A/N: This story has a long history. Quite a while back, we were having a discussion on LJ of hobbits and hunting, or at least, I think that’s how this all got started. It’s been so long now, some of the details gave grown a bit stale. Anyway, somewhere along the line of whatever discussion we were having, I thought it would be a fun idea to have an “Iron Chef” type story with the hobbits in a cooking competition. Grey Wonderer agreed to write it for me, but due to problems with canon, and another LJ discussion regarding pet peeves and hobbits not being able to cook (I think there must certainly be a few who can’t find their way around a kitchen, though naturally they would never admit it), she eventually determined she wouldn’t be able to pull it off. So she handed the torch back to me, and I’ve been sitting on it – the story, not the torch, as that would burn quite unpleasantly – ever since. This is a far cry from “Iron Chef” but it is still a hobbit cooking contest, made of one part Young!Merry and one part Wee!Pippin, with a dash of Frodo and a sprinkling of Bagginses, Gamgees and Cottons. Pull up a chair, dig in and enjoy!
 
 
 
First-place winner in the 2008 MEFA awards.

The Five Rules of Cooking
(As Learned by Peregrin Took at the Free Fair of 1396 SR)
 
 

Frodo is 27, Merry 14, Pippin 6 (about 17, 9 and 4 in Man years)
2 Lithe, 1396 SR
 

Of all the events that took place during the Free Fair, none were more eagerly anticipated than the cooking contests. Whether the hobbits were doing the cooking, the judging, or enjoying the contestants’ efforts at the Fair’s End Feast, the cooking contests were the most popular events of the Lithe festival. They were the first contests hobbits signed up for and so many volunteers wanted to help with the judging that their names had to be put into a hat to make the choosing fair; the volunteers could only hope they were one of the lucky few to be picked.

There were three cooking contests: the Juniors’ Cooking Contest, for young hobbits ages six through nineteen; and the All-Purpose Cooking Contest and Most Delectable Desserts Bake Off for all other hobbits twenty and up. The contests were an all day affair, with the juniors competing first, between second breakfast and luncheon before the day grew too hot. The other contests began after luncheon and concluded at tea.

The final day of the fair dawned bright and clear and promised to be just as warm as the days before. The vacant skies were a vibrant blue, gleaming as sapphires, and the fairgrounds sparkled as emeralds in the rising sun. The tightly-packed tents that squeezed onto the southern and northern ends of the field greeted the sun like many tiny mountains, though these were not arranged like any mountains the sun was accustomed to seeing. These little ranges made circles around each other, circles within larger circles, with curving avenues winding through them all for pathways to and from the fairgrounds. At the center of each group of circles were fire pits and cooking hearths, some already smoking as hobbits began to awaken and mill about, preparing for the day to come.

The largest circle of tents belonged to the Took clan, as most of the other large circles belonged to other families and their various relations. The smallest of the circles belonged to the merchants and farmers and fair organizers, whose main concern was being as close to their merchandise, produce, beasts and duties as they could get.

Not all hobbits who attended the fair slept in the camps. All the inns of Michel Delving were packed to bursting, with families cramming into rooms four to a bed and throwing blankets and pillows onto the floor for makeshift pallets to fit yet more hobbits. The inns were never more busy than they were at Midsummer, and a few of the hobbits who came to the fair did so just for the extra bit of coin for their pockets they could gain by offering to help the overburdened staff at the inns.

The Soaring Falcon Inn, always a popular and busy haven for its location next to the Town Hole, was no different. The Falcon’s usual customers of post messengers, shirriffs, bounders, traveling merchants, the occasional dwarves and more ordinary hobbits coming to seek an audience with the Mayor had now been cleared out for the inn’s customary Midsummer patrons of Bagginses, Chubbs, Grubbs, Proudfoots and Hornblowers.

In their quaint but humble room looking out at the town center, Frodo waited patiently as Merry finished dressing. Bilbo had already gone out to join the others at table in the common room, and Frodo was now wishing he had followed his example as his stomach began to protest its lack of first breakfast. Instead, he found himself sitting tailor-fashion on the bed, enjoying the gusty breeze through the open window and watching Merry with growing amusement and trepidation.

He was amused as Merry was being quite fastidious about his appearance, making certain his ironed white linen shirt hung from his shoulders just so and was tucked into his trousers so as not to wrinkle. Merry’s trousers were another point of concern. He didn’t want them to be too tight nor did he want them to be too loose. They needed to be breezy for certain, to accommodate the heat of the day and to allow for movement, but he didn’t want them falling down around his ankles either. Frodo’s pert reminder that Merry hadn’t worried about losing his pants at another festival did little assuage this concern.* Merry at length found a pale green pair that was snug at the hips but loose in the legs and he added to them a bright yellow pair of braces for security. He slipped the braces over his shoulders, rearranged his shirt, then began picking lint off his trousers with excruciating detail.

Frodo hid his snickers behind his hands, glad for the distraction from his worries. The worry was due to the fact that Merry, a perfectly capable lad at fourteen, had chosen for his partner in the Juniors’ Cooking Contest Pippin, an overactive mite of six years who couldn’t read or count, much less measure anything without spilling most of it into his foot hair. There was a reason Aunt Eglantine rarely allowed him in the kitchen and why children under ten, while permitted, were seldom allowed by their parents to compete in the contest. Yet despite this, Merry felt that Pippin would be a grand help and didn’t see any reason for asking for an additional assistant. Merry and Pippin had been planning this for months, since Pippin’s birthday when he became old enough to enter the contest – so long as he could find an older cousin silly enough to partner with him, for his sisters would have none of it.

Frodo suspected Pippin only wanted to compete so he could eat as much as he liked all morning long, and he knew Merry was only competing for a First Place ribbon, which he thought would look quite fetching on his bedchamber shelf next to his other ribbons, won for such physical activities as running, swimming and pony-racing. Merry’s competitive streak was legend, and Frodo worried what such excitement and pressure would do to the already excitable Pippin. He could see nothing but disaster looming ahead, but he had hid his fears and doubts these past few months with a practiced ease that would make any Baggins proud.

Yet as Merry finished his lint inspection and turned his attention to styling his hair, Frodo couldn’t resist one last attempt to reason with his dear cousin. “Are you certain about this, Merry?” he asked, sounding as calm and collected as he would if he were asking about Merry’s studies. “Don’t you think you should ask Pervinca or Pimpernel to join you and Pippin? Good help helps the best.”

“Pippin will be good help,” Merry insisted cheerfully as he slowly pulled his brush through his brown curls, gently easing out every tangle. “He can hand me things when I ask for them. He can measure things and stir things and tell me if the water gets too close to boiling. He can even cut things. I’ve brought him a blunt-edged knife, the same one I used when I was learning to cook.”

“He can also eat all the food before you have a chance to cook anything,” Frodo pointed out.

“That’s why I brought extra ingredients, as well as snacks just for him to munch on,” Merry replied smartly, positioning his bangs so they hung just above his eye line. He thought that wearing his hair in this fashion made him appear older and more responsible, and so less likely to be questioned by his elders when he was found snooping in places he didn’t belong. “Besides, if Vinca or Nell help, then I’ll have to share my First Place ribbon, whereas Pippin just wants to spend time with me and doesn’t give a cat’s meow about the ribbon.”

