Recipe Fic -- Peregrin Took, Warrior -- by Mum's the Word 54
Rated G
Peregrin Took, Captain of the Guard of Minas Tirith, Troll Slayer, tallest of Hobbits (at least out of Merry’s earshot), made his way through the maze of tunnels quietly, quietly, bearing a hard-won prize. The light from the opening drew nearer, nearer, the clatter and rattle almost drowning the voices and shuffling feet from within the chamber.
Now he was able to see 'round the edge of the opening, and searching the chamber from his vantage point, he sought out that one, that very one he should first approach. Ah, there she was, in the midst of the fray.
He might have known. He allowed himself a brief smile and then placed his finger over his mouth, motioning silence. Now! Now, while she was distracted, now was the time.
Edging into the chamber, Peregrin Took weaved his way through the fray, always clutching his precious bounty close, ready to defend it if need be. The Ring and the Enemy may have perished, but he knew all too well that danger may lurk around any corner.
Closer, he was getting oh, so close. Almost there, he was ready now to strike!
"Hullo, Cookie, I brought you something from my travels."
Mistress Lily Harbottle, always "Cookie" to young Pippin, started and dropped the spoon she’d been wielding. The kitchen of the Great Smial erupted in laughter as the kitchen staff ceased their work and greeted Pippin with welcoming smiles. They'd played this sneak-and-distract game with young Mister Pippin for -- well, for most of his kitchen-raiding life. As each hobbit had noticed him "sneakin' again," he or she had stifled a smile and continued clattering and rattling pots and pans, scuffling back and forth to the larder and cold room -- carrying on as usual, pretending not to notice Pippin on another of his raids.
Glaring at the disrespectful young assistants, Cook whirled in her seat at the big kitchen table. Hand to her heart, her ruddy face gone pale, Lily Harbottle looked dow- up, up into the one face she loved more than any but her own family’s. Then she joined in the laughter, laughing until she cried, while Peregrin Took, drinker of Ent Draughts, grinned cheekily down at her.
As the rest of the staff returned quietly to their tasks, they kept an ear out for what Mister Pippin had to say about his travels.
Cook dried her eyes on the corner of her apron and tried to stand, only to be held firmly in place by a strong young hobbit-hand on her shoulder. She didn't have time to be mortified when Captain Peregrin Took, son of the Took and heir to the Thainship, kissed her gently on the cheek and then knelt at her feet, gazing fondly into her eyes and cupping her hand to his cheek.
"Mister Pippin ..."
"Don't you want to see what I've brought you? I didn't want to wait for my birthday to give it to you, because ... well, because I didn't."
"Of course, Mister Pippin," grinned the cook. Then she leaned forward and asked conspiratorily, "What did you find for me, Mister Pippin?"
Pippin's answer was almost inaudible, even to hobbit ears: "It's a very special sauce." As he set the sealed jar on Cook's lap, Peregrin Took, one of the Four Travelers, continued in a more normal voice: "I brought it all the way from the King’s City, far to the south."
"Is there really a King, Mister Pippin?"
"There is, Violet! The King has come back!"
"Ahem, now, Mister Pippin, about this sauce. You say it's from the King's City?"
"Yes, Cookie, but it's made even farther south, in a city called Dol Amroth, by the sea. They make the sauce there from very secret ingredients, and they sell it near and far."
Cook carefully worked the seal loose and took an appraising sniff of the cork stopper. Her eyes widened. "Pungent!"
"Yes, it is, and there are ever so many uses, Cookie."
Pippin prevented Cook from dipping her finger into the sauce to test its texture and flavor. "Too spicy, Cookie! It would take a keg of ale to soothe the burning."
Turning to an assistant standing near just in case, y'know, Pippin asked, "Tiffin, do you think we might have a small bowl and a spoon, please?"
"Right away, Mister Pippin!"
"Oh, and perhaps just a crust of bread and a thin slice of cold beef roast, please?"
