Fantastic Beasts and How To Eat Them

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The Abyssal Chicken

There are few creatures more absurdly horrifying than the Abyssal Chicken. This beast appears to be the abyssal lovechild of a chicken and a bat, though no one with common sense would mistake it for a barnyard animal. Found scuttling through the hellish wastes of the Abyss, the Abyssal Chicken is equal parts scavenger, predator, and nightmare fuel. It has no beak—only a hideous, gaping maw—and its wings, leathery and clawed, fold above it and slap together with the sound of wet flesh colliding, allowing it to fly short distances. But its preferred method of movement is running at its prey at full speed with its powerful, taloned feet.

Despite its terrifying appearance, however, the Abyssal Chicken is a surprisingly common staple of Abyssal cuisine. It breeds prolifically, can subsist on nearly anything, and—most importantly—it is great to eat if you can get past how it looks. Demonic warbands roast them over open flames, dragons devour them raw, and certain cultists have even domesticated them for their eggs, which are best described as "an acquired taste." For adventurers braving the Abyss, an Abyssal Chicken meal may be the safest option on the menu—assuming you can look away while the cook is at work.

But how does one prepare such an interesting creature? And more importantly, how does it taste?

Let’s dig in.

Butchering and Processing

If you’ve ever butchered a chicken before, you might think an Abyssal Chicken would be a straightforward task. You’d be dead wrong. Unlike its mundane counterpart, an Abyssal Chicken does not go quietly into the pot. Even after death, its twitching body can lurch violently, and its muscles often spasm due to residual abyssal energy. Some chefs recommend stunning it with a brief exposure to radiant light before handling to ensure it stays still. Others say a second death blow—just to be sure—is a wise precaution. And maybe a third and fourth...

Once the creature is truly, unequivocally dead, the real work begins.

Unlike a normal chicken, an Abyssal Chicken does not have feathers—it has a rubbery, leathery hide more akin to a bat or a particularly angry toad. The skin is riddled with small spines and pustules that excrete a foul-smelling, slightly caustic slime. Before butchering, it's best to rinse  the body with purified water or wipe it down with a vinegar and salt solution to neutralize the slime. Some abyssal cooks recommend a light flame-searing, which has the added benefit of loosening the hide for removal.

Using a sharp knife, make an incision along the underside of the creature between its legs, and carefully peel back the hide. Unlike a bird, the skin is thick but highly elastic, and it peels away in a disturbingly smooth sheet. Some more adventurous chefs have experimented with deep-frying it, but most would agree that tossing the hide is not a big loss. 

Next, we need to gut the beast. The Abyssal Chicken, like many creatures of the Abyss, eats just about anything. Its stomach contents are best not examined too closely, as they can range from bits of bone and demon gristle to more unsettling, unidentifiable remnants. Carefully slice open the abdomen and remove the organs, taking special care not to rupture the stomach or bile sac. Both release a noxious black ichor that, if spilled on the meat, can render it nearly inedible.

The heart is often shockingly large for the size of the creature, and some believe this is due to the creature’s unnatural metabolism. If properly cleaned, it can be roasted or fried as a delicacy, much like the heart of a traditional bird. The liver, on the other hand, is heavily infused with abyssal toxins and is not recommended for consumption—unless you happen to be a fiend yourself, in which case, bon appétit.

The remaining internal cavity should be rinsed thoroughly, ideally with blessed water or a high-proof spirit. Brandy, whiskey, or even a particularly strong dwarven ale works well. This neutralizes any lingering demonic residue and more importantly gets rid of that annoying funk that is commonly associated with any Abyssal creature.

At this stage, the Abyssal Chicken finally starts to resemble something edible. The body can be broken down into familiar cuts:

The breast meat is surprisingly tender and the most “normal” part of the bird. Best suited for roasting, frying, or grilling. The legs and thighs are slightly gamier and much more muscular than a traditional chicken, requiring longer cooking times. These are best braised or slow-cooked. The wings are large slabs of cartilage, but if you’re dedicated, they can be deep-fried into crispy little hellish morsels, or slow cooked in water to render down into stock. And speaking of stock, the neck and back lend a deep, almost umami-rich flavor with a slightly sulfuric aftertaste.

Some abyssal chefs recommend hanging the butchered meat in a cool, dry place for a few hours to let the excess fluids drain. This can help mellow out the more aggressive flavors of the meat. Alternatively, a quick brine in salted holy water will ensure a cleaner, more balanced taste.