“So you want the prize all to yourself?” Frodo asked with a scoff.

“Of course,” Merry said. He looked at himself critically in the mirror, turning this way and that, looking for stray lint balls and out-of-place curls. He next inspected his foot hair and toe nails and nodded at himself in the mirror with satisfaction. He looked good, dashing even, if he did say so himself.

“Then why don’t you just cook by yourself? It would certainly be easier.”

“Because I promised Pippin we could spend time together while I was here. That was the original reason for me coming after all,” Merry replied, not understanding the concern. “Besides, Pippin wants to learn to cook and he’ll never be able to if Aunt Tina has her way. If I can show her that he’s capable of helping without being a nuisance, she’ll let him start helping at home too.”

“That’s an honorable ambition, Merry,” Frodo said, surprised at this reasoning. He hadn’t stopped to think that Merry might be hoping to help Pippin in his turn. It was moments like this that Frodo knew Merry would make an upstanding Master of the Hall one day. “However, I doubt Aunt Tina would neglect his cooking lessons indefinitely. She just wants to wait until he’s a wee bit older.”

“But he wants to learn now,” Merry said.

“Very well,” Frodo said, resigning himself to the inevitable and wondering again why he agreed to be their assistant and subject himself to this morning of torment. He was certain that Bilbo had something to do with it. “Do you have everything you’re going to need then?”

“It’s in the cold cellar in the kitchen,” Merry said. “We just need to load it up onto the pull-cart before we go to check in for the contest. I’ve all the ingredients, plus extras, as well as the bowls, utensils, measuring cups, and everything else.”

“What are you making anyway?” Frodo asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Merry answered and stepped out of the room into the hall, leaving his flabbergasted cousin behind.

Frodo quickly caught up, catching his friend by the elbow halfway down the hall. “You don’t know?” he asked, horrified. “Merry, this is a cooking competition. They’re going to ask to see the receipt before you start, to make sure you have only what you need and aren’t trying to cheat by taking shortcuts. How can you not know?”

Now it was Merry’s turn to laugh. He ribbed his cousin gently and winked. “I was only joking, Frodo; I knew I could break that calm exterior of yours. For your information, we’re going to make a chicken stew. It’s the easiest thing in the Shire to make, so all your fretting has been for nothing. Really, Frodo, what could possibly go wrong?”  

They met the other Bagginses in the common room, where first breakfast was already being served. They took the empty seats at the end of the table next to Angelica and a moment later, a serving lass brought them their plates. They dug into their ham and eggs while the elders continued their conversation.

“The pony races are this afternoon. My money’s on Sweet Molasses,” said Porto to his brother Ponto.

“More racing,” Dora said with a disapproving cluck of her tongue. “Though I suppose racing ponies makes far more sense than racing swine. I have never seen so many hobbits behaving so insensibly as they do when they’re calling and hollering at those pigs.”

“They have to holler or the pigs won’t race,” Dudo explained.

“Of course they won’t,” Dora said. “At least the pigs have some sense. They know they should be fattening up, not running about.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought those swine looked quite adorable in their ribbons and bells,” Bilbo joined in, a wicked little gleam in his eyes.

“Adorable?” Dora said, offended at the very thought of describing one’s future meal in such a manner. “Next you’re going to start racing them yourself.”

“You know, I just might,” Bilbo said, winking behind Dora’s back at Ponto and Porto.

“You’ll want to speak with Chico Broadback then,” Ponto advised, winking back. “He has a pair of Downland gilts he’s looking to sell. He’s had quite a few bids already, after his sow won the grand prize yesterday, so I’d find him as quickly as possible.”

“Don’t encourage him, Ponto!” Dora scolded.

“Bilbo’s never needed encouragement, Dora,” Dudo pointed out.

“Which is all the more reason not to offer it,” Dora said.

“Perhaps I’ll accompany you, Bilbo,” Ponto offered, “just to ensure you get the best possible price.” Yet there was now a gleam in his eyes and everyone knew what that meant.

Angelica sighed and turned to whisper to Merry and Frodo. “Mother’s not going to be happy about this,” she confided in them. “She took her breakfast early so she could help set up the cooking booths. If she comes back and finds out Father’s gone and wasted more money buying gilts, she’ll loose her reason.”

Frodo and Merry had to agree. After the argument Ponto and Daffodil had the previous night when Ponto returned to the inn with a new linen chest, a new set of golf clubs and a new pair of gold cufflinks, none of them had any doubt what would transpire if she found gilts in the sty. Daffodil would turn Ponto right around and demand that he sell them, and any protests by Ponto that they would be worth more after they won a few races would fall on deaf ears.

“Father,” Angelica said then, “don’t forget that you were going to help with the judging of the cooking contests today.”

Naturally, no hobbit needed to be reminded of this, but it did change the subject from race-pigs to food, just as Angelica had hoped. The judges for the cooking contests had been chosen yesterday, after the winners of the racing contests had been presented with their ribbons at the commencement ceremony. Everyone had gathered around the stage and waited on bated breath for the Mayor to read out the names of the chosen judges.

Ponto had the good fortune of being picked for the Most Delectable Desserts Bake Off, a fact he had been proudly boasting since last night. Now he launched into another elaborate retelling of the name-drawing and the hour he and the other judges had spent with the Mayor afterwards, receiving their instructions. Only their Baggins breeding kept his audience from groaning; they had already heard the tale at least a dozen times.

When Frodo and Merry finished their meal, they grabbed a handful of muffins for seconds and excused themselves from the table. They went into the kitchen and loaded Merry’s supplies onto a low pull-cart outside, which they then covered in a white sheet. The cooks wished them luck, and Merry and Frodo headed out for the fairgrounds and the range of tents on the southern end of the field. The Took camp was the largest and easiest to spot, with ten large tents and numerous smaller tents arranged in five circles. Merry and Frodo navigated their way through the tents to the center of the inner circle and the cooking fires. Most of the Tooks had already eaten, but there were still a fair number sitting and chatting about the various events yet to come. Merry and Frodo spotted Pippin and his family near the far end of the clearing, perched atop some logs as they finished their meal.

Pippin saw them first. He jumped up with a yelp and dashed over to hug Merry around the shins, already talking a mile a minute. “I can’t believe we get to be in one of the contests! I can’t wait to get started. I went through everything I already know about cooking last night: don’t stand too close to the fire, don’t eat things right off the skillet, never mix peanut butter into the eggs, don’t leave the apple juice too close to the fire because it will grow fur—”

“Ferment,” Merry corrected.

“Right, but I’ve never seen mint with fur, unless Cook was talking about that little fuzzy stuff that grows on the leaves that you can’t see unless you hold it up real close to your eye, and that’s bad for some reason but apple juice isn’t made with mint so far as I know and anyway the juice tasted just fine to me when I had some but they say that’s the reason I was bouncing off the walls all day long but I wasn’t bouncing off the walls, Merry, that’s just silly to bounce off of walls but bouncing on the bed is fun,” Pippin finished with a great intake of air.

