Meals from the Western Badlands

How many moons have passed since that fateful day? The sun and stars have blurred into an indistinguishable haze in these treacherous badlands. I wander aimlessly, my belly aching with ceaseless hunger, and my parched lips mirroring the cracked and barren terrain beneath my weary feet. Death looms over me, the cruel specter of starvation and dehydration, all because my father's narrow mind sought to mold me into a man.
I press onward, one faltering step after another, my only solace being the hope of reuniting with my beloved Jakob. Thoughts of him offer respite when despair threatens to consume me. Oh, my sweet, innocent stableboy. How I miss his eyes, gleaming with adoration, as I recited poetry to him. It was to protect Jakob from my father's wrath that I found myself in this wretched situation. My father despised me for falling in love with a commoner, unable to bear him noble heirs or further his influence unless I wed a highborn lady. But women held no allure for me, save for friendship.
In my weary trudge, I chance upon a flickering campfire amidst the fading light, sheltered by a cluster of rocks. The scent of food reaches my nostrils, provoking a primal hunger akin to a griffin's craving for horse's blood. This fire could belong to one of those painted savages who mercilessly slaughtered the caravan's guards and merchants, pillaging their wares. If it were so, death would at least bring an end to the gnawing emptiness plaguing my stomach and throat. Driven by desperation, I stumble toward the campfire, apprehensive of what awaits me.
There, by the fire, stands an imposing figure—a half-orc, or so I presume. Neither fully orcish nor entirely human, his rugged appearance belies his noble lineage. Clad in leathers and a quilted vest beneath a long bear fur coat, he carries an array of weapons—a bandolier of throwing knives, a hurlbat, a bearded axe, and an arming sword. A bow and quiver lie nearby, discarded for the moment as he tends to something sizzling atop a heated stone. He lacks the towering stature I had anticipated from one with orcish blood, standing no taller than five feet eleven inches. Yet his frame is solid, a blend of robust muscles and a layer of protective fat, far from the chiseled Adonises adorning my father's statue collection. This is the practical strength of men who toil with heavy burdens or engage in relentless combat.
As our eyes meet, I instinctively recall the tales my father shared, filled with prejudice and disdain for those of mixed orcish heritage. He painted them as subhuman, brutish creatures devoid of intellect and morality, prone to explosive violence and their basest instincts. However, recent events have taught me that my father's words are as false as the songs of minstrels. For this half-orc's eyes, instead of the anticipated crimson irises, mirror a genuine concern for my well-being.
Before I can react, he swiftly rises from his seat and offers me his waterskin. I drink greedily, savoring the contents as if it were the finest vintage. It's a humble ale, common in these lands where water is untrustworthy, yet it tastes more exquisite than any wine I've ever savored.
"Emmerson Lynch," he introduces himself, extending a helping hand as he assists me in sitting by the fire. He offers a slab of sizzling meat that wafts an intoxicating aroma. I nod, my cracked lips managing to utter my name in return. "Albercht Vanderholm." His acknowledgement is silent but understanding, and together we break bread—a gesture I never thought possible with a low born hunter, let alone a half-orc. He promises to guide me out of these perilous badlands, selflessly claiming it as his duty to aid lost travelers. In our journey together, as I regain my strength, I learn that he is a ranger affiliated with the Wild Wardens, an esteemed organization. A ranger, much like the heroes of ancient legends—stalwart, pure of heart, and fearless!
To my surprise, this ranger possesses a talent for the culinary arts. As we traversed the wilderness, he regaled me with his skills, teaching me the recipes that transformed scarce and unsightly fauna into extraordinary meals. Even now, as I present this selection of dishes, each a testament to Mr. Lynch's culinary prowess, to the esteemed Cooks Guild or Barter Bay, I vow to donate every coin earned to the Wild Wardens Ranger Lodge. For a life-debt can never be fully repaid with mere gold; it demands a gratitude that extends far beyond material offerings.
