Introduction
Salutations my fellow gourmets and aficionados of the comestible experience. I must apologize for the delay in the publication of this, the third chapter, but a brief respite was necessary after my travails in Taz. I had severe indigestion for a period of several days.
Stomach settled and revitalized after some much-needed recuperation, I began the first leg of my further travels, acquiring passage by barge from Vardune to Shattra. Presented here for your delectation are my findings. While a few of you may be disappointed at the reduced length of this manuscript, I can only apologize and assure you there is good reason. Only by keeping moving can I maintain distance between myself and the Witch-Hunters of Aaman.

Author's Note
Before commencing with this discourse, I find it necessary to write a diatribe about that nation of proselytizers, Aaman. As I am now considered a heretic, I have little fear of alienating them further, as the Witch-Hunters are already on my trail.
Avoid that nation of narrow-minded, ignorant and self-flagellating buffoons. Both they and their cuisine are empty, colorless, unfulfilling and bland, as is the deity they worship.

The Acridity of Arim
Disembarking from the viridia barge onto the docks of the Creator-forsaken and wretched pit known as Shattra, I was immediately struck by the filth and acridic stench of the trade town. I also noted with alarm that the people there watched me with a mixture of suspicion and jealousy, ensuring I remained vigilant, lest I should inadvertently attract someone's ire and the attention of the Revenants. I made with all haste for the nearest inn.
The inn was raucous with the sounds of a violent brawl, caused by Arimites who had drunk far too much chakos. Bizarrely, no one paid them any heed, as if drinking was an excuse for poor behavior. Such a primitive people.
I neatly avoided the leering, foul-mouthed miners, and ordered a mug of chakos, shouting to be heard over the din. The inn became utterly silent, as they all turned to gawk at me in surprise and amusement, before returning to their sullen drinking, and violent brawling.
Served in a grimy, black-iron mug, the liquid inside fizzed slightly and had a sharp aroma that curled the nose. Taking a substantial swallow, so as to avoid any interpretation that the national drink of Arim was beneath me, I forced a broad, toothy smile as my stomach and tastebuds rebelled. I maintained that same fixed grin for several minutes, and the Arimites must have assumed I was a harmless simpleton, for they relaxed visibly.
Chakos is murky purple-blue, as bitter as freshly squeezed leme, and as metallic as a rusty nail. As I overbalanced slightly on my stool, I also realized it was extremely potent.
The bloated barkeep raised one quizzical eyebrow when I asked for a menu, and offered me the "chef's special". How could I possibly refuse? I certainly wish I had. A grubby iron plate was placed in front of me bearing a few half-baked provender roots, barely cooked roast avir, runny cheese, a thin gruel, and a few chunks of oil-dripping greasy meat. I have rarely felt so wretched, and my face began to ache painfully after grinning forcibly for the entire foul meal.
The meat was thoroughly repulsive, having been deep-fried in dripping, making it heavy and unpleasant. The fat coated my tongue and the roof of my mouth, making me nauseous. Chakos seemed entirely more preferable as a gastronomic experience.
Due to scare natural resources, and a sullen, moody culture, the Arimites have little inclination to experiment with cookery, usually over or under-cooking their food to a horrendous degree. Avir, a handful of durge, and the occasional tundra beast from the hills (which after the Arimite cooking process tastes like a greasy chunk of lard, just like any meat they cook) are fairly common. Provender is present in Arim, as it is nearly everywhere, although the local pollution means it is sparse and stunted. Mashing or roasting are their most common cooking methods, and occasionally they blend the resulting mush into a sickly, bittersweet stew, possibly adding a few chunks of fatty meat or dripping. How utterly vulgar.
I do warn against trying any local grog, as by all accounts it is infinitely viler than Chakos (see Chapter I - The Staples of Life).
If you wish to cultivate the sour and ugly mien of the Arimite people, I recommend eating their food as a step in the right direction. Having secured my reputation in Shattra as a mindless simpleton (but, a "live" simpleton, I might add), I departed Shattra for Aamahd, with the firm belief that things couldn't get any worse.

