To the editor of Avalon.

Sir,
Mayhap you shall consider it shrewdish for a Gentleman to address your Readers, unannounced and unintroduced, and then further to impose my Missives on a regular basis, for the enlightening of suspicious & curious Practises in varying Fields of interest.  Your Readers may know me as Dorling Rawdine, a Gentleman from the dark forest region of the World; my Family Was of little Consequence.  I write to address a Grave issue which you, bearing any small Measure of Journalistic Integrity, shall Publish in the Genesis of your Project.  Namely, "How does Straw Turn to Chicken?" which I shall explain given my recent experiences regarding said Subject, at your Reader's leisure.

Whilst upon a stroll I happened to follow an errant Aide hastening towards the Palace; I followed in pursuit.  Passing through the main gates, he rushed down several corridors and out into the Gardens towards the Coopery where he cleared his throat and addressed a small figure with his back turned to us as he tended a Coop.  "Master Burr, the Crown requires your services."  The individual turned and to my surprize, Master Burr was a dwarf, a rather old one by the length of his red beard which he stroked as he measured my Stature and considered the request.

I watched the transaction as the Aide supplied Master Burr with a bushel of straw and a small parcel.  The tangy aroma of Spices greeted my nostrils as the pouch was briefly opened.  He grunted in approval to the confused Aide who frowned and departed.  Master Burr looked me over and departed; I followed as he led me past the Egg Coopery behind the Crown Barnyard to an open Space he called a Range: an Area penned off with fencing and a Frame overhead, a dark canopy bundled to one side.  The remains of straw bedding lay in clumps scattered across the Range where a live Chicken pecked at the grass.

Master Burr's icy blue eyes looked me over, as if reading the Question from my Lips: "How does Straw turn to Chicken?"  He began to explain the process to me in his broken language, quite frequently reverting to his Dwarven Tongue, and gesturing where Words failed him.  I shall endeavour for your Readers to explain the proceedings that followed thereafter.  According to Master Burr, some Villagers still practize in the Barbaric tradition of taking a live Chicken and chopping off its Head and Feet whilst wielding a large Axe, then later gutting and plucking the chicken -- a laborious task I was told -- before the cooking process.  When I inquired how else this could be accomplished, Master Burr heartily slapped an old iron Stove and replied, "Magic!"

The iron Stove, a gift from the cook of Thaumacie, can transform mere straw and spices, into a cooked, spiced Chicken.  Over a series of "nights", he explained which last only each an Hour, he acclimates the hen to its new nesting Grounds by placing Straw bedding in clumps, gradually closer in Proximity to the stove.  He simulated Night by drawing the black Canopy overhead, which triggers the chicken to seek out and sleep wherever bedding is available.  I watched with Scholarly Interest as over the course of several Hours, the Chicken moved, blissfully ignorant of its impending Fate, towards the stove, until it finally boarded a short ramp and rustling its Feathers, nested inside the heart of the Stove.

Master Burr wielded a metal Spade and transferred hot Embers to the dry wood placed under the stove.  He then emptied a pouch of dust which glittered as it fell down a chute leading into the Stove's Centre, then uttered a Dwarven phrase I regret to inform your Readers, I was unable to translate, nor the dust identify.

The Stove jolted into action, rocking and whistling as Smoke Plumes sputtered out a small chimney and within minutes, a back hatch opened, and out tumbled into his burly hands a plump Chicken carcass, prepared for cooking.  Master Burr's ears twitched, his eyes scanning the Barnyard.  He barked a short phrase and the nervous Aide I had seen earlier that day emerged, and thanking him profusely, carried the chicken towards the Crown Kitchens for further preparation.  "Delicate palettes," he grumbled and spit on the ground, leading me to his Shack which I had to duck down to enter and we dined before my departure, on his own variation of the recipe which I was given instruction to publish, as follows:

Master Burr's Breaded Chicken
1 prepared hen carcass
1 part flour
2 eggs
1 milk
some bread crumbs
2 spice,plus seasonings to taste
1 glass bowl
2 clay bowls
1 lighted cauldron, filled with cooking oils
1 fork
a serving platter

Cooking Instructions:
Remove innards of pre-prepared chicken and chop by sections, into breast and legs, discarding the rest.  Beat 1 part eggs and 1 part milk in the glass bowl, then add a portion of the spices; mix well.  In the clay bowl, mix bread crumbs with 1 part flour, and the remaining seasonings.  In the remaining clay bowl, fill with plain flour.  Roll each piece of chicken in the plain flour until well covered, then in the milk mixture, then finally in the mixture of flour and breadcrumbs.  Once completed, place the chicken into the cauldron and allow to turn golden.  Drain from oil on a serving platter of your choice.  Serve hot.