"Gladly!"
"Now, Mister Pippin. A crust of bread? We can do better than that for you, dearie."
"Oh, no, Cookie. I want dry, plain, dull! It'll show you the flavor without burning your tongue. Besides, many's the day I would have given anything for one thin, dry crust of your delicious bread."
"Mister Pippin!" Cook’s eyes filled with tears. "Didn't they feed you proper out on your Travels?"
"You know, Cookie -- thank you very much, Tiffin, this is just the thing! -- I've feasted in Kings' halls, supped in the home of Tom Bombadil himself, dined in the splendor of two Elvish lords, and drunk the draught of Treebeard the Ent. But no one in all my wide travels can make bread better than here in the Great Smial, in your kitchen, Cookie."
Cook had the grace to blush at the praise. She shook her head and said, "Mister Pippin, you do take on so."
Peregrin Took, forager in the wild, captive of orcs, patient in Cormallen and Minas Tirith, chuckled and stood.
"Now, let’s get back to this sauce. Let me just take out a little in the spoon, so you can see the color and thickness." Pippin dribbled a spoonful of the dark, pungent sauce back into the jar.
"Thickness? That's the thinnest sauce I believe I've ever seen. No thicker than a beef broth. Even looks like beef broth." Cook repeated Pippin's action, just to satisfy herself. "Hm, very like beef broth."
"That's what I thought at first. But when I asked, the King's Cook assured me that there's not a drop of beef broth in this sauce. But he would never tell me what the ingredients are!
"Anyway, -- oh, Verbena, is there a tiny bit of Cookie's thick, white salad dressing? You know, the kind that she turns into so many other things, or even uses for sandwiches?"
"Of course, Mister Pippin, we made some fresh this very noon. I'll fetch some from the cold room."
"Thanks, Verbena, I'll natter on till you get back, shall I?"
"Won't take a minute, Mister Pippin!"
"About the ingredients, Master Elrond's Cook had brought a jar of the sauce for them to use in Rivendell, and another he opened to use as we came back north after the King's wedding."
"You were at the King's wedding, Mister Pippin?"
"Yes, Azalea, and you'd have loved the Queen's dress. Arwen Evenstar her name is. She's an Elf princess, but she gave up being an Elf to marry her own true love, our new King."
There was a collective sigh among the lasses.
"Well, I asked Master Elrond’s Cook one night about the ingredients. He got one of those Elf smiles -- joyful face, twinkly eyes, yet still very reserved. Gandalf was nearby, getting a taper from the fire to light his pipe, although he could just light them by himself ..."
"Gandalf? Our Gandalf? With the fireworks?"
Pippin, that fool of a Took, chuckled and said, "Yes, Roby, he came with us from the King's City all the way to Bree when we returned home."
There might not have been actual cheers at the news of the Hobbits' favorite Big Person, but there was a cheerful murmuring to think their Mister Pippin had again seen the old grey Wizard.
"Ah, wonderful, Verbena, this is more than adequate!"
"Um, Mister Pippin, the ingredients?"
"Oh, yes, well, Gandalf dropped his taper back into the fire and laughed uproariously! I don’t mind telling you I felt a bit affronted, missing the joke, but then so did almost everyone at our fire. Well, when Gandalf had finally enjoyed his laugh -- he does laugh ever so much more than he did before -- he clapped his big hand on my shoulder and said, 'I assure you, my good fellow, you don't want to know what goes into that sauce. Take my advice, Peregrin, and just enjoy it -- but use it sparingly.'
"Then he and Master Elrond's Cook, and even one of the Rangers, if you can believe it, and Rangers hardly ever just speak up and join in your conversation -- they all said at the same time, 'A few drops, judiciously applied, to venison, poultry, and other meats,' very seriously. Then the Elf smiled again, Gandalf burst into more peals of laughter, and I even heard that Ranger chuckle!