Flavor

The first time you bite into Abyssal Chicken, you might be convinced that there’s no difference from the feathered foul you’ve eaten growing up. But as you continue to process the flavor, you’ll realize this is not a light, neutral meat that takes on the flavor of whatever sauce you smother it in. No, Abyssal Chicken demands your attention, with a richness that lingers on the tongue and sets it apart from any bird on the Material Plane. 

It has a deep, charred smokiness to it, even before its cooked. Some theorize this comes from its environment in the Abyss, where fire and brimstone are just as common as air and water. Others believe it’s the creature’s natural defense mechanism, subtly hinting, "You really shouldn't be eating this." Either way, expect a roasted, almost smoked quality to the meat, regardless of your cooking method.

Beyond the smokiness, the flavor is rich and gamey, similar to duck or pheasant, but denser and more intense. The muscle fibers are tight and lean, which makes sense as it's an active, constantly moving creature. Unlike standard chicken, there is no “white meat” and “dark meat” distinction—it’s all dark meat.

And then there’s the aftertaste. While properly cleaned and cooked Abyssal Chicken is perfectly  safe to eat, it retains a faint, metallic, almost sulfuric tang that some describe as a little unsettling. It’s not necessarily unpleasant, but it does serve as a reminder that this meat doesn’t quite belong to the natural world. Some even compare it to the aftertaste of well-aged blue cheese or over-charred steak fat.

Abyssal Chicken is far denser and chewier than most birds, bordering on the texture of rabbit or even venison. The legs and thighs in particular can be almost gelatinous when slow-cooked, their connective tissues breaking down into an incredibly rich, unctuous bite. Meanwhile, the breast meat, while more tender, still retains a firm, almost beef-like chew.

One unusual quirk of Abyssal Chicken is that it doesn’t dry out the way normal poultry does. Even when roasted or grilled, the meat remains juicy—though the kind of juiciness depends on your preparation. Cook it too hot and quickly, and the fats release a slightly acrid, sulfuric scent, reminding you once again that this is not your average chicken dinner.

But this is assuming you cook it. And also assuming you have a working brain. But let’s say you either do not, or enjoy testing your constitution for absolutely no reason at all. Raw Abyssal Chicken is a death wish, plain and simple. While certain abyssal cults claim that eating it raw unlocks "forbidden flavors," what it actually unlocks is a series of constitution-saving throws you don’t want to fail. That said, some warlocks and thrill-seeking gourmands insist that flash-searing the outer layers—leaving the inside mostly raw—creates an "ethereal, otherworldly experience." I’ll let them be the ones to test that theory.

Eggs

If the meat of an Abyssal Chicken is a slightly acquired taste, then its eggs are a true test of  culinary bravery. Unlike mundane chicken eggs, which are prized for their versatility and mild flavo  r, Abyssal Chicken eggs are dense, pungent, and unapologetically sulfuric—even before they hit the pan. They are best compared to century eggs or heavily aged duck eggs, carrying a deep umami richness that many find intriguing but just as many find absolutely revolting.

But for those willing to embrace their unique qualities, they hold incredible potential in both cooking and alchemy. Let’s crack one open and see what we’re dealing with.

Abyssal Chicken eggs look almost unnatural, even by abyssal standards. The outer shell is a deep, burnt red or black, often with faint, vein-like patterns that glow softly in dim light. Some say this glow pulses when the egg is particularly fresh—though whether that’s a good or bad sign depends on your perspective.  

The egg white, if you can call it that, is thick, viscous, and slightly gelatinous, ranging from an opaque dark gray to a sickly greenish hue. It carries an almost leathery texture when raw, and when cooked, it firms up into something closer to jelly than egg white.

The yolk is dense and oily, with a deep golden-orange hue that borders on amber. When broken, it exudes a strong, sulfuric aroma, reminiscent of rotten eggs, fermented fish sauce, and a hint of wood smoke. The longer it sits exposed to air, the darker and more pungent it becomes, eventually taking on an almost tar-like consistency.

While these descriptions might not sound particularly appetizing, properly prepared Abyssal Chicken eggs are considered a luxury in some cultures—especially among demons, orcs, and goblins, who view their intense flavors as a sign of culinary strength.

While eating the meat of an Abyssal Chicken raw is a death wish, the eggs are actually completely safe to consume without cooking. That being said, it is definitely an adrenaline rush. The overwhelming sulfuric punch can hit the nose before it even reaches your mouth. The flavor is intensely briny, with deep, fermented notes that call to mind, overripe cheese and the inside of a volcanic cave. It is thick, oily, and lingers on the palate long after consumption. Some describe the taste as “like licking the bottom of a charred cauldron that used to hold fish stew.” Others simply gag and refuse to elaborate.