Frodo’s worries bounced in leaps and bounds. The day was just beginning, Pippin had only had porridge and fruit for first breakfast if Aunt Eglantine was feeding him, and the little lad was already a bundle of energy. He might not bounce off walls, but Frodo was beginning to wonder if he didn’t have springs hidden in the heels of his feet.

Frodo shook his head and frowned down at his troublesome duo. “Come on you two,” he said with a wave at Eglantine and Paladin. They waved back, looking far more amused than Frodo cared to see them. He took Pippin’s sticky hand in his and turned to go. “We need to check you in.”  

The check-in line was already long by the time they reached the fairgrounds. Pippin, not one to stand still even to blink, instantly stooped down to inspect the bug life crawling among the grass. When he tired of that, he dashed around the green chasing butterflies and moths and naming the wildflowers if he knew their names. That occupied him for a time and he soon had company as some of the other younger contestants joined him. As the lads chased after flying critters, some of the lasses started turning cartwheels and attempting other tumbling acts like the ones they had seen on the first day of the fair.

Those who didn’t join them shouted encouragements or warnings to be careful, and Frodo was not surprised to see that Pippin was by far the youngest competitor there. He hoped again that Merry’s trust in the rambunctious Took would not be unfounded, but he resolved not to voice his doubt again with Pippin so near. The last thing they needed was a hyperactive Took second-guessing everything he did.

Merry was also keeping an eye on Pippin but his other eye was trained on his competition. There were several of his kin in line, some closely related, others only distant. The rest were gentry from other parts of the Shire, as well as working hobbits, all mingling comfortably together; there were no class divisions in any of the competitions at the Free Fair, as the purpose of the contests were to measure skill and ability, not class, and all hobbits enjoyed it that way.

That said, there were a couple of contests where this was a disadvantage. The working hobbits often had the edge in the wrestling matches, while the gentry usually owned the ponies better groomed for racing. There were some who felt these two contests at least should be divided by class, usually those gentry who had ended up face first in the dirt courtesy of their servants or who felt that working hobbits would better spend their time training ponies to work than to race. The Mayor always put an end to such complaints, reasoning that skill and ability were just that and if they divided those contests by class, the others would eventually follow, and the spirit of the Free Fair would be destroyed.

Merry had enjoyed the first two days running about with Frodo and Pippin and his many Took cousins. He had been surprised at first when some of the servants of the Great Smials and Whitwell joined them but delighted when he realized that the Gamgees also had no qualms about joining them in their antics. He now spotted Sam, May and Marigold Gamgee near the front of the queue, standing with some other young hobbits. Merry pointed them out to Frodo, who quickly identified the others as Tom, Jolly and Rosie Cotton and Robin Smallburrow.

Sam had told Merry the night before that Rosie, May and Marigold would be making an apple pie with a custard topping. This was May’s last year to compete with the juniors as she would be turning twenty next month and she had chosen the dish for which their mother had been famous. Sam, Tom, Jolly and Robin would be combining their skills to bake a four-layer cake with custard filling and white icing. The ingredients for the icing were costly, so the lads had been working extra jobs for the last month to afford them and they now guarded their loaded pull-cart with pride.

When Merry had told Sam that he would be joining with Pippin, Sam had given him a measured look that Merry thought was intentionally expressionless. “Well, Master Merry, I reckon there’s more’n one way to be cooking with fire, if you take my meaning,” Sam had replied cool as a cucumber and stuck more marshmallows on his stick for roasting.

Now Sam caught Merry’s and Frodo’s eyes and the friends waved at each other. Merry and Frodo saw Rosie say something to Sam and saw Sam glance over the green to where Pippin stood, grass-stained and panting with pollen in his hair. Sam replied and Tom, Jolly and Robin laughed.

“Are they laughing at Pippin?” Merry asked, affronted.

“If I had to guess, I’d say they’re laughing at you,” Frodo wagered. He didn’t know the Cottons or Robin well but he knew that Sam would never say anything against Pippin or Merry. Even so, his Gamgee practicality wouldn’t be able to help pointing out Merry’s folly in his choice of cooking partner.

“Oh, all right then,” Merry said, quelled by this reassurance. He didn’t mind being the butt of a joke, but he wouldn’t allow anyone to make fun of Pippin.

Long as the line was, it moved quickly and soon Merry and Frodo reached the front of the queue. Frodo called for Pippin to join them, and the little Took dashed over and arrived with a bounce. For all his running and playing, he was still wriggling with excitement and he grinned up at the hobbitess who was checking them in.

“Hallo!” he exclaimed. “Isn’t it a lovely morning this morning? It’s going to be a lovely day today and a lovely night tonight.” Then he giggled at his own joke.

“Good morning to you, young Master,” the hobbitess replied warmly. “I see you’ve been enjoying yourself.”

“Yes, Miss,” Pippin agreed and started rocking back and forth on his heels.

The hobbitess locked eyes with Frodo and arched her brows ever so slightly. Frodo grinned bravely. “Good morning, Miss. I’m Frodo Baggins and I’ll be serving as helper for Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took.”

The hobbitess scanned her list and checked off their names. “And what will you be cooking for the contest?” she asked.

“Chicken stew with vegetables,” Merry answered. “My grandmother Menegilda created it fifty years ago and it’s a staple of all Brandybuck festivities.”

“It certainly sounds delicious,” the hobbitess said kindly. “Hand over your receipt and uncover your pull cart,” she instructed, standing to inspect the cart’s ingredients against the receipt. “What are these?” she asked, pointing at the snacks Merry had set aside for Pippin and the muffins Frodo had brought for their second breakfast.

“Second breakfast and snacks,” Frodo answered. “Young hobbits have insatiable appetites. Best to be prepared than to find yourself without anything to cook with.”

“I’m hungry,” Pippin complained as though on cue. He eyed the muffins and sack of apples, berries and nuts with craving. Merry handed him an apple and he instantly stuffed half of it into his mouth, taking such a large bite he could barely close his lips to chew.

“Of course,” the hobbitess agreed, her eyebrows arching again. She cleared her throat and made a note of their snacks before handing the receipt card back to Merry. She addressed Frodo again. “As helper, you can only start and maintain the fires and lift the pots if they are too heavy. You can also run to get supplies if you need them. You may not help Master Merry or Master Pippin in any other way or they will be disqualified from the competition. Find any available cooking booth and make sure young Master Pippin washes his hands.”

“Ah wah meh han,” Pippin protested around his bite of apple.

“Of course you will, Pip,” Merry said pertly. “She just has to say that to all the Tooks. Let’s go find a table. Maybe there will be one in a tent still available.”

Merry covered the pull cart and grabbed the handle, and they set out to find a cooking booth. On their way, they passed the Gamgees and their friends at the communal ovens used for the baking contests and wished them luck.

“Aye, good luck to ye too,” Jolly said with a grin.

“Just remember, Master Merry, water douses fire faster’n more fire,” Sam called after them.

“And you remember, Sam, never mess with a Took and a Brandybuck,” Merry called back, laughing himself.

“No need to. I reckon they mess themselves just fine,” Tom heckled, which earned laughs from everyone in the area.

“Wat dos at mean, Merry?” Pippin asked around the second half of his apple.

“Only that cooking was never meant to be a clean affair,” Merry replied, smiling down at his cousin. He would never admit it aloud, but Pippin looked a fright and his hands would need a good scrubbing before he could be allowed near any of the food.