"So I don't know what the ingredients are, Cookie. I've tried, but I just couldn't wangle the information from anyone."
Cook patted Pippin's hand. "Never you mind, dearie, I'm sure you did your best. Now, about all this bread and meat and all."
"Yes, well, I'll put together a one-slice sandwich with the bread and your beautiful dressing -- just the thinnest layer, because I don't want any of the flavors to overwhelm the others. Next we'll have the meat -- no, just half of the meat to keep it nice and thin -- we'll have it ready after this next step. Same thing with the bread.
"I'll drip just one drop of the sauce onto the dressing, and ..."
"Just one? We do want to taste this, you know."
"Oh, you will, Cookie, believe me, you will. If we start with this tiny taste, we can see how it changes the flavor of a simple sandwich."
Cook looked skeptical.
"Now I'll spread the drop of sauce over the dressing on half of the bread and put half of the meat on top. Then I'll fold it over.
"Then to remind us of the taste of a very simple, thin sandwich, which is a feast on even your driest bread, Cookie -- we'll put this meat on the plain dressing and fold it over.
"Now, let's just slice off a little bit of the plain sandwich for you, Cookie. Delicious, I know. But now taste it with this special sauce."
Cook took a bite, her eyes widening at the big taste in that little drop. "Mister Pippin, what a change that makes in a plain sandwich! I can see that a little is more than enough." Another bite. "Hmm, it changes the flavor like some of those mustards we use, doesn't it?"
"The ones made with wine? I think you might have found part of the secret, Cookie! Someone said the makers of this sauce distill it or age it somehow."
"Yes, but," Cook said, adding one drop to the seasoned sandwich, "Ohh, it doesn't take much to be painfully -- well, overwhelming!"
"You're right, Cookie. Here, if you drink a little water and finish off the plain sandwich, that will help cut the burning."
"Did anyone tell you the name of this sauce, or is that secret too?"
"Well, yes, they told me, Cookie, but it was rather hard to understand. Those people in Gondor speak Westron, but with a very odd accent. 'Wooster,' they said, 'Wooster Sauce.'"
"Wooster? But what's a Wooster? What does it mean? Is that the secret ingredient?"
"That’s what I thought too, until someone kindly wrote it out for me. But that was in the Elvish language called Sindarin, so Sam and Frodo helped me translate it into Westron. We tried, Cookie, but when we wrote it out, not only did it not look like 'Wooster,' it had far too many letters and syllables! You know, like saying 'sanjes' instead of 'sand-wich-es.' Very odd.
"And then, Cookie, I thought my heart would stop. When we tried to pronounce all of the syllables, it seemed that it should have been 'Wor-ches-ter-Shire Sauce."
There was a collective gasp throughout the kitchen. One lass swooned away, and someone asked, "Shire? Did they know about the Shire, 'way down there where the War was fought?"
Peregrin Took, friend of Kings and Elves, rushed to the aid of the lass who'd fainted.
"Not that I could tell, Clover, but there the word was, hidden into that name, just as neat as a Hobbit can whisk himself out of sight and stay hidden away unless he wants to be seen.
"So it made me wonder about Great-Grand-Uncle Isengar, who went off to sea and never came home. I wonder if perhaps he may have found a home in the southern city of Dol Amroth. I don't know, but I hope to talk it over with Da and Stri- King Elessar.
"I still don’t know what a Worchester is, no more than a Wooster. But I wonder, Cookie -- do you think, since the Shire is already hidden in the word, would it matter too much if we here in the Shire call it 'Wooster Shire Sauce'?"
"Mister Pippin, I think that's a splendid idea. We'll put that right on the label."
"Wonderful, Cookie!" Pippin turned to leave. "And don't forget to add in the instructions:"
Grinning, Cook joined him in saying, "A few drops, judiciously applied, to venison, poultry, and other meats."
Peregrin Took, son of the Thain, took his leave of Mistress Lily Harbottle, Chief Cook of the Great Smial, as the kitchen erupted once again in laughter.
