When man -- be he warrior, or noble, or Travis from Parsippany -- doth require a satisfactory evening of entertainment and repast, that man knoweth only of a lone destination: the great bustling castle scholars have thus dubbed Medieval Times. And I, your scribe, shall present herein a document of said castle’s vittles and grog, so that peoples far and broad can knoweth whether their coinage will thus be distributed in proper fashion.
I set forth for the burg of Lyndhurst, in the lordship of Jersey of New, along with my compatriot: Karen of Palmer, scribe for The Table That Many Good Fellows Taste At. Our Zip Chariot was fast and strong, and propelled us towards our destination, which emerged like a towering mountain from the darkness of dawn -- a truly impressive fortification indeed, with a tower so high as to provide rival to Amanda of Bynes.
But the question of true import was as yet unanswered: would the sustenance be inspiring of awe? To the table we alight: continue to forge ahead through this electronic parchment for deliberations engaging in zero degree of partiality, from both Karen of Palmer and myself, your gracious scribe of provisions.