Steak and Mushrooms (written for the LiveJournal Shire_Kitchen Recipe Challenge)

The three hobbits stared at the smoldering ruins of their dinner distastefully. Smoke curled from the crisped remains and black flecks of charcoal continued to fleck off and smudge the crisp white linens Frodo had laid so carefully on the table. The smell of burned chicken lingered unappetizingly in the usually cozy kitchen of Bag End, and made their eyes water.

"I’m not eating that," Pippin declared resolutely.

"Possibly the first time those words have ever been uttered," Merry muttered. He picked up the carving knife and prodded the carcass, hoping to discover an edible bit. A drumstick clunked off and lay rocking on the table.

"I was only in the study for a few minutes," Frodo said wretchedly. "Supper was coming along well, and I was trying to track down a book that had a reference-"

"Yes, yes," Merry interrupted. "Well, that doesn’t help us now." He opened one of the round windows and began flapping a dishtowel. Smoke began slowly to clear out into the cold night air.

"I’m starving," Pippin whined with all the conviction of an eleven-year old hobbit who hasn’t eaten since tea.

Merry sighed. This was his fault, really. Frodo insisted on doing all the cooking for his and Pippin’s visit, despite his cousin’s rather limited skills in the kitchen. Merry knew it was unwise for Frodo to be distracted whilst he was cooking. Odd and unpleasant things could result, like the pickle wrapped in a meat roll. Or Frodo’s attempt at Mistress Gamgee’s famous whipped potatoes. Though to be fair, horseradish did look quite a bit like sour cream. Merry hadn’t quite recovered from that one. But this evening he had been involved in supervising Pippin’s bath, and with the resultant splashing and shouts, he hadn’t dared leave the child to check on Frodo.

"Never let it be said that I can’t cook," Frodo declared determinedly. "You tell me what you want, Pippin-lad, and I’ll make it for you."

"Truly?" asked the child, delighted.

"Truly," Frodo confirmed, grinning at him affectionately.

"I … um…" Pippin stammered, unused to being handed such power.

Merry, more practical, had been quietly examining the larder. "There isn’t much here, Cousin. Time for a trip to the market."

Frodo joined him and stood looking mournfully at the bare shelves. "Well, bringing up young hobbits takes a lot of provender. All right, lads, put your cloaks on. We’re going out."

"To mooch off the Gamgees?" Merry asked hopefully.

"No," Frodo said. "I hear The Green Dragon has a new cook, and he makes an excellent steak and mushrooms."

"Steak and mushrooms! Steak and mushrooms!" Pippin crowed, capering about the dinner table gleefully.

"And I hear the new cook has two very pretty daughters working as serving maids," Merry called after Frodo as he headed toward his room to change his shirt, which smelled strongly of burnt chicken.

Frodo paused in the doorway and tried to look severe, but his sparkling eyes gave him away. "That has nothing to do with it."

"Of course it doesn’t," Merry agreed, looking down at himself and attempting to brush drying soap off his shirt. "Maybe I will just change my clothes, too…"

Frodo reappeared sometime after Merry did, both of them fresh-washed and brushed. "How do I look?" the older hobbit asked. "Not that it matters, of course. We are just going out for dinner."

"I suppose you are wearing your best Party waistcoat because it’s cold?" Merry asked consideringly. "And your new embroidered shirt. You look quite dashing."

Frodo bowed. "I am merely trying to keep up with my cousin. You are wearing your new suit, I note, and isn’t that a splash of cologne I smell? Very nice."

"All right, all right," Merry grumbled.

"What’s taking so long?" Pippin wanted to know, his stuffed bear tucked under an arm.

* * *

It was a quiet night at Frodo’s favorite inn. Frodo looked about but except for a few scattered hobbits quietly eating or involved in conversations, the three had the common room to themselves. "Good," Frodo said smugly. "Less competition for the lovely young ladies’ attention."

Frodo chose a table near the fire and dropped onto the bench, sniffing the delicious aromas that were drifting through the stuffy room. Merry sat next to him and Pippin took the seat across, eyes wide at being in a new place. "May I have an ale?" he asked Frodo hopefully.

"Ginger beer for you," Frodo returned, "and tea for Merry. I’ll have an ale."

"Da lets me have a sip of his at home," Pippin said hopefully at the same time Merry said, "Frodo! I’m old enough for a drink!"

"Shush," Frodo ordered, spying movement behind the bar. "I want to meet the lasses!"

The two lasses who emerged were indeed beauteous. One had brown hair and black eyes and the other black hair and brown eyes. Both of them were curvy and soft, and their deep-cut bodices displayed other delightful contours. Frodo sat up straighter and adjusted his shirt collar, and Merry licked his palm and ran a quick hand through his hair. Both of them flashed smiles at the approaching young ladies, prepared to be charming.

The brown-haired one stopped before them and curtsied. "Good evening, sirs. What may I bring—" Then she caught sight of Pippin. "Oh, isn’t he adorable?" the lass cooed. "What a handsome little lad!" Pippin smiled up at her, basking in the attention.

"And what a sweet little bear," the other murmured. "May I hold him?" Pippin held up the dirty, disreputable, one-eyed toy and the lass took it from him, gently hugging it to her ample bosom. Merry rolled his eyes.

"We hear you and your father are new to Hobbiton?" Frodo tried politely. "How do you like-"

"Just a moment, master," the lass replied, returning the stuffed toy. "Let me get the little one some milk, and a bite to tide him over until supper comes." She tapped the end of Pippin’s sharp little nose and smiled fatuously at him.