They continued to the cooking tents and booths, Frodo patrolling ahead to spy out an ideal space and claim it before anyone else could reach it. All the spaces in the tents were already full but he found a booth near enough one of the tents to have shade most of the morning. He checked the supply of fire wood, the depth of the fire pit and the height of the cooking spit and found all to be to his liking. He was checking the table’s steadiness when Merry and Pippin arrived with the pull cart.

“This will do,” Merry agreed and pushed the pull cart under the table.

“Now what?” Pippin asked as he licked apple juice off his hands.

“Now, we prepare our station,” Merry informed. “First, we fill our stock pot with water. We passed the well just a short way back, so we’ll take the pot in the cart to fill it and we can wash up while we’re there.”

“Here, Pip, I’ll help with that,” Frodo said, stepping in when he saw Pippin’s grubby hands reaching for the food-filled baskets.

Frodo and Merry quickly unloaded the cart, leaving only the stock pot in the bed. Pippin wanted to help pull the cart, so he and Merry took the handle and went in pursuit of the water. They reached the well in due time. Merry shook the pollen out of Pippin’s hair, then rolled up his sleeves and gave his arms, hands and face a thorough scrub before washing his own hands and filling the pot. When they returned, Frodo placed the pot on the spit and rearranged the stones in the fire pit so that both the pot and the pan would have the fire they needed. While he was busy with that, Merry showed Pippin how to set up the cooking station, arranging the ingredients, bowls, utensils and cutting boards so that everything was within easy reach, with the ingredients to be used first closest to the cutting boards.

“We have different ingredients, Merry,” Pippin pointed out as he watched Merry arrange the sacks of vegetables between them. He stood up on tiptoe to try to see better and found that Merry had given him the peppercorn, tomatoes, peapods, squash and all the seasonings. For himself, Merry had kept back the onions, carrots, potatoes, and garlic. Between them, he had placed the celery and corncobs.

“Your knife has a blunt edge, so you won’t accidentally cut yourself,” Merry explained. “All hobbit children learn to cook with such knives, but it does mean you won’t be able to cut through the harder vegetables.”

“Oh,” Pippin said, his eyes wide as he looked from his little blunt-edged knife to Merry’s much sharper, scarier-looking knife. He was glad he didn’t have to use that big knife just yet. “Now what do we do? Do we start cooking now?”

Frodo shook his head. “No, now we wait until everyone else is ready and the judges tell us its time to start. Now, we eat second breakfast.” He divided the muffins among them and poured out water into the jars they would be using later to store the broth.

Merry and Frodo ate in contentment, nibbling at their food as they watched the other contestants bustling about, finding tables and sitting up their stations. Occasionally, friendly bantering would sound back and forth between cooking booths, as friends and kin made wagers as to who will win and who will go home with only an honorable mention.

Pippin quickly finished his food, making a mess of himself once again. With his food finished and nothing to occupy him, as hobbit-watching was hardly exciting enough for him, he began to fidget and squirm in his place between his two older cousins.

Frodo noticed this and reached behind him to grab a short piece of kindling from the unlit fire. He quickly drew a five-by-five square grid in the dirt. “Do you want to play biscuits-and-scones, Pip?” he asked, knowing that Pippin enjoyed the game, the object of which was to draw four biscuits or four scones in a row without being blocked by the other player. “Merry will play the winner.”

“Yes, please!” Pippin agreed and scrambled to sit on his knees, the better to see the grid and watch Frodo’s strategy. Frodo drew a circle, representing a biscuit, on the grid and handed the stick to Pippin. Pippin studied the grid for a time, then drew a triangle, representing a scone, and the game commenced.

The first two rounds ended in a draw, with Frodo winning the third match. Merry quickly beat Frodo and Pippin in turn. His second game with Frodo ended in another draw, but before they could begin a third match, Frodo glanced up to notice that the judges were assembling at the center of the field. The competition would be starting soon, and once it did, Merry and Pippin would need to be ready to begin cooking right away.

“Take Pippin and wash up,” Frodo said to Merry, who frowned to notice how dirty Pippin had become just by sitting still in the dirt.

Merry took Pippin’s left hand with his right and two of the glass jars in his other. Pippin carried the third glass jar, and they went to the well to wash themselves and the jars. They returned to their booth just in time for Mayor Will Whitfoot’s arrival.

Now everyone was watching the judges and the Mayor, waiting eagerly for the announcement to begin the contest. The Mayor conferred with the judges briefly before turning to address the contestants. “Welcome young chefs and bakers to the Juniors’ Cooking Contest! I’m sure you’re all excited to get started, but I must remind you all to be careful of the fires and to watch your fingers. We don’t want anyone getting hurt. Helpers, watch your young charges carefully to ensure they are using their utensils correctly, but no helping them with the cooking itself. Contestants, you are not allowed to leave your stations once the contest begins unless you have a judge with you. If you have a helper, your helper can go to fetch whatever you might need. The judges will be patrolling the grounds throughout the competition to check on your progress.

“Your head judge today will be none other than our very own Tulip Crocker,** who can make such meals as to leave you breathless and begging for more. If, after the competition, you wish for her to give you pointers on how to make your receipts even more delectable than they already are, just wave her down and she’ll come right over. You can learn a lot from this marvelous lady.”

Next to him stood a middle-aged hobbitess with her brown curls rolled up in a bun. She wore a sky blue smock with little white flowers pressed on them and a white apron. She smiled charmingly at the contestants and gave them a wink. Everyone in the Shire had heard of Tulip Crocker’s legendary skills in the kitchen, and there would be quite a few who would be eager to gain her advice once the contest was over.

“So now, without further ado, let the contest begin!” the Mayor announced. The contestants cheered and the judges set out to patrol the grounds.  

“It’s time, Merry! It’s time to begin! We need to start! We need to start!” Pippin exclaimed, bouncing excitedly and brandishing the piece of kindling with reckless abandon.

Frodo ducked just in time to avoid being smacked across the face. He gently took the kindling away and returned it to the wood pile. Then he waited, as he wasn’t allowed to do anything until Merry instructed him now that the contest had officially begun.

Merry rubbed his hands together and studied his receipt card carefully. There were two receipts he and Pippin would be making, the broth for the stew and then the stew itself. The broth would take the longest, so they would begin with that first. He rubbed his hands together, the only indication he gave of the nerves he felt inside. “All right,” he said. “First off, we need to start the fire and warm the water to a simmer. We’ll need to put the bones in the water to make the broth, so while we wait for the water to warm, we can bone the chicken and separate as much of the fat from the meat and bones as we can.”

“Can I start the fire?” Pippin asked.

“No,” Merry and Frodo firmly negated. Pippin’s eager face deflated slightly but he didn’t protest when Merry instructed Frodo to start the fire. Instead, he watched as Frodo took a striker from his pocket and quickly set the kindling ablaze. Soon the flames licked at the bottom of the pot and caressed its sides.

Merry placed the first of two hens on his chopping block. They were already prepared for cooking, the feathers, innards and heads removed. Now he made Pippin stand back as he took up the meat cleaver and cut the meat into more manageable pieces, setting aside one piece for Pippin for every two of his own. Pippin stood up on his tiptoes to watch him over the table, his nose scrunched up but fascinated all the same.

