A Letter to Anton Virane

To my esteemed student, Anton Virane,

Anton, you have always been a talented chef, but your knowledge of the High Rock postal service leaves much to be desired. I awoke Sundas morning to no less than nine of your hastily-penned, frantic letters, each one urging me to buy—of all things!—a cookbook. Now that I have purchased this Uncommon Taste, I am slowly beginning to understand what has you in such fits of apoplexy. You tell me this “Gourmet” is your friend Balagog gro-Nolob. The same Balagog that tried to prepare roast dreugh with offal hollandaise as his final assignment. The worst student of the culinary arts I ever had. The same Balagog who, apparently, has somehow bewitched every half-wit housewife and worthless wet-nurse the Empire over into buying a cookbook, penned by him.

[SEVERAL SCRIBBLES, INK BLOTS, AND SCRAWLED STRINGS OF COARSE LANGUAGE.]

You must forgive the state of this letter; in writing it, I acquired a sudden urge to take a near-fatal dose of the Balmora Blue I leave stored in my personal “spice cabinet.” Do not worry, I was unsuccessful in inducing a permanent coma, but this correspondence is continuing two weeks hence. As I was saying, you are quite certain that Balagog has, almost overnight, become the foremost authority in Tamrielic cuisine. I cannot deny this; already his insipid drivelings are cropping up like Namira’s Rot in the cesspit that is now my classroom. Yesterday a student asked me for a full cup of nutmeg to make a “Sunrise Soufflé,” and I could not help but knock him unconscious with a saucepan full of Alto demi-glace. He will recover, but my faith in the taste of the Empire’s citizens may not.

To think, that these tongueless fools would actually enjoy his laughably named Potage le Magnifique? It is flour gruel! With carrots! That's all! To say nothing of the heinous monstrosities further on in his book. Deathbell-Chocolate Pate? Grilled Mudcrab with Slaughterfish Roe? Even writing such things makes me gag. Clearly Balagog has acquired no better sense of taste than he had at the Academy, even if that taste has spread to the rest of this brainless continent.

Please come see me at the earliest convenience. You are familiar with Balagog’s habits and haunts. Perhaps we can… arrange something. Bring your good knife, a strong servant, and a bouquet of nightshade flowers. With any luck, this “Gourmet” will serve as a passing fad, and our efforts will ensure that the institution of cooking continues without his abominable recipes.

Your mentor and friend,

Michel Redbrook

Headmaster of the Wayrest Academy of the Savory Arts