"Thank you," Pippin called after her, then looked at the remaining lass with enormous eyes.

"Such a dear little boy," the black-haired one crooned. "Aren’t you the most precious little fellow?" She ruffled his hair, then when he beamed, leaned down to kiss a chubby cheek.

"Our dinner-" Frodo ventured.

"Would you like some supper, little one?" the first lass cooed. "I’m Peony, and that was my sister Daffodil. Just call her Daffy. I’m sure we have something a darling little lad like you would like."

"Steak and mushrooms?" asked Pippin, green-gold eyes wide.

"Three," interjected Frodo.

"Right away, sir. What’s your name, sweetheart?" Frodo jerked slightly at being addressed so, then realized the lass was speaking to Pippin.

"Pippin," the child said shyly, hugging his bear. At her smile, he held up the dirty thing. "Would you like to see my bear too?"

"Peregrin Took," Frodo interjected smoothly. "And I am Frodo Baggins and this is our cousin Merry-"

"Meriadoc Brandybuck," Merry interrupted. The lass smiled at him absently. "Of Buckland," he continued. "The Master of Buckland’s son and heir," he added shamelessly. "My cousin Frodo is the Master of Bag End."

"That’s nice," Peony said. "How old are you, Pippin dear?" She made a great show of giving the bear a kiss on the nose and returned it to its owner.

"Bag End," Merry insisted. "On The Hill."

Pippin cradled his arms around the toy and smiled shyly. The lass tickled him under the chin and he giggled.

"Peregrin," Merry interrupted, unused to being ignored, "is eleven. Peregrin Took, heir to the Thain. He’s eleven. I’m nineteen," he added hopefully. "We’re visiting Frodo," he added.

"Aren’t you the sweetest little lad?" the lass asked. Pippin beamed at her. "Do you miss your mummy, sweetheart?"

Pippin nodded, suddenly pensive, reminded he was far from home. His pointed little face took on a sad expression. Seeing this, Peony babbled, "Oh, you poor little darling. Of course you miss your mummy. May I give you a great big hug?" She sat down and Pippin climbed eagerly into her lap. The lass wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, then began to ask him riddles. She tickled him each time he got one right, and Pippin giggled and snuggled happily in her arms.

"This is disgusting," Merry fumed into Frodo’s ear. "They haven’t even looked at us! And I never got my tea!"

Leaving Pippin with the lass, Frodo signaled her sister. "Miss Daffodil, my cousin and I would be most grateful if—"

"Three steak and mushrooms," Daffy laughed, "Oh, I forgot you and the young master, sir. Half a moment! I’ll turn in your order right now!"

Their dinner seemed to arrive after an indeterminable wait. The lasses kept Pippin amused by darting back every few moments to chat with him, hug him, and present him with sweets and little treats. Pippin responded with every ounce of charm in his amiable nature. Frodo and Merry hunched down on their side of the bench and glowered.

Their dinners, when they came, were magnificent. A thick slab of rare steak was set before each of them, with ‘taters and mixed vegetables, broiled tomatoes and a loaf of bread. But only Pippin’s meal had mushrooms. The caps and stems had been separated and the caps had been carved into little smiling faces. Merry stifled the urge to gag.

"We ran out of mushrooms, sirs," Peony informed him. "There was only enough for the sweet little lad’s. We knew you wouldn’t mind if we gave them all ‘ta him."

"No," Frodo said sadly. "Merry and I will survive, I expect. And perhaps Pippin will share?" he added hopefully, looking across at the child. Pippin immediately started to push some to the side, but Daffy shook her head.

"Now, sir," Daffy said, "a fine little lad like this needs those mushrooms. Full o’ good things to make him grow," she added fondly, ruffling Pippin’s hair. "Pitch in, sweetling," she told him, "and we’ll see if we can’t find just one more piece of me old Da’s special blackberry pie for you."

Ignored and forgotten, the Master of Bag End and the future Master of Buckland sighed and attended to their dinners.

* * *

"Well, that was a humiliating experience," Merry growled as they trudged back to Bag End. Pippin had fallen asleep shortly after they had departed the inn and Frodo was carrying him, the child’s arm draped over his shoulders. Merry had been relegated to carry the bear, which did not improve his mood.

"I swear this lad’s gained a stone, at least," Frodo panted.

"Very likely, with those two lasses stuffing him full of sweets every time they passed," Merry mumbled.

Frodo made a noncommittal sound, obviously casting about for something pleasant to say. "Well, I did get the recipe. And I’m almost sure I can make it, after I scrape the last of the chicken out of the oven…"

Steak and Mushrooms

1 pound top sirloin steak

½ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon freshly ground pepper

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

½ pound fresh, sliced mushrooms

1 teaspoon dried thyme or 1 tablespoon fresh rosemary

1 can (10 to 16 ounces) reduced-sodium beef broth

Heat oven to 300 degrees.

Sprinkle steak with salt and pepper. Heat vegetable oil in a wide skillet over medium-high heat until very hot. Add steak. Cook about three minutes per side. It should be very brown outside but rare inside. Put on baking sheet or ovenproof platter and place in oven to keep warm.

Add mushrooms to skillet. Increase heat to high and cook, stirring occasionally, until mushrooms are somewhat brown. Add herb and broth. Allow mixture to boil rapidly until the broth has nearly disappeared. Remove beef from oven and drain and save any accumulated juices from skillet.

Slice steak thinly on the diagonal and serve with mushrooms and sauce. Serves 4.