Cook had seen those scars on his wrists and neck, had seen the callouses on his dear hands. His arms and hands were hardened -- in battle, she supposed. His sweet eyes no longer held the innocence that had grounded all of his mischief, but betrayed true suffering. He was genuinely polite and considerate toward even the lowliest of the kitchen lads and lasses, and his normally good manners were more -- she struggled for a word -- more courtly, perhaps? There was more confidence in both his bearing and his speech. He was certainly inches taller than any hobbit had business being.
But oh! Oh, it was good to have her lad home again.
Author's Notes:
After nearly a week of no-to-little food recently when I had the flu -- and then only "Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, Toast" -- I fixed myself a non-dairy [read: no cheese] Toasted-Cheese Sandwich, made the way my dear old mum had done - except that I didn't even have Worcestershire sauce! Nevertheless, the blend of flavors from the three simple ingredients (bread, margarine on the outside, and Miracle Whip on the inside, toasted) was like a flavor explosion in my mouth; maybe the Worcestershire sauce would have been too much.
Setting: The Great Smial
Time: Soon after the Scouring
Main Characters: Pippin, kitchen staff
Disclaimers! Get'cher Disclaimers here!
The character of Lily Harbottle the Cook is a tribute to the late Susan Field, who played the majestic yet hobbity-looking cook, Mrs. Ross, in a TV adaptation of Agatha Christie's "The Theft of the Royal Ruby."
"Susan[nah]" means "lily," which in the Language of Flowers means "majesty"; and Harbottle is one of Dame Agatha's "village parallel" characters. Thus, Lily Harbottle.
Tiffin is the last name of one of Ms. Field's movie roles.
And of course, I would never try to profit from Christie's or the Professor's characters. My little story is merely a "what-if" in the Professor's legendarium.
Again, my apologies for the excessive length.
I'll just take this moment to dedicate my story to the memory of my own beloved Daddy, who would have celebrated his ninetieth birthday today.
Peregrin Took, Captain of the Guard of Minas Tirith, Troll Slayer, tallest of Hobbits (at least out of Merry’s earshot), made his way through the maze of tunnels quietly, quietly, bearing a hard-won prize. The light from the opening drew nearer, nearer, the clatter and rattle almost drowning the voices and shuffling feet from within the chamber.
Now he was able to see 'round the edge of the opening, and searching the chamber from his vantage point, he sought out that one, that very one he should first approach. Ah, there she was, in the midst of the fray.
He might have known. He allowed himself a brief smile and then placed his finger over his mouth, motioning silence. Now! Now, while she was distracted, now was the time.
Edging into the chamber, Peregrin Took weaved his way through the fray, always clutching his precious bounty close, ready to defend it if need be. The Ring and the Enemy may have perished, but he knew all too well that danger may lurk around any corner.
Closer, he was getting oh, so close. Almost there, he was ready now to strike!
"Hullo, Cookie, I brought you something from my travels."
Mistress Lily Harbottle, always "Cookie" to young Pippin, started and dropped the spoon she’d been wielding. The kitchen of the Great Smial erupted in laughter as the kitchen staff ceased their work and greeted Pippin with welcoming smiles. They'd played this sneak-and-distract game with young Mister Pippin for -- well, for most of his kitchen-raiding life. As each hobbit had noticed him "sneakin' again," he or she had stifled a smile and continued clattering and rattling pots and pans, scuffling back and forth to the larder and cold room -- carrying on as usual, pretending not to notice Pippin on another of his raids.
Glaring at the disrespectful young assistants, Cook whirled in her seat at the big kitchen table. Hand to her heart, her ruddy face gone pale, Lily Harbottle looked dow- up, up into the one face she loved more than any but her own family’s. Then she joined in the laughter, laughing until she cried, while Peregrin Took, drinker of Ent Draughts, grinned cheekily down at her.