May Mr. Lynch thrive in the untamed wilds, forever saving the lost and fighting for righteousness. -Albercht Vanderholm, addressing his the Cooks Guild of Barter Bay with his newly printed cookbook Good Eats from the Bad Lands by Albercht Vanderholm and Emmerson Lynch.

Bannock Bread
In the vast untamed wilderness of the Northwest, a beloved staple known as Bannock Bread has become a cherished tradition among the rugged inhabitants. As Lynch shared the recipe with me, I was astonished to learn that this humble bread, originating from the highlands of the Talroch Isles, is a renowned delicacy among wilderness folk. While my previous notions of bread revolved around fluffy loaves baked by rosy-cheeked bakers in the stone ovens of my father's castle, I quickly realized that Bannock Bread is a portable and essential sustenance for those who call the wilds their home. Passed down through generations, this recipe holds a special place in the hearts and travel packs of adventurers in the Northwest.
Ingredients:
3 cups all-purpose flour 1 tablespoon baking powder 1 teaspoon salt 2 tablespoons butter or oil (can be substituted with rendered animal fat, Lynch swore by lard) 1 cup water (adjust as needed)
Instructions:
In a mixing bowl, combine the all-purpose flour, baking powder, and salt. Mix them together until well incorporated.
Add the butter or oil (or rendered animal fat) to the flour mixture. Using your fingertips, rub it into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.
Slowly add water, a little at a time, while stirring the mixture with a wooden spoon or your hands. Continue adding water until the dough comes together and is soft but not sticky.
Dust a clean surface with flour and transfer the dough onto it. Knead the dough gently for a few minutes until it becomes smooth and elastic. (Lynch worked his in the same bowl he made it in, I feel one scarely requires to "baby" bannock bread over much)
Shape the dough into a round loaf, about 1 inch thick. If desired, you can cut a cross or other decorative patterns into the top of the loaf using a knife.
Preheat a greased skillet or griddle over medium heat. Carefully transfer the shaped dough to the skillet or griddle.
Cook the bannock bread for approximately 10-15 minutes on each side, or until it is golden brown and cooked through. Flip the bread halfway through the cooking process to ensure even browning.
Once cooked, remove the bannock bread from the skillet or griddle and let it cool slightly before slicing.
Spit-Roasted Hare with Desert Sage
In the depths of our journey along the treacherous Badlands, Lynch, my seasoned guide, imparted upon me the true art of hunting and foraging. No longer confined to my father's staged deer hunts, I found myself immersed in the raw and authentic experience of survival. It was during those nights that I harvested my first kill, a lanky hare, its lean form a testament to the ruggedness of this unforgiving land. With sage from the desert as our culinary ally, Lynch revealed his recipe for a delectable Spit-Roasted Hare with Desert Sage:
Ingredients:
1 hare, cleaned and dressed Salt and pepper, to taste (optional neither were in abundence in the wild) A handful of fresh desert sage leaves Cooking oil or rendered animal fat (Once more a luxery you may not have in the Western Badlands)
Instructions:
Prepare a campfire and set up a sturdy spit over the flames, ensuring it is securely anchored.
Season the hare generously with salt and pepper, ensuring the flavors penetrate the meat.
Skewer the hare onto the spit, securing it tightly, and ensuring it is centered and balanced.
Arrange the fresh desert sage leaves within the cavity of the hare, allowing their aromatic essence to infuse the meat as it cooks.
Place the spit with the hare over the campfire, ensuring it is positioned at a suitable distance to avoid excessive charring.
Rotate the spit slowly and continuously, allowing the hare to roast evenly over the open flames. The cooking process may take anywhere from 1 to 2 hours, depending on the heat and the size of the hare.
While roasting, periodically baste the hare with cooking oil or rendered animal fat to keep the meat moist and impart additional flavor.
Once the hare is cooked to perfection, remove it from the spit and let it rest for a few minutes before carving.
Serve the Spit-Roasted Hare with Desert Sage as the centerpiece of a rustic feast, savoring the tender, smoky meat infused with the subtle essence of the desert sage leaves.
