The dungeon supplies the ingredients. You decide if they're dinner.
At the mouth of a forty-floor dungeon, a patched-up food stall feeds the adventurers heading down with
ingredients hauled up from below — glowing mushrooms, humming honey, crabs with shells like granite — and as of
yesterday you're the one holding the ladle.
Your palate is sharp enough to taste what makes a monster delicious and what makes it dangerous, and you'll need it,
because a slick rival wants your spot, the regulars are hungry, and the most feared food critic in the land arrives
in seven days.