As the rest of the staff returned quietly to their tasks, they kept an ear out for what Mister Pippin had to say about his travels.
Cook dried her eyes on the corner of her apron and tried to stand, only to be held firmly in place by a strong young hobbit-hand on her shoulder. She didn't have time to be mortified when Captain Peregrin Took, son of the Took and heir to the Thainship, kissed her gently on the cheek and then knelt at her feet, gazing fondly into her eyes and cupping her hand to his cheek.
"Mister Pippin ..."
"Don't you want to see what I've brought you? I didn't want to wait for my birthday to give it to you, because ... well, because I didn't."
"Of course, Mister Pippin," grinned the cook. Then she leaned forward and asked conspiratorily, "What did you find for me, Mister Pippin?"
Pippin's answer was almost inaudible, even to hobbit ears: "It's a very special sauce." As he set the sealed jar on Cook's lap, Peregrin Took, one of the Four Travelers, continued in a more normal voice: "I brought it all the way from the King’s City, far to the south."
"Is there really a King, Mister Pippin?"
"There is, Violet! The King has come back!"
"Ahem, now, Mister Pippin, about this sauce. You say it's from the King's City?"
"Yes, Cookie, but it's made even farther south, in a city called Dol Amroth, by the sea. They make the sauce there from very secret ingredients, and they sell it near and far."
Cook carefully worked the seal loose and took an appraising sniff of the cork stopper. Her eyes widened. "Pungent!"
"Yes, it is, and there are ever so many uses, Cookie."
Pippin prevented Cook from dipping her finger into the sauce to test its texture and flavor. "Too spicy, Cookie! It would take a keg of ale to soothe the burning."
Turning to an assistant standing near just in case, y'know, Pippin asked, "Tiffin, do you think we might have a small bowl and a spoon, please?"
"Right away, Mister Pippin!"
"Oh, and perhaps just a crust of bread and a thin slice of cold beef roast, please?"
"Gladly!"
"Now, Mister Pippin. A crust of bread? We can do better than that for you, dearie."
"Oh, no, Cookie. I want dry, plain, dull! It'll show you the flavor without burning your tongue. Besides, many's the day I would have given anything for one thin, dry crust of your delicious bread."
"Mister Pippin!" Cook’s eyes filled with tears. "Didn't they feed you proper out on your Travels?"
"You know, Cookie -- thank you very much, Tiffin, this is just the thing! -- I've feasted in Kings' halls, supped in the home of Tom Bombadil himself, dined in the splendor of two Elvish lords, and drunk the draught of Treebeard the Ent. But no one in all my wide travels can make bread better than here in the Great Smial, in your kitchen, Cookie."
Cook had the grace to blush at the praise. She shook her head and said, "Mister Pippin, you do take on so."
Peregrin Took, forager in the wild, captive of orcs, patient in Cormallen and Minas Tirith, chuckled and stood.
"Now, let’s get back to this sauce. Let me just take out a little in the spoon, so you can see the color and thickness." Pippin dribbled a spoonful of the dark, pungent sauce back into the jar.
"Thickness? That's the thinnest sauce I believe I've ever seen. No thicker than a beef broth. Even looks like beef broth." Cook repeated Pippin's action, just to satisfy herself. "Hm, very like beef broth."
"That's what I thought at first. But when I asked, the King's Cook assured me that there's not a drop of beef broth in this sauce. But he would never tell me what the ingredients are!
"Anyway, -- oh, Verbena, is there a tiny bit of Cookie's thick, white salad dressing? You know, the kind that she turns into so many other things, or even uses for sandwiches?"
"Of course, Mister Pippin, we made some fresh this very noon. I'll fetch some from the cold room."
"Thanks, Verbena, I'll natter on till you get back, shall I?"
"Won't take a minute, Mister Pippin!"
"About the ingredients, Master Elrond's Cook had brought a jar of the sauce for them to use in Rivendell, and another he opened to use as we came back north after the King's wedding."