From his vantage point behind them, Frodo realized belatedly that Pippin would need something to stand on. Unfortunately, they had nothing with them that could act as a stool. The bucket they would need for throwing their discards, and the pull cart was simply too unstable. Frodo looked around at the nearby booths and tents and spotted what appeared to be an extra pail in the tent behind them. He told Merry he’d be right back and went to ask if he could borrow the pail. He returned a minute later, pail in hand, to hear Pippin’s leery questioning.

“I’ve never had stew with bones in it, Merry,” he said. “I don’t think we’re supposed to use the bones.”

“The bones have all the marrow and nutrients that make the broth so hearty,” Merry explained as he began chopping the second hen. “We need to remove all the meat from the bones so we can cook the meat. We need to get as much of the fat off the bones before putting them into the water. The remaining fat will come off the bones and float at the top of the water as it simmers, and we can skim the fat off that way. We don’t want to mix the fat into the water though or it will get greasy and won’t taste as good. Once the broth is finished, we’ll strain out the fat, bones and vegetables and keep only the liquid, which we will then use to make our stew. The rest of the broth we’ll store in these jars for use later.”

“Oh. Then what do we do with the bones?” Pippin asked, suddenly wondering what happened to all the bones of the beasts he had ever eaten. That seemed like a lot of bones and yet he couldn’t recall ever seeing a big pile of discarded bones anywhere.

“Here, Pip,” Frodo said then, putting the pail upside down at his feet and helping the lad to climb on top of it. Now Pippin could reach the table without having to strain his toes.

“Thank you, Frodo!” Pippin exclaimed, rewarding Frodo with a toothy grin. “Do you know what happens to all the bones?”

“Well, some folk make buttons or combs from them, or fashion them into handles for garden tools or whatnot. This pestle here which you will use for crushing the peppercorns is made of bone,” Frodo informed. “Dogs rather love to chew on bones and bury them. Bones can also be ground up for the compost, and I think the Gaffer once told me that you can make a special fertilizer with them also.”

“I didn’t know you could do so many things with bones,” Pippin stated, impressed with this new knowledge.

Merry then proceeded to show Pippin how to trim the fat from the meat and cut the meat from the bones. He had given Pippin mostly the wings and thighs, leaving the more difficult chest cavities for himself. He advised Pippin to be especially careful to remove the smaller bones and gristle. “Discard the gristle, but even the smallest bones can be used for the broth. Discard the fat also and put the meat in the pan when you’re finished. Pile the bones on the top corner of your cutting board, out of the way.”

He demonstrated what he wanted Pippin to do and then watched as the lad tentatively attempted his first piece, correcting his grip on the knife and meat as necessary. He and Frodo watched closely, giving encouragement as needed, and Pippin’s confidence quickly grew. When Merry was certain Pippin was comfortable with his task, he turned to his own parts, leaving Frodo to continue watch over Pippin, whose little pink tongue peeked out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on not cutting off his fingers. He worked slowly, sometimes putting the fat with the bones or the bones in the bucket with the discards, having to fish them back out. A little frown began to develop on his impish face and by the time he was nearly finished, the frown had grown to a grimace.

“This is very messy, Merry,” he complained as he looked at his greasy, fat-covered hands, little flecks of meat sticking to them from feeling for the small bones and gristle. “I don’t know why you made me clean my hands when they were just going to get dirty again.”

He wrinkled his nose in disgust and tried to wipe the grime from his hands, succeeding only in spreading it around more. While he didn’t mind getting dirty, this was a different sort of dirty and he wasn’t at all sure he liked it. Mud eventually dried and flaked off. This stuff didn’t seem to want to go anywhere.

“We’ll wash our hands again once we’re finished with the chicken and have it cooking,” Merry assured. “Let me check your meat and make sure all the small bones are out. They’re hard to find sometimes. Even I still mess them every now and again.”

Only Pippin wasn’t listening. He was too busy flapping his hands about, distracted by the mess on them. “Is the fat supposed to cling like this?” he asked, shaking his hands more violently and eventually succeeding in sending little flecks of grime flying through the air.

“Hey now!” Frodo protested, as some of the flecks landed on his cheek and neck.

“Sorry Frodo,” Pippin apologized and went back to flapping his hands.

“Frodo, do you think you could track down some rags to wipe our hands with until we can wash them?” Merry requested in a too-patient tone. “I thought I had brought some, but I don’t see them now.”

“I’m sure someone will have extras,” Frodo said, glad for the excuse to escape further assault.

He went in pursuit of spare rags and managed to borrow some from a table of Clayhangers and Hornblowers. He returned with his bounty to find Merry attempting to shake his head and remove the chicken fat from his carefully primped hair. The staid Brandybuck was beginning to look a little frayed.

“Here, Pip,” Frodo said. “Let’s wipe your hands clean.” He dipped a clean rag into the warming pot water and made quick work of cleaning Pippin’s hands.

Merry also wiped his hands clean before passing them through his curls, looking for stray bits of lingering chicken parts. Once satisfied, he thanked Frodo for his help then commenced with his lesson, keeping a rag nearby for Pippin to wipe his hands whenever he wanted. By the time the meat and bones were ready, the water was beginning to steam. Merry instructed Frodo to carefully place the bones into the water and to remove some of the wood from the pot to the pan once the water began to bubble.

“We only want it to simmer,” he reminded Pippin. “That’s less than one bubble at a time. While Frodo’s rearranging the wood, we can put the meat in the pan and I’ll put that on the fire to cook as well.”

When that was done, Merry waved down a judge to escort him and Pippin to the well for a proper washing. They soon returned, Pippin happily flapping his now pristine hands. Merry rewarded him with another apple and a handful of nuts. Pippin clambered back onto his pail and looked at the remaining ingredients with zeal. Now that the dreaded chicken was out of the way, he was more eager to see what was coming next. While Pippin munched on his prize, Merry explained the next step in the cooking process.

“While the broth is brewing and the meat cooking, we’re going to prepare everything that goes into the broth and the stew,” Merry explained. “The ingredients for the broth will go into this bowl here. We want the broth vegetables to be cut into large chunks, since it will have to simmer for a long time and smaller pieces lose their flavor faster than big pieces.”

“Oh,” Pippin intoned and wondered how he was ever going to remember all of this information. He’d no idea cooking was such a complicated affair. “Does all of this go into the broth then?”

“No,” Merry said, glancing at his receipt. “Only fifteen of the peppercorn grounded, two stalks of celery, one medium onion, one large carrot and the half bay leaf. The rest is for the broth.”

“But there’s more than just one celery, onion and carrot,” Pippin pointed out, hoping that meant he would have extra to eat.

“That’s because those vegetables will also be needed for the stew, so we need more,” Merry explained. “So, first off, you’re going to take the leaves off the celery. The leaves are very bitter so we don’t want any of those getting into the broth or the stew. Once all the leaves are removed, put them back here between the cutting boards so I can chop them up. Then you’re going to take the peppercorns in that mortar and grind them with the pestle until it resembles a fine powder. While you’re doing that, I’ll chop the rest of the ingredients, and then we can work on the vegetables for the stew. But we must also remember to check the broth and skim the fat off the surface and to stir the chicken so it cooks evenly and doesn’t burn. I’ll take care of that as well, since you’re not allowed near the fire. By the time we have everything chopped up, the chicken should be cooked and ready to cut into cubes.”