Which is why I recommend cooking it first. Cooking helps mellow out some of the more aggressive notes, but even then, the flavor remains bold and intensely savory. The yolk takes on a creamy, almost custard-like texture, making it ideal for thickening rich sauces or adding depth to hearty dishes. However, heat does not remove the signature smoky, aged funk—it simply transforms it into something more earthy and complex.

Due to these notes, Abyssal Chicken eggs are often pickled to enhance their more desirable qualities while mellowing out their more aggressive ones. One common preparation involves soaking the eggs in a brine made from black vinegar, dried abyssal peppers, and aged rice wine, allowing them to cure for several weeks. When sliced, they reveal a translucent, smoky amber yolk surrounded by a firm, green tinged jellied white—a true delicacy for those who appreciate bold, fermented flavors.

Recipes

Abyssal Chicken Wings

Abyssal Chicken wings are unlike any mundane poultry. Instead of delicate, meaty portions, these wings are long, sinewy plates of cartilage that require slow, patient cooking to break down into a tender final product. Quick grilling or frying would only render them unpleasantly chewy, but a slow braise in dark ale, bone broth, and spices transforms them into something truly decadent. 

The first step is to blanch the wings in boiling water for five minutes to remove excess sulfuric compounds and any lingering Abyssal residue. After draining, the wings are patted dry and lightly scored with a knife to allow the braising liquid to fully penetrate.

A heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven is heated over medium-high flame with a spoonful of smoked lard or Abyssal Chicken schmaltz. The wings are seared in batches until a deep golden-brown crust forms, locking in moisture and building layers of flavor. Once seared, they are set aside while the aromatics—shallots, garlic, and ginger—are sautéed until fragrant. Add in smoked paprika, cinnamon, and crushed abyssal peppers, creating a deeply spiced base for the braising liquid. 

The pot is then deglazed with a combination of black vinegar and dark ale, scraping up any browned bits to enrich the broth. Bone broth and honey are added, forming a rich braising liquid that will slowly transform the wings over the next few hours.

Once the braising liquid is bubbling gently, the seared wings are returned to the pot, ensuring they are mostly submerged. The heat is lowered, and the dish is left to simmer for two to two and a half hours, turned occasionally to ensure even cooking. 

Over time, the cartilage softens, the muscle fibers loosen, and the once-rigid structure of the wings becomes silky and gelatinous. When the wings are fall-apart tender, they are carefully removed from the pot, and the remaining braising liquid is reduced over medium-high heat until it thickens into a syrupy glaze. A final drizzle of black vinegar and a spoonful of honey balance the glaze, creating a perfect mix of smoky, sweet, and umami flavors.

The wings are then tossed back into the thickened sauce, ensuring each piece is fully coated in the rich, lacquered glaze. The result is a dish that is intensely flavorful, deeply gelatinous, and irresistibly sticky, perfect for eating with one’s hands alongside a pint of light ale.

Steamed Abyssal Chicken Egg with Blood Sausage

This is a favorite among abyssal kitchens, often served as a hearty breakfast or a bold, late-night meal for those with strong stomachs and an appreciation for deeply aged flavors. The steaming process helps mellow out some of the egg’s more aggressive sulfuric notes while enhancing its creamy, custard-like texture. Meanwhile, the blood sausage adds a savory, spiced   contrast that balances the dish beautifully.

The first step is to crack the Abyssal Eggs into a bowl, being mindful of their thick, gelatinous whites, and working quickly before the yolk degrades in color and smell. Aged black vinegar and  fermented black bean paste are whisked into the eggs, both to balance their strong notes and enhance their deep flavors. 

Meanwhile, a steaming pot is prepared, ensuring the water is kept at a gentle simmer rather than a rolling boil. The egg mixture is poured into a heatproof dish, covered and carefully placed into the steamer. Cooking at low heat for fifteen to twenty minutes ensures the eggs are set into a silky, delicate custard without turning rubbery. 

While the eggs steam, blood sausage is sliced into thick rounds and seared in a hot pan with a spoonful of smoked lard or Abyssal Chicken schmaltz, crisping the edges while allowing the rich, spiced interior to warm through. A splash of dark ale or fortified wine is added to the pan, helping deglaze and create a flavorful sauce that coats the sausage. Once reduced, a dusting of smoked paprika, ground cumin, and dried abyssal pepper is sprinkled over the sausage.

When the eggs are firm but still jiggly in the center, they are removed from the steamer and arranged on a plate alongside the crisped blood sausage. The dish is finished with a scattering of thinly sliced scallions and crispy fried shallots for brightness and texture. Pair it with a strong dark ale or an aged whiskey to cut through its intensity and enjoy.

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Fantastic Beasts and How To Eat Them

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