"You were at the King's wedding, Mister Pippin?"
"Yes, Azalea, and you'd have loved the Queen's dress. Arwen Evenstar her name is. She's an Elf princess, but she gave up being an Elf to marry her own true love, our new King."
There was a collective sigh among the lasses.
"Well, I asked Master Elrond’s Cook one night about the ingredients. He got one of those Elf smiles -- joyful face, twinkly eyes, yet still very reserved. Gandalf was nearby, getting a taper from the fire to light his pipe, although he could just light them by himself ..."
"Gandalf? Our Gandalf? With the fireworks?"
Pippin, that fool of a Took, chuckled and said, "Yes, Roby, he came with us from the King's City all the way to Bree when we returned home."
There might not have been actual cheers at the news of the Hobbits' favorite Big Person, but there was a cheerful murmuring to think their Mister Pippin had again seen the old grey Wizard.
"Ah, wonderful, Verbena, this is more than adequate!"
"Um, Mister Pippin, the ingredients?"
"Oh, yes, well, Gandalf dropped his taper back into the fire and laughed uproariously! I don’t mind telling you I felt a bit affronted, missing the joke, but then so did almost everyone at our fire. Well, when Gandalf had finally enjoyed his laugh -- he does laugh ever so much more than he did before -- he clapped his big hand on my shoulder and said, 'I assure you, my good fellow, you don't want to know what goes into that sauce. Take my advice, Peregrin, and just enjoy it -- but use it sparingly.'
"Then he and Master Elrond's Cook, and even one of the Rangers, if you can believe it, and Rangers hardly ever just speak up and join in your conversation -- they all said at the same time, 'A few drops, judiciously applied, to venison, poultry, and other meats,' very seriously. Then the Elf smiled again, Gandalf burst into more peals of laughter, and I even heard that Ranger chuckle!
"So I don't know what the ingredients are, Cookie. I've tried, but I just couldn't wangle the information from anyone."
Cook patted Pippin's hand. "Never you mind, dearie, I'm sure you did your best. Now, about all this bread and meat and all."
"Yes, well, I'll put together a one-slice sandwich with the bread and your beautiful dressing -- just the thinnest layer, because I don't want any of the flavors to overwhelm the others. Next we'll have the meat -- no, just half of the meat to keep it nice and thin -- we'll have it ready after this next step. Same thing with the bread.
"I'll drip just one drop of the sauce onto the dressing, and ..."
"Just one? We do want to taste this, you know."
"Oh, you will, Cookie, believe me, you will. If we start with this tiny taste, we can see how it changes the flavor of a simple sandwich."
Cook looked skeptical.
"Now I'll spread the drop of sauce over the dressing on half of the bread and put half of the meat on top. Then I'll fold it over.
"Then to remind us of the taste of a very simple, thin sandwich, which is a feast on even your driest bread, Cookie -- we'll put this meat on the plain dressing and fold it over.
"Now, let's just slice off a little bit of the plain sandwich for you, Cookie. Delicious, I know. But now taste it with this special sauce."
Cook took a bite, her eyes widening at the big taste in that little drop. "Mister Pippin, what a change that makes in a plain sandwich! I can see that a little is more than enough." Another bite. "Hmm, it changes the flavor like some of those mustards we use, doesn't it?"
"The ones made with wine? I think you might have found part of the secret, Cookie! Someone said the makers of this sauce distill it or age it somehow."
"Yes, but," Cook said, adding one drop to the seasoned sandwich, "Ohh, it doesn't take much to be painfully -- well, overwhelming!"
"You're right, Cookie. Here, if you drink a little water and finish off the plain sandwich, that will help cut the burning."
"Did anyone tell you the name of this sauce, or is that secret too?"
"Well, yes, they told me, Cookie, but it was rather hard to understand. Those people in Gondor speak Westron, but with a very odd accent. 'Wooster,' they said, 'Wooster Sauce.'"