On Abstinent Aaman
Upon arriving in Aamahd via a tributary of the Axis River from Shattra, it has to be noted that my initial impressions were far from favorable, as I was made to feel distinctly unwelcome in this most dour of nations. Sadly, the situation was set to deteriorate.
Making enquiries as to a suitable eating establishment, I was tersely directed under escort to a small hostel "suitable for unclean and unenlightened infidels". The building itself, squat, square, white-washed and unadorned was obviously in poor repair, but I am open-minded enough to avoid the assumption that this must reflect on the food. I must make a mental note to pay closer attention to appearances in future. Not all are inaccurate.
Draughty and poorly lit, the hostelry was an exercise in bleak minimalism. I sat at a crude and roughly hewn wooden table, receiving several splinters from the chair in my haste. There I was served with great reluctance by a bald old morde of an Aamanian.
The platter offered, I am sad to say, was typical Aamanian fare, but this is of course the focus of my expedition.
Mashed and blanched provender is served at every meal as the bulk of their food, and accompanied by bland, extra thin wafers of unleavened bread. Thin, measly slices of boiled erd or durge meat, with a small wedge of dull and tasteless white Aarello cheese, round out the meal. I believe vellum and parchment hold more tantalizing flavor.
Paying the exorbitant cost for this enthusiasm-sapping "meal", I hinted to the proprietor that alcohol might help me forgive his lack of culinary expertise. Recoiling in horror, he almost screamed at me. How was I to know that alcohol and all other intoxicants are expressly forbidden? I was later to learn that the Aamanians must be ever alert for signs from Aa, and therefore such distractions as taste, color, and mild inebriation cannot be tolerated.
Being told in no uncertain terms that Aa-given water would be my only tipple, I began to sulk in unseemly fashion. It was then that I was approached by a friendly Zandir merchant, name of Zabarillo.
While the proprietor was otherwise busy, Zabarillo began to cheer my spirits, hinting comically that the Hierophant was a quaga-licking sycophant. Laughing, I heartily agreed, adding several colorful and scandalous insults of my own on the nature of Aa, Aaman, the Aamanian people, and their possible relationships with the excrement-eating urthrax. Excusing himself for the night, Zabarillo bid me farewell and left. I retired then, to a cold and uncomfortable bed.
During a midnight excursion to the toilet facilities, there was a tremendous ruckus, and I peered out of the commode to witness several armed Warrior-Priests, commanded by Zabarillo, break into my room. I fled, and escaped from Aaman, minus many of my belongings. Luckily, I met up with a Sarista gypsy caravan, who were gracious enough to take my under their wing.
I was later to learn that "Zabarillo" was actually an undercover Orthodoxist, trained to "encourage" visitors to speak their minds and therefore damn themselves to the Halls of Penance for treason and heresy.

The Succulence of Silvanus
Having no currency and possessions to speak of after my narrow escape in Aaman, I was fortunate indeed to happen across a Sarista caravan. They helped rescue me, and took me to Silvanus to partake of their hospitality.
I was made to feel welcome during the week I spent dwelling amid their colorful tents, although I did have to aid the children in various mundane chores, such as collecting firewood and gruffan dung. The little hellions were constantly jumping about, climbing all over me, and badgering me for stories. My only reprieve from the tireless brats was the single evening I spent in Werewood with a white Dhuna coven, when I was invited to attend a feast by a Dhuna called Dharus who was visiting the Sarista camp.
Come evening, large bonfires had been erected, and the day's hunt and forage prepared. Sarista food, while far from extravagant, is wholesome, tasty and honest (the latter attribute of which is seldom associated with these folk). Roasted meats such as durge and avir are particularly common, and served with herbal salads and mushrooms. Flavorsome Erd cheddar cheese, curdled from the milk of their clan's few domesticated erd, is well received, and roasted provender is as sickeningly common here as anywhere else in Talislanta. A few spices from the uncommon spice tree are generally reserved to flavor old meat, or to produce the rare treat for the clan's children. A Sarista child gnawing on the ginger-like bark of a spice tree is a happy child indeed.
However, one victual does bear mention. It was at the Sarista bonfire that I first tried feather dractyl, and found, perhaps unsurprisingly, that it tastes like kinchin.
Despairing of my lack of alcohol, I was startled and relieved to be offered some hearty alquine ale (tapped from the Alquine Tree), that I found to be stout, be mild in flavor. In addition, I was offered some fine blue pomegranate wine from Zandu, and, oh rapture, a tipple of aquavit. Apparently the Sarista do appreciate the finer things in life, and alcohol is something they often trade for, or otherwise "acquire".
About a week after my evening with the Dhuna, I accompanied the caravan to Zandu, where they were to set up camp in Zanth's Sarista ghetto.