With each succulent bite, this dish pays homage to the Badlands' untamed spirit, allowing you to truly immerse yourself in the primal art of survival and culinary delight. As we embarked on our journey, Lynch's teachings reminded me that true hunting and foraging capture the essence of sustenance and harmony with the wilderness—a far cry from the orchestrated hunts of my privileged past. Roasting the hare over an open spit, its succulent flavors enhanced by the aromatic desert sage, we embraced the raw, unadulterated connection to the land and its bounty.
Pit Roasted Axe-Beak
This particular dish stands as a testament to the perilous adventures I embarked upon alongside Lynch, as we braved the treacherous grasslands that bordered the great rocky waste in search of a fearsome predatory beast. Never before had my eyes beheld such a nightmarish creature—an awe-inspiring bird incapable of flight, yet equipped with powerful legs and a formidable beak that truly lived up to its name: the Axe-Beak. To encounter such a creature was to face a dire and deadly challenge, as its talons and skull-shattering beak posed a grave threat. It was only through the skilled guidance and hunting prowess of Lynch that I escaped its clutches, for which I am eternally grateful. Later, I discovered that these nightmare birds were known to outrun even the swiftest horses, often preying upon them. The mere thought of a noble and fleet-footed steed falling victim to one of these monstrous avians sends shivers down my spine.
Now, I present to you Lynch's recipe for a sweet and tender pit-roasted Axe-Beak, a dish crafted from the bountiful flora found in the Badlands:
Ingredients:
1 whole Axe-Beak, cleaned and dressed Ground rock Salt to taste 1 tablespoon of wild pepper seeds, finely ground Juice of 2 cactus fruits A handful of desert sage leaves A handfull of Wild Onions 2 tablespoons of oil, or rendered fats 1 cactus fruit, sliced Cooking twine or wire for trussing
Instructions:
Build a fire and create a pit, allowing the flames to die down and the embers to form a bed of coals.
Prepare the Axe-Beak by thoroughly cleaning and dressing it, ensuring the removal of any feathers or debris. Pat dry clean cloth.
Season the Axe-Beak generously with salt, ground pepper seeds or peppers (wild pepers are abundent in the western badlands), and the desert Sage, ensuring the flavors permeate the meat.
In a small bowl, combine the cactus fruit juice, wild onions (Stalks, roots and all), and oil to create a marinade. Rub this mixture all over the Axe-Beak, allowing it to marinate for at least 30 minutes.
Truss the Axe-Beak securely with cooking twine or wire, ensuring the wings and legs are tightly secured to maintain its shape during the roasting process.
Place the sliced cactus fruit inside the cavity of the Axe-Beak, adding a touch of sweetness and moisture to the dish.
Prepare a sturdy roasting spit or encase the the trussed Axe-Beak in damp clay, creating a shell for indirect cooking.
Position the Axe-Beak over the pit of hot coals, ensuring it is suspended above the flames for even cooking. If using clay, place it directly on the coals. (I was informed that many locals bury the axe beak and allow it cook over the course of a full day for feasting)
Slowly rotate the Axe-Beak over the fire if spitted otherwise as noted bury the axe beak in hot coats and earth, allowing it to roast slowly and evenly. This process may take several hours, upwards of a full day depending on the size of the bird, as Ive stated the largest of these terror birds think nothing of hunting horses.
Periodically baste the Axe-Beak with any remaining marinade or the natural juices that accumulate during the roasting process to keep it moist and enhance the flavors if it is being spit cook otherwise as we did while the buried bird roasts pass the time by telling stories or entertaining yourself it will be quite sometime before it is done.
Once the Axe-Beak is cooked to succulent perfection, remove it from the spit or pit and let it rest for a few minutes before cracking the clay shell.
Carve and serve the sweet and tender pit-roasted Axe-Beak as the centerpiece of a remarkable feast, celebrating the diverse flavors of the Badlands and the triumph over the formidable beast.
This extraordinary dish represents both the dangers faced and the triumphs achieved in the untamed Badlands. As you savor the sweet and tender meat, cooked to perfection over an open flame, reflect upon the resilience of the land and the skill of those who navigate its perils.