"Wooster? But what's a Wooster? What does it mean? Is that the secret ingredient?"
"That’s what I thought too, until someone kindly wrote it out for me. But that was in the Elvish language called Sindarin, so Sam and Frodo helped me translate it into Westron. We tried, Cookie, but when we wrote it out, not only did it not look like 'Wooster,' it had far too many letters and syllables! You know, like saying 'sanjes' instead of 'sand-wich-es.' Very odd.
"And then, Cookie, I thought my heart would stop. When we tried to pronounce all of the syllables, it seemed that it should have been 'Wor-ches-ter-Shire Sauce."
There was a collective gasp throughout the kitchen. One lass swooned away, and someone asked, "Shire? Did they know about the Shire, 'way down there where the War was fought?"
Peregrin Took, friend of Kings and Elves, rushed to the aid of the lass who'd fainted.
"Not that I could tell, Clover, but there the word was, hidden into that name, just as neat as a Hobbit can whisk himself out of sight and stay hidden away unless he wants to be seen.
"So it made me wonder about Great-Grand-Uncle Isengar, who went off to sea and never came home. I wonder if perhaps he may have found a home in the southern city of Dol Amroth. I don't know, but I hope to talk it over with Da and Stri- King Elessar.
"I still don’t know what a Worchester is, no more than a Wooster. But I wonder, Cookie -- do you think, since the Shire is already hidden in the word, would it matter too much if we here in the Shire call it 'Wooster Shire Sauce'?"
"Mister Pippin, I think that's a splendid idea. We'll put that right on the label."
"Wonderful, Cookie!" Pippin turned to leave. "And don't forget to add in the instructions:"
Grinning, Cook joined him in saying, "A few drops, judiciously applied, to venison, poultry, and other meats."
Peregrin Took, son of the Thain, took his leave of Mistress Lily Harbottle, Chief Cook of the Great Smial, as the kitchen erupted once again in laughter.
Cook had seen those scars on his wrists and neck, had seen the callouses on his dear hands. His arms and hands were hardened -- in battle, she supposed. His sweet eyes no longer held the innocence that had grounded all of his mischief, but betrayed true suffering. He was genuinely polite and considerate toward even the lowliest of the kitchen lads and lasses, and his normally good manners were more -- she struggled for a word -- more courtly, perhaps? There was more confidence in both his bearing and his speech. He was certainly inches taller than any hobbit had business being.
But oh! Oh, it was good to have her lad home again.
Author's Notes:
After nearly a week of no-to-little food recently when I had the flu -- and then only "Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, Toast" -- I fixed myself a non-dairy [read: no cheese] Toasted-Cheese Sandwich, made the way my dear old mum had done - except that I didn't even have Worcestershire sauce! Nevertheless, the blend of flavors from the three simple ingredients (bread, margarine on the outside, and Miracle Whip on the inside, toasted) was like a flavor explosion in my mouth; maybe the Worcestershire sauce would have been too much.
Setting: The Great Smial
Time: Soon after the Scouring
Main Characters: Pippin, kitchen staff
Disclaimers! Get'cher Disclaimers here!
The character of Lily Harbottle the Cook is a tribute to the late Susan Field, who played the majestic yet hobbity-looking cook, Mrs. Ross, in a TV adaptation of Agatha Christie's "The Theft of the Royal Ruby."
"Susan[nah]" means "lily," which in the Language of Flowers means "majesty"; and Harbottle is one of Dame Agatha's "village parallel" characters. Thus, Lily Harbottle.
Tiffin is the last name of one of Ms. Field's movie roles.
And of course, I would never try to profit from Christie's or the Professor's characters. My little story is merely a "what-if" in the Professor's legendarium.
Again, my apologies for the excessive length.
I'll just take this moment to dedicate my story to the memory of my own beloved Daddy, who would have celebrated his ninetieth birthday today.