The Delectables of the Dhuna
I consider myself blessed indeed to have made the friendship of Dharus, a Dhuna White Witch whom I met while staying in the Sarista camp. Aware of my culinary quest, he invited me to accompany him to Werewood, and partake of what he called "the humble Dhuna fare". Although reluctant to leave my Sarista saviors, I accepted his generous offer. It was to prove an excellent decision.
Every evening, the members of each specific coven hold a small banquet to celebrate life. Each day, the Dhuna spend several hours gathering what food they can in preparation for the night's feast. All of the coven's member's fruits are then gathered, and a feast created.
Sat at a long, low slab of polished stone, I watched as the banquet was offered up in thanks to nature, before being laid upon the table-slab. Rightful gratitude having been expressed for nature's bounty, the feast began.
As much a social gathering as anything else, the Dhuna were friendly and generous. Dishes of roasted wild mushrooms, seasoned with forest herbs; slices of roasted provender stuffed with the savory buds of the fernwood. Following these savories were platters of succulent wild berries, but most exceptional were the Dhuna plates themselves; or rather, their lack of same, as the Dhuna eat their food straight off the slab. No knives and forks are to be found, so you are expected to use your fingers and tuck in. Surprisingly, the Dhuna had provided just enough food to leave everyone content, without producing so much that any food is wasted.
Smiling somewhat mischievously, an attractive female witch offered to show me what she termed "their sweetest dish"... I awoke somewhat sore and disheveled, and reluctantly left, vowing to return sometime, hopefully with some fine bottles of aquavit. Their food is certainly delectable, but they really should drink something beyond water.

The Zest of Zandu
Bidding my Sarista friends a heartfelt farewell when they left me at Zanth, I was pleasantly surprised to find a plump purse of coinage had been hidden in the cloak they had given me. Anyone who speaks poorly of the Sarista within earshot of me will receive a sound ear bending, or my name isn't Ebullo the Extravagant of Cymril.
Proceeding with all the speed and urgency of a Kasmiran who has spied an untended coin, I made my way through colorful and chaotic streets. As a people very much dedicated to enjoying themselves, it should come as no surprise that the food of Zandu is tasty, exotic, and varied. Market stalls sell freshly roasted and spiced erd, durge, avir, mudray, rainbow kra and angorn. Local fruits, such as the sweet blue pomegranate abound, and are often distilled into fruit wines and cordials. All of the staples are present of course, though most are given lavish garnishes of spices, herbs, fungi and alcoholic sauces. The most popular cheese is zoldi, an erd cheese made with pulped black peppers which is added to the milk before the cheese is curdled, and gives it a black coloration and zingy bite.
The Zandir are especially fond of something they have dubbed "fast-food", referring to dishes that are tasty, yet quick to prepare and eat, such as spiced provender fries. An extremely popular dish is "zash"; sold throughout all Zanth's eating establishments, and many food stalls. It consists of lightly spiced provender fries, accompanied by a spicy sauce filled with chopped mushrooms, diced meat, or both. In fact, nearly every establishment and family has a traditional recipe for the sauce, the secrets of which are known by no one else.
One fairly well known practice among the hot-blooded Zandir is the use of aphrodisiac elixir, blended into food or drink to "spice up" an evening, a prime example of which is chima, a tasty erd cheese "flavored" with powdered tantalus root. I discovered this fact while visiting a hospitable establishment known as "The Caged Skank", wherein I managed to interview a Jaka manhunter bitch as regards the food of her people. Following my dialogue with the Jaka, I was invited to dine with a delightful Zandir couple, both of whom seemed fascinated by my "exotic" Cymrilian looks. With much laughter, and no little innuendo, I related my travails in Aamahd, and ate and drank the offered dishes quite eagerly. Beyond that my memory is a haze, for I awoke the next morning to find myself disheveled and in a state of undress, in a bedroom unknown to me, the Zandir couple on either side. Needless to say, I quietly donned my scattered apparel, and quickly left, at once annoyed and relieved that I could not remember the previous night's escapades.
Nearly every dish available, and a few that are not, can be found in Zandu, and new, often strange, recipes are created daily. More than anything else, the Zandir like to experiment, very occasionally to the detriment of their customer's digestive system. It was with mixed feelings that I left Zanth, taking berth on a ship called the Fountain of Dust, bound for a voyage across the Sea of Sorrow to the isle of Castabulan.

