings. Delightfully, were able to select our rat of choice and observe its brutal slaughter and dismemberment moments before it arrived at our table. An awed silence enfolded the company when the rat arrived, lolling on a beany bed, its still-moving eyes begging to be devoured. The staff proved chirpy and accommodating when we sent the dish back, complaining that it was underdone, apologetically affirming the gnomish tradition that it is impolite to eat something while it was still – even partially - alive. Like the meal as a whole, the bat wings were fine but unexceptional - food that fulfils the promise of its surroundings. Sadly, the dessert choice is no choice at all. Perhaps Ms Hurkink might be prevailed upon to include a sugar-coated mouse or two on her bill of fare for sweet-toothed customers.
The only major downside of Rats & Bats is that the food has a tendency to turn the customer green if they didn’t happen to racially begin in that fashion. Almost a hidden gem. Presently just hidden._
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A Galloping Gastrognome’s Guide to the Eateries of Narfell
[Foreword, Chairman of the Gastrognomic Guide Committee, Mr Perriwig P. Doubleday.
_It is a truth universally acknowledged that the health and well-being of a nation is most accurately determined by examining that people’s diet, dishes, drinks and dainties. It is with these scientific principles in mind that the scheme and notion of a Gastrognomic Guide to Narfell first took root in the Committee’s collective consciousness. Worse, when the available Guides to the Edible were sought out, they proved curiously out of date, shamelessly glossing some establishments in preference to others, leaving the reader with a prevailing sense of ignorance. It is this lacuna which the present work seeks to fill.
Its primary function, therefore, is the dissemination of foody information in an accessible format, objectively assessed and made available to the public general at a reasonable price. It is much to be hoped that the present guide will encourage interested Peltarchians to move without fear in the region’s - sometimes daunting - rusticated climes in the secure knowledge that an excellent dinner awaits the informed and forewarned peregrinator. A secondary, but I think, admirable consequence of The Gastrognomic Guide’s mission to educate in matters culinary is that the local fare and fodder of Narfell’s diverse peoples are recorded for posterity. Alas, it has not proved possible to enter every community, for which the Committee is heartily apologetic. Such appetites as are excluded from the present work – for example, those of the Bugbear Tribes of the Deeper Rawlinswood – must be conjectured upon by the projecting and the curious. In our considered view, we probably aren’t missing much.
I believe it was the gnomish playwright, Bunter B. Shooglestaff who first observed “If custard be the food of love, ladle on.” In composing this humble guide to Narfell’s culinary conscience, our reviewers have constantly strived to uphold those values which Shooglestaff so movingly expressed.
Perriwig P. Doubleday._
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