BFNT: Shelter Lake
It can be strange what tips off the old nostalgia sensor. This is the first place since I set out on this culinary adventure that legitimately reminded me of home.
It certainly isn’t the view. If you were to look at it, I would wager that Shelter Lake is about the exact opposite of Crammin. What with all these peaceful pastoral hues of blue and green everywhere instead of my beloved “12 shades of brown,” but… I don't know, maybe there’s just something about the similarities and the vibes of ranchers and farmers. Both groups of people work with the land and what’s on it, just in slightly different ways.
Or, maybe it’s the smell from downwind of the Firepit. It does have a certain familiar acrid tinge. Unfortunately for the nose, but fortunately for the stomach, that’s exactly where we’re headed.
Shelter Lake is a small community out in the middle of nowhere. They’re basically a town that’s always on the razor’s edge of throwing a festival for anything, just to keep themselves entertained, and I love them for it. Their big festival has to do with the town’s claim to fame: surviving a dragon attack back in the day. It is actually where the Firepit came from! Long story short: dragon’s breath caught an underground gas pocket on fire. Take it from me, readers, don’t get a Laker started on the subject of dragons. They’ll talk to you for hours about it. Today’s festival is known throughout the Tritos Dominion as "Mithril Chef." Some of the best and brightest food-touchers from all over the world come here to try. The goal? To craft the best dish they can, all featuring a rare mystery ingredient secured by the judges. The winner gets a bunch of cash, and they get to choose (and help secure) next year’s ingredient, which has its own kind of ridiculous prestige and honors associated with the choice. The harder it is to go get, the better you look when you bag it. Last year, it was yeti meat. I heard it took three weeks for the smell to go away. While it might not bring in as large a crowd as the DragonFest itself, Mithril Chef is one of the best events of the year for the culinary elite. So much so that the press are not allowed in. Or maybe I’m not allowed in. Either way, that makes sense. So, I figure, I may as well do what any other respectable, dedicated goblin journalist would do in this situation: find a place to get trashed, place some bets in Old Town, and then try to figure out what happened by haranguing anybody who looks both important and happy as they leave.
The Hanging Trout Trout. Words fail even me at times, readers, and the Hanging Trout is one such occasion. Half inn, half “shrine to the concept of fishing,” there’s fish and fishing stuff EVERYWHERE in here. But the owner, Burton, was nice enough, knowledgeable in his craft, clearly one hell of a fisherman, and he also may have accidentally just told me a great way to get past the guards at the pit, so if I run, I just might be able to catch the judging.
Okay readers, so what I could gather from the better-dressed people in the crowd is: the secret ingredient was Dagger-Squid, caught way out in the Drakefire Ocean. I've never actually seen one, but apparently they're as vicious as they are delicious. The three finalists were: Reg Bundt, a human from Northern Tritos, Blunk’aka, a Malkari from right up the road in Rastein, and an elvenari who came all the way from Leng, who won with what sounded like a truly magnificent lightning-infused calamari platter. Also, a fellow goblin did manage to enter this year, but his official entry was disqualified because “it was still technically alive, somehow." I don't mean to get all political in a food column, but can we keep necromancy out of our kitchens, folks? There's just gotta be a better way to keep things fresh. At any rate, the elvenari guy claimed he'd be back next year with something dredged up from Dendenwine, so hopefully I'll be back around here for that.
Not much this week, otherwise, readers, small towns are just like that sometimes. Keep your eyes sharp, and your ears sharper.
Shelter Lake is a small community out in the middle of nowhere. They’re basically a town that’s always on the razor’s edge of throwing a festival for anything, just to keep themselves entertained, and I love them for it. Their big festival has to do with the town’s claim to fame: surviving a dragon attack back in the day. It is actually where the Firepit came from! Long story short: dragon’s breath caught an underground gas pocket on fire. Take it from me, readers, don’t get a Laker started on the subject of dragons. They’ll talk to you for hours about it. Today’s festival is known throughout the Tritos Dominion as "Mithril Chef." Some of the best and brightest food-touchers from all over the world come here to try. The goal? To craft the best dish they can, all featuring a rare mystery ingredient secured by the judges. The winner gets a bunch of cash, and they get to choose (and help secure) next year’s ingredient, which has its own kind of ridiculous prestige and honors associated with the choice. The harder it is to go get, the better you look when you bag it. Last year, it was yeti meat. I heard it took three weeks for the smell to go away. While it might not bring in as large a crowd as the DragonFest itself, Mithril Chef is one of the best events of the year for the culinary elite. So much so that the press are not allowed in. Or maybe I’m not allowed in. Either way, that makes sense. So, I figure, I may as well do what any other respectable, dedicated goblin journalist would do in this situation: find a place to get trashed, place some bets in Old Town, and then try to figure out what happened by haranguing anybody who looks both important and happy as they leave.
The Hanging Trout Trout. Words fail even me at times, readers, and the Hanging Trout is one such occasion. Half inn, half “shrine to the concept of fishing,” there’s fish and fishing stuff EVERYWHERE in here. But the owner, Burton, was nice enough, knowledgeable in his craft, clearly one hell of a fisherman, and he also may have accidentally just told me a great way to get past the guards at the pit, so if I run, I just might be able to catch the judging.
Okay readers, so what I could gather from the better-dressed people in the crowd is: the secret ingredient was Dagger-Squid, caught way out in the Drakefire Ocean. I've never actually seen one, but apparently they're as vicious as they are delicious. The three finalists were: Reg Bundt, a human from Northern Tritos, Blunk’aka, a Malkari from right up the road in Rastein, and an elvenari who came all the way from Leng, who won with what sounded like a truly magnificent lightning-infused calamari platter. Also, a fellow goblin did manage to enter this year, but his official entry was disqualified because “it was still technically alive, somehow." I don't mean to get all political in a food column, but can we keep necromancy out of our kitchens, folks? There's just gotta be a better way to keep things fresh. At any rate, the elvenari guy claimed he'd be back next year with something dredged up from Dendenwine, so hopefully I'll be back around here for that.
Not much this week, otherwise, readers, small towns are just like that sometimes. Keep your eyes sharp, and your ears sharper.
And hopefully, better food next time,
Bok Globule
Bok Globule
4th of Opal, 5 UE
Dagger Squid
Trophy of Endless Wine
Given to the winner
of Mithril Chef
Given to the winner
of Mithril Chef