Jaka Victuals
Author's Note: The following information was gleaned from an interview with a Jaka Manhunter bitch (female), known as Kana that I met while spending an evening in The Caged Skank in Zanth. I have attempted to relate what she told me in her own words (sans her growling dialect), for I did not try their comestibles myself, much to my delight.
"You Archaens do not know how to eat well. You burn your meat until it looses all the flavor of life, and add spices and sauces that overpower the flavor of the food itself, as well as assaulting our delicate sense of smell. You tell me, why buy expensive meats, only to disguise their flavor? You use silly little tools to cut and hold your food, and you think it makes you civilized, even though we Jaka laugh at it, for we are honest enough to eat our food with our hands. You eat food that you have not killed yourself, that you have not earned with your own skill, that you have not witnessed die. You do not associate the animals with what you eat, and that means you do not truly appreciate what you eat. That is sad, for we Jaka eat the meat we have hunted with reverence, for the animal has died so that we may live. It makes the meal important, and the meat sweeter. It also means we do not waste like you Archaens, for that would be selfish and disrespectful. We hunt the muskront, with its tough red flesh, and the tundra beast with its hot metallic blood. The avir we fell with arrows, pluck (keeping the feathers for arrow flights), and devour. To eat the heart while it is still warm is a sign of respect for the animal's sacrifice, and we drain their blood into a flask, drinking it like you would savor the finest wines. Fermented grapes! Bah! Where is the life in that? We eat well, for the livers, heart, flesh, tongue, even the eyes and brains are all edible, and are rasping tongues allow us to scrape the flesh off the bones, and hook the sweet marrow from within them. We eat the freshest berries, fruits, and buds, picked straight off the trees and bushes where they were living only moments before. They are fresh, full of life, unlike the fruits you pickle and preserve. We gather grasses that act as purgatives, and keep ourselves healthy, and we are not so foolish as to avoid tasty grubs or insects, many of which taste like kinchin. You Archaens are so foolish, but we Jaka know that the way you eat is not a sign of intelligence, but of affectation and ignorance".

The Comestibles of Castabulan
Entirely too eager to set foot on solid ground following the short voyage from Zanth (during which I spent most of my time scurrying to the ship's railings in order to divest the contents of my queasy stomach). Upon arrival, I staggered almost delirious onto the beach of the tiny isle, cackling with joy, before throwing myself onto the golden sands with abject relief. Gazing up from my prone position, I saw that I had prostrated myself unceremoniously at the feet of a staggering tall and thin fellow with amber hair and a bemused expression. Gathering the fragments of my dignity, I stood up shakily, and informed him why I had arrived, while a comrade of his escorted the jocular Captain Zirago Vey to the interior of their complex.
Salaestram, for such was the individual's name, helped me inside, and promised that he would happily introduce me to the humble faire that is Castabulanese cuisine, just as soon as the community settled down for dinner in a few short hours, providing that I was willing to discuss my travels to date. Protesting that surely such a discourse would surely prove monotonous, Salaestram reassured me that any information about the outside world was welcome, such was the tedium of existence on the small isle.
Somewhat settled and cleaned up, I was seated a few hours later at the community's evening banquet, where I was to preside as guest of honor. Roasted provender with erd's cheddar was served with hard-baked provender bread as a side dish, while oysters were served as an appetizer, along with raw eels pickled in vinegar, a dish I found quite revolting. Steamed mudray and fish platters were laid out, arranged around a nar-eel centerpiece, the majority of which I found acceptable, if uninspiring. Spiced grain bakes were served as dessert with whipped erd's cream, and stood as the only truly enjoyable part of the menu. Blue pomegranate wine accompanied the otherwise dull meal, and I discovered that it was customary for visiting sea captains to bring a few bottles as gifts to the Castabulanese. While relating my tale, Zirago constantly commented that my quest was a "cushy number", and spat vehemently (right into the oyster dish, though considering the phlegm-like taste and consistency of oysters, I'm sure no one noticed) at my mention of the Aamanians. My overly attentive Castabulanese hosts quizzed my incessantly for more details, until, too tired to continue, I was shown to a hammock, steeling myself for my depart for the Southern Rim on the morrow.