When thou goest to thy local tavern, thou shouldst knowest what thou art getting for the little monies thou has. At Çarac’s Inne in Muskoxenville, that’s exactly what thou cannest expect: a bowl of lukewarm gruel, because that’s all thou can afforde and all thou hast ever et.
Mineself hath been eating at Çarac’s for mine entire lyfe, for travelling beeth arduous and mine feet beeth sore from long days in the fields. But mineself cannot complain when there be gruel as wondrous as this. Here beeth some of the fyner qualities of Çarac’s.
Atmosphere. Cold, dank, and musty. Oft someone gets killed fighting o’er a chicken leg. I assume this is desirable in a restaurant. A-
Presentation. Slopped into a wooden bowl and placed angrily in front of thee. Usually not much spills on thy tunic. B+
Taste. Sometymes there is taste on the rare occasions that salt or herbs are available. But I beeth not so uppity as to needeth taste in mine foode. A-
Texture. Runny with a hint of chunky wet oats, just the way it should be. If thou desired a thicker meal, thou shouldst have ordered porridge from Ingbert’s Porridgehouse. A
Smell. I lost mine sense of smell in the war, but am told it beeth not that goode. B-
Overall. B+. I know nothing else, so ’tis pretty goode methinks. But I don’t want to give it an A lest I be punish’d for over-joyment.