“We’re not done with the chicken yet?” Pippin asked, his eager little face again deflating to a bemused frown. Frodo covered his smile with his hand.

“Not yet,” Merry confirmed. “But don’t worry Pip, it won’t be so messy once it’s cooked.”

“Couldn’t we have cooked it first then?” Pippin asked, pouting and looking extremely cross. He liked chickens well enough when they were clucking around the coop, or when his mother had already cut the meal into bite-sized pieces for him to eat. He decided he didn’t much care for the in-between part at all and he felt duped for having been subjected to such a sticky mess without need.

Frodo broke in now, shaking his head and keeping a straight face with practiced ease. “No, Pip, it doesn’t work that way. You have to prepare the chicken before you can cook it, no matter if you’re roasting, baking, cooking, frying or grilling it. At the least, you have to pluck the feathers and remove the innards, and you should feel grateful Merry has spared you that ordeal. But for a broth, you want all the nutrients of the bones to seep into the water. If you cook the chicken first, you’ll lose much of that flavor and the broth will turn out weak. Besides, once the meat’s cooked it will be hot and you’ll want to handle it as little as possible then.”

“If you say so,” Pippin agreed, but he clearly had his doubts.

“Now, what are you going to do?” Merry questioned Pippin.

“I’m going to remove the leaves from the celery and ground the peppercorn,” Pippin recited.

“Very good!” Merry praised.

Merry began peeling the carrots while Pippin made quick work of removing the leaves from the celery. Merry watched Pippin from the corner of his eye as his little cousin took up the mortar and pestle and began grinding the peppercorn. “Keep it up, Pip,” Merry encouraged. “Take your time, don’t spill.”

Pippin nodded, his little tongue peeking out again as he concentrated on beating the peppercorn to a pulp. Merry quickly diced a stalk of celery and stick of carrot into large chunks, then proceeded to peeling the onion and chopping off either end. He was slicing the onion in half when he heard Frodo softly clear his throat from his perch behind them next to the fire. A second later, Frodo cleared his throat again and Merry looked over to discover his bowl of ingredients held considerably less carrots than it had just a minute before. The corner of Pippin’s mouth showed evidence of where the missing carrots had ended up.

“Pip,” Merry said with a warning voice, “you’re not supposed to eat what you’re cooking.”

“Then how do we know if it’s any good?” Pippin asked. While it didn’t occur to him to deny the allegation, he had learned to always look for a valid excuse for his actions whenever possible. The excuses didn’t always work but they did succeed in getting him out of trouble enough that he figured it was always worth a try.

“We’ll sample the stew when it’s nearly done to see what adjustments need to be made to the seasonings, but we don’t eat the food or there won’t be any food to cook with,” Merry explained, ignoring Frodo’s barely suppressed giggles.

“But how do you know if the food is good enough to cook it?” Pippin asked, unperturbed. As far as he knew, the only way to tell if food was good for eating was to eat it and find out.

“By looking at it,” Merry said, holding up his carrot. “See? There’s no uneven or excessive wrinkling anywhere. The color is even all the way around, it’s nice and orange just like it should be. There’s no soft spots that will warn you of bruising. That means it’s ripe and ready for cooking.”

“Oh,” Pippin said, understanding. “So we can’t eat any of this?”

A snicker escaped with a burst behind them.

“Only if there is anything left over when we’re completely done,” Merry said, emphasizing the ‘only’ and ‘completely done’ part. “Cut that bay leaf in half when you’re done with the peppercorn.”

“Yes, Merry,” Pippin said and sheepishly went back to grinding the peppercorn as Merry chopped up another half carrot. When they were finished, they put the peppercorn and bay leaf into the bowl with the vegetables and covered the bowl with a white cloth to protect it from the heat and sun. For extra assurance, Merry stored the bowl in the pull cart under the table. Merry then checked the broth and skimmed the fat off the surface before stirring the chicken in the pan.

“Now for the stew ingredients,” Merry said, coming back to his station and consulting his receipt card again. “I’ll be in charge of the potatoes, celery, carrots, onions, garlic and squash. You are going to be responsible for peeling and dicing the tomatoes, shelling the peas and husking the corn. Start with the tomatoes first, as that will take the longest. Peel the skin back carefully, you don’t want to tear the flesh or lose any of the juice. If we need more juice, you can squeeze some the other tomatoes, but only do that if I tell you to.”

“Why do we have to peel the tomatoes?” Pippin asked. “What if the skin doesn’t want to come off? Do I get to eat it?”

Behind them, Frodo dissolved into giggles again. Far from being a disaster, this morning was proving to be quite entertaining, and he would have to commend Merry later for remaining calm and not displaying his competitive streak.

Merry sighed. “Tell you what, if we need more tomato juice and you have to strain one or two, you can eat those,” he promised and Pippin bounced and nearly fell off his pail. He caught himself on the table and grinned winningly.

Merry shook his head and showed Pippin how to peel the tomatoes and explained how to cut them into wedges. He then quickly explained the shelling and husking process for the peas and corn. He watched Pippin’s first attempts with the tomatoes and once Pippin was comfortable with his task, Merry turned his attention to peeling and dicing the potatoes.

Pippin didn’t mind the mess of peeling and dicing the tomatoes. This mess was more to his liking, wet but quick to dry. He took great zeal in straining another two tomatoes when Merry determined more juice was needed, even though Merry gently scolded him for splattering tomato juice everywhere. Pippin quickly calmed and took extra precaution to direct the tomato juice into the bowl, and afterward Merry kept his word and allowed Pippin to nibble on the abused tomatoes while he shelled the peas.

One by one, the vegetables were added to the other, larger bowl, and the remainder of the preparations passed without incident. Pippin didn’t much care for husking the corn either, but as corn husk was nowhere near as sticky or disgusting to deal with as chicken fat, no one minded much when Pippin flapped his hands or wiped them on his trousers to free them of the husk strands. Pippin didn’t have the strength to break the stems from the cobs, so Merry did that and cut the cobs into smaller slices as he closely watched Pippin measure out the spices and mix them into a small glass bowl: pepper, thyme and sage, all freshly ground.

Between each vegetable cut and added to the larger bowl, Merry attended to the broth, skimming the accumulating fat, and stirred the chicken in the pan. He had to work twice as fast to make up for his divided attention and Pippin’s slower pace, but it all got done with time to spare. They covered the two bowls with white cloths and Merry stored them in the pull cart next to the other. The remaining vegetables were set aside for elevenses.

“All right, Frodo-dear,” Merry said, “the chicken is finished, so if you can remove the pan from the fire and place the chicken on the cutting boards to cool, I will add the vegetables to the broth. It will need to continue simmering for another forty-five minutes,” he told Pippin. He removed the medium-sized bowl from the pull cart, double-checking it to make sure it was the right one, then waited for Frodo to clear the way before carefully spooning the vegetables into the broth.

