This restaurant had the reputation of being one of the best, and the most adaptive, places around. The fact it was owned, and ran, by kobolds surprised many that didn't know them. The head chef is quite an interesting kobold indeed. -- Anon Guest
Food, everyone agrees, is the foundation of life. What everyone disagrees with is how preparation and preservation should be done. Everyone points at other peoples and declares that they're doing it wrong. Cultural cross-contamination has spread many methods between the people, while others remain... niche.
Only the Gnomish ask for foods preserved by amber-trapping. Few but Kobolds seek peated foods.
Nevertheless, there's one place where any intelligent creature can get food just like home. And it's a bit of a challenge, owing to the staff. Patrons must debate how much they miss the taste of home, because the entire place is run by a nest of Kobolds.
Many people turned their noses up at Kobolds, when they didn't turn their steel towards them of course. Compared with many other species, the Kobolds share the Gobelliin destiny of ending in a short, crunchy squeak. They were the smallest of the intelligent Dragonkindred, and the least valued. The least wanted... anywhere.
Yet here they were. Clean. Dressed so as not to offend any who might witness them in Fontspring. Happy and eager to serve. A thousand little Dragonkindred or more - many find them hard to tell apart. Scurrying to set the tables, light the candles, take the orders, and otherwise make their guests comfortable so they could enjoy their meal.
The actual face of the restaurant is relatively small. Room enough for the people who go there, certainly, but no evidence of a kitchen... above the ground. Fontspring, much like Deepwater, has a healthy connection to the labyrinths of caverns, tunnels, and subterranean cities under the surface of Alfarell. The kitchen for this place, like the bulk of the Kobold nest, is underground.
The name? We'll Cook Any Food. Kobolds take many things literally, and spare their imagination for clever traps. Well. Most of their imagination. In this one case, their imagination bloomed forth in fusion cuisine. Using flavours from every culture that Kobolds could know.
And Kobolds, everybody knows, get everywhere.
Here, one could enjoy a meal of pickled pork with a side of fermented cabbage, and honeyed root vegetables. With an assortment of candied fruits and pastries for dessert. They have a choice of cheeses from all over the continent. Including some with purposeful infestations of pestilence.
Whatever your taste, they have your flavour. The nest of Kobolds aim to please. Even those who could never be pleased.
"I demand to speak to the head chef!" The arrogant merchant waved a small, red scale in the air. "This is intolerable!"
Of course, the nest was ready to please, and eager to serve. They took her from her table, through the back doors, and down into the caverns of the nest...
Where a large, thick-set Hellkin was chattering in Yprak with the cluster of Kobolds, checking everything for quality.
"Complaint," said one of the guides.
The merchant held up a tiny, red, Kobold scale. "I found this in my food. I demand to know which one of these... creatures is responsible."
"That's going to be difficult," said the head chef, Savor. "Nobody in this nest is red."
"Nonsense! All Kobolds are red," shouted the merchant in spite of all the evidence around her. The kitchen scurried with green ones, black ones, yellow ones... but not a single red Kobold in the entire scrum of organised chaos.
"I'm the only red Kobold here," said Savor, "and I don't shed scales."
"You're a HELLKIN," squawked the merchant.
"And I was traumatised when I found out," said Savor. "Match the scale with its owner, and I will cook for your house and staff. Take all day if you need to. And mind the animal stalls. They don't like Humans."
[Photo by Mgg Vitchakorn on Unsplash]
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