Faur'ri Fungal Cakes with Mole-fries

Created from Faur'ridar'ru Fungus processed into paste fungal cakes are a sweet but filling treat especially when combined with fried Gravedigger belly shredded and crispy from the hearth of hot oil it fried in.

The cakes hold a bluish glow under a strong light, refracting light back like a shiny pancake. The Gravedigger is fatty, streaked with red. The skin is served with the meat, adding a crispy exterior. Spices are strong enough to be felt in the the base of the nose.

Visiting the depths of Tyrn-Cha felt alien enough, plunging through great walkways of ice and stone. When we got to dinner and sat in the cramped booths, I grew uneased by the two shirtless Nasyk who sat around a single person-sized stone bowl.

The light from the coals burning beneath the bowl turned their grey coat orange and made their long fangs glint. I noticed the ventilation sucking the smoke up and away. I wonder how they managed that under a glacier?

I didn't get time to think about it. The Nasyk, filling our order, reached behind them and plunged a portion of cut meat into the great stone bowl. The aroma overwhelmed by thoughts. First, a rich spice that tingled my nose like fresh pickled ginger, followed by the scent that reminded me of a fresh roast.

Our cooks pushed the servings of meat along, guiding their doneness with staffs that had a fork end on one side and a roller on the other. In unison, each chef reached below them to pull out a dough that help a strange blue luminance under the firelight. They slapped the dough against the side of the stone bowl, and with a twirl of their staffs, brought the roller end down to flatten the dough.

A minute longer passed, the Nasyk idly chatted to themselves, about what I do not know. What I do know, is that they seemed very interested in the fact that I was a human. I heard them say the Saza word for it many times. At least they didn't seem insulted by my presence.

Within minutes, the bread had started eminating a sweet scent that complimented the savory spice of the meat. It was served to us without plates into a divot carved into the smoothed stone counter. They scooped the cakes first, flipping it once and slapping into the divot where it fit like a fluffy glove.

The meat came second, speared into a single clump with a practiced swing of their staffs. It too, was scooped into the divot. Already the juices soaked from the crispy marbled meat strips into the cake below. They handed us a pair of forks, and bowed in respect, which we returned.

They did all that without moving from their cramped seats a single time.

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The taste was divine, crispy meat with a heavenly soul warming heat. The fat melted in my mouth, protected by a thin layer of crisp from the searing bowl. I my limited palette could only compare it to braised pork-belly on the side, but the meat tasted much more tender and supple.

The Cake below peeled apart into strips, still holding that blue hue that they went into the bowl with. I tasted it alone first, and the sweetness surprised me, but I had no complaints. I showered the chefs with praises of divinity, earning a pair of smug smiles. They were kind enough to show me how to dip the bread into the layer of juices at the bottom of my bowl to help them 'clean' as they called it.