Merry added the now-empty bowl to the pile of dirty dishes, then joined Pippin at the cutting boards again. Pippin was looking down at the chicken with disapproval. “Now, Pip, we are going to cut the meat into cubes and place it back into the pan as we go. As we cut, we can remove any excess fat or small bones that might have escaped our attention previously. You’re going to do the majority of the cutting, as I’m going to have to keep an extra close eye on the broth. The fat is starting to accumulate more quickly and we don’t want it soaking into the broth if we can help it.”

Pippin scrunched his face at this but gamely did as Merry instructed, cutting the meat into cubes and being careful not to burn his fingers on the hot meat. He was pleased to discover that Merry and Frodo had at least been correct about the meat being less messy once it was cooked, and he only had to resist the urge to flap his hands once before remembering the discarded rag beside him. Merry even let Pippin have a pile of berries and nuts to munch on as he worked, and Pippin made of game for himself to see how many cubes he could cut with each bite of his snack food. He couldn’t count very high yet, but he figured the more times he counted to seven, the more he was cutting and the faster he was getting. Meanwhile, Merry’s arm was getting tired of skimming the broth and he had to switch the ladle back and forth every few scoops or so. He watched the sun closely, relieved to see that they still had plenty of time to cook the stew; it wasn’t even elevenses yet.

Frodo occupied himself by returning to his earlier hobbit-watching. The Gamgees and their friends were happily working away, singing carelessly, a cooking song no doubt. Many of their neighbors were joining in but a few looked rather disgruntled as they hurried about with their own cooking and baking.

On the other end of the field, disaster was looming for one team. Their fire had begun to smoke thick and grey and the three lasses seemed at a loss of how to stop it. A couple of the judges ran to their aid and demanded to know where their helper was; teams without a member older than sixteen were required to have a helper and none of those lasses looked over the age of thirteen.

A few of the teams had dissolved into bickering, resulting in harried movements, wasting time and ingredients and no doubt skipping vital steps; Frodo guessed that those teams would not do so well in the end for their impatience.

“Frodo,” Merry said, interrupting his thoughts. “The broth is finished. Can you fetch the other pot and the colander? There should also be a cheesecloth to line the colander. If I hold the colander, can you pour the broth over it into the pot?”

“Certainly, Merry-lad, whatever you need,” Frodo said and stood to offer his assistance.

He found the required tools and lined the colander with the cheesecloth as Merry skimmed the last bits of fat from the surface of the broth. Then they traded places, Merry taking the colander and holding it steady over the stew pot as Frodo carefully lifted the broth pot and slowly poured its contents into the colander. The vegetables quickly accumulated on top of the cheesecloth, slowing the straining process to a crawl. Frodo put the pot down and removed the debris, then started again. This time the bones came, along with more of the vegetables and a few remaining clumps of fat.

Merry next helped Pippin with the last of the chicken before instructing Pippin to ladle the broth into the awaiting glass jars. When all the jars were full and the pot empty, Merry had Pippin study the broth. “See, Pip, it should be a clear deep brown like this here. Now, one of these ladles equals a half-cup, and we need five cups of the broth for the stew. So, we would need to ladle ten scoops of the broth back into the pot, which is one of these jars exactly – I counted as you scooped out the broth for the first jar. So pour one of these jars back into the pot, that’s right, and then we’ll add the chicken, vegetables and seasonings, put it back on the fire and let it simmer for another half hour. Then it will be done!”

“Why didn’t you just leave one jar of broth in the pot, Merry?” Pippin asked, pouring one of the jars’ contents back into the pot as instructed.

“Because I didn’t know how much we had made Pip, and so I didn’t know how much would need to be removed so that five cups were left in the pot,” Merry explained. They added the remaining ingredients and Frodo hung the pot from the spit.

“Now what?” Pippin asked.

“Now we clean up,” Merry said. “We’ve dishes to wash. Let’s wave down a judge to take us to the well. Frodo, you’ll watch over the stew and make sure the fire doesn’t die down?”

“Will do,” Frodo agreed. “I’ll divide the rest of the food for elevenses also. Take this pail and fill it with some water to wash down the food. We can use the ladle to drink from. Clean these rags also, so we can return them to their owners.”

“Very well,” Merry agreed and took the rags and pail with them when a judge came by to escort them to the well.

They returned from the well just as Frodo finished dividing the leftover ingredients and snacks. Merry and Pippin dived into their food, eating eagerly, while Frodo munched thoughtfully on a carrot. He had to admit that he was impressed. Merry never once ruffled his feathers and Pippin had performed admirably for all his boundless energy. Eglantine and Paladin would be quite proud when they heard of their son’s accomplishments.

As though reading his older cousin’s thoughts, Merry patted Pippin on the shoulder and said, “You were a marvelous help today, Pip, just like I knew you would be.” He looked pointedly at Frodo here.

Frodo nodded. “I was just thinking the same,” he agreed wholeheartedly. “You are quite the exceptional novice.”

“Huh?” Pippin asked, confused by the unfamiliar word.

“Novice, it means beginner, someone who’s just learning how to do something,” Merry elaborated.

Pippin beamed proudly and puffed out his chest. “I know,” he said and they all laughed.

They finished their meal and lay out on the cool grass. The sun was now high overhead, the shade gone entirely, and they were sweating from the heat of the day and the fires surrounding them. The aromas drifting about the breeze were enticing and mouth-watering, making even full bellies grumble for more. They settled on drinking the water with the ladle and when that was gone, Frodo went to retrieve more. The pail leaked only a little but it created a nice little puddle of cold water in the grass for them to bathe their feet as they played some more rounds of biscuits-and-scones.

Merry kept an eye on the sun’s arch through the sky and when a half-hour passed, he got up to check on the stew. He allowed Frodo and Pippin each a taste before he sampled the stew himself. Frodo nodded with approval, a wistful smile gracing his fair features; he had messed this stew since moving to Bag End. Pippin smacked his lips and licked them dry, wanting more.

“Nearly perfect,” Merry pronounced. “It’s just a bit runny. We’ll need to thicken it up with some flour.”

“Where’s the flour?” Pippin asked, springing to his feet.

“In that rucksack,” Merry answered, pointing to where the sack sat in the middle of the booth.

Pippin skipped to the table but without his pail to stand on he couldn’t quite reach the rucksack. Before anyone could stop him, he settled for jumping up and making one desperate swipe for the rucksack. He managed to obtain it, but the sack snagged on the edge of the booth on his way down. The knot of the sack was secure, but the bag tore where it was snagged. Pippin failed to notice and yanked at the sack a few times with little result.

“Here Pip,” Merry said, looking up and noticing his trouble. He approached his younger cousin just as Pippin gave the rucksack a pull so mighty that he fell over backward, tearing the sack entirely and sending a white cloud of flour cascading over the table and everything on it or near it. When the dust settled, a good pile of flour sat on the edge of the booth, quickly sliding through the cracks between the beams. A fine layer of flour covered the table, the floor, the cooks and the newly cleaned dishes.

Pippin sneezed as flour dust tickled in his nose. “Whoops,” he whispered.

Frodo contained his laughter with great difficulty. Only by biting his lower lip and gripping his knees did he manage to stifle most of his giggles, but he couldn’t prevent the tears from streaming down his face. He had been spared the flouring, having the sense to flee the vicinity while Merry had dashed into the fray. Now Frodo returned to the scene, hampered only by the tears in his eyes and the stitch forming in his side. He found an apologetic Pippin scrambling to his feet as a disgruntled Merry resolutely shook powder from his once perfect hair and formerly tidy clothes.

“I’m sorry, Merry,” Pippin said, sounding close to tears. Usually, Merry would be laughing right about now. That Merry was so silent and refusing to look at him worried Pippin to no end. “I didn’t think the bag would rip like that. I didn’t think there was that much flour in it. It’s such a small bag and it was so light.” He trailed off lamely and shuffled his feet, sending up little puffs of flour.

“It’s not your fault, Pip,” Frodo soothed, placing himself between his cousins. “You were only trying to help.”

“But now the flour’s all gone and stew will be runny!” Pippin quailed.

“I’m sure there is someone here who will have some extra flour we can use,” Frodo assured. “Under the circumstances, I doubt the judges would mind. I’ll settle it with Mistress Crocker, then see Sam. If anyone has extra ingredients in case of a baking emergency, it will be him.”

“So then, I didn’t ruin anything?” Pippin asked, looking hopeful.

“Only your cousin’s good looks, but that’s not much lost if you ask me,” Frodo said and moved just in time to miss being whacked on the head from behind. Frodo fixed Merry with a stern look that said ‘remember, this was your idea,’ then patted Pippin’s dusty head and circled around the booth. “I’ll go speak with Mistress Crocker.”

“Thank you, Frodo,” Merry said, a note of strain in his voice. Then he looked down at Pippin, who blinked up at him looking every bit like a snow hobbit, and laughed. He couldn’t imagine he looked much better, and there were worse things that could have happened today than some spilled flour. “Oh, Pip, but you do keep things interesting.”

“That’s what Mum and Da always say,” Pippin replied, much relieved at Merry’s returned humor.

“I’m sure they do,” Merry said with a fondness in his eyes.

He shook his head and looked around to notice that nearly everyone was watching them, many clearly in throes of hysterics. Unlike the previous disasters that had largely gone unnoticed by the other competitors, many of the teams were now finished with their preparations and, like them, merely waiting for their creations to cook. The result was that they had a large audience for their little mishap.

“I think we best take our bows, Pip,” he said and grabbed Pippin’s hand before he could ask what Merry meant. Merry led Pippin in a four-turn bow, receiving much applause and whoops at each turn.

“Why are they clapping, Merry?” Pippin asked, trying to make sense of this unexpected turn.

“Oh, they just wish they had thought of it first,” Merry replied, then took one of the cleaner rags, dipped it in the chalky water and proceeded to wipe Pippin’s face clean. “Now, Pip, when Frodo returns with the flour, we will use that scoop sitting there on the table to scoop the flour into the stew. We’ll stir the stew after each scoop until the stew is to the thickness we desire. Understand.”

“Yes, Merry,” Pippin replied, turning his head so Merry could dig, rather roughly, into his ear. “I really am sorry Merry.”

“I know, Pip. It’s not a worry. Like Frodo said, nothing’s been ruined,” Merry said. “If we can’t get the flour, then we’ll just call our stew a soup.”

At the center of the field, Frodo finished explaining their dilemma to Mistress Tulip, who chuckled kindly and nodded. “Of course. I think we can make an exception this one time, so long as all that is borrowed is the ruined ingredient.”

“Thank you, Mistress Crocker,” Frodo said and made his way to Sam’s table.

He needn’t even open his mouth before Sam held up a bag of flour. “Here you are, Master Frodo,” Sam said, chuckling under his breath, his eyes still red from his earlier laughing fit. His sisters and friends were in similar states.

“I don’t think we’ll need this much,” Frodo said, taking the bag gratefully. “Only a half-cup should do.”

“That may be,” Robin said, “but it don’t look like it’ll be all as gets used, meaning no disrespect to your kin, Master Frodo.”

Frodo laughed ruefully. “None taken. I’ll bring back what’s left.”

“If there’s any left,” May whispered as Frodo turned to go.

“I told you they make a fine mess of themselves,” Tom said smugly, which earned him both laughter and shushes.

Frodo smiled to himself and continued on his way as though he hadn’t heard this last exchange. Only Sam would know better than to think themselves unheard but he wouldn’t say anything to his friends. He wouldn’t want to worry them unduly, knowing that Frodo could only have agreed with them.

Frodo returned to his cousins and found them with their faces, arms and hands wiped as clean as they would get without a proper shower. Their hair and clothes were still covered in a thick layer of stubborn flour. They looked every bit like two little gaffers and Frodo wasted no time informing them of this.

“Just wait, Frodo, until you look like a gaffer,” Merry said. “Don’t expect any mercy from us.”

“In that case, I think I’ll pour the flour,” Frodo said, clutching the bag close to himself. “We can’t be wasting this anyway. The Gamgees will be needing back whatever we don’t use.”

“We can reimburse them,” Merry said.

“Just tell me how much you want in the stew,” Frodo insisted and easily kept the bag out of Merry’s reach. So Frodo poured the flour into the empty broth pot and Merry instructed Pippin to add a dash of water and stir it well before Merry poured it into the broth.

“This will keep the flour from clumping in the hot stew,” Merry explained as he stirred in the flour mixture. They repeated the process until the stew was to the preferred thickness; Frodo wasted no time in returning the flour to Sam, who looked mildly surprised to receive any of it back.

“Thank you, sir,” Sam said. “That was quick.”

“It’s a pleasant day for cooking accidents. No need to spoil it with cousinly pranks,” Frodo replied with a wink.

“Right you are, Master Frodo,” Sam agreed and tucked the bag away out of sight just to be safe.

Frodo made his way across the grounds one more time and found his cousins in the vain process of wiping clean their cooking station. There was little they could do about the grass, but they could at least attempt to clean off the table. Without a word, Frodo took the dishes and rags for another quick wash and returned the rags to their rightful owners before any more harm could come to them. By the time he came back to his cousins, they were sitting on the green, the table scrubbed to a milky white, which they had apparently decided was good enough. Frodo emptied the pail over the table and went to return that to its owner as well, before returning one last time to settle next to his friends. He pulled Pippin into his lap, sneezing from a little cloud of flour that rose up from Pippin’s hair.

“So, Pip, let’s go over what you’ve learned so far about cooking,” Frodo suggested. “There are five general rules for any cooking or baking project. Can you guess what they are?”

“Don’t rip open the flour bag?” Pippin ventured.

“That would be more of a warning,” Merry corrected. “Think of the rules more as steps. What would the first step be? What’s the first thing we did when we got here?”

“We stood in line,” Pippin answered promptly, looking confused. Would they always have to stand in line when they wanted to cook something? That didn’t seem right.

“No, when we got here to this station,” Frodo specified.

Pippin put a finger to his lips and thought back. “We got water and set up the fire pit,” he said after a moment’s thought.

“And then?” Merry prompted.

“Then you showed me how to set up the station for cooking,” Pippin finished.

“Exactly!” Frodo exclaimed with a rewarding squeeze, sending up another flour cloud. “The first rule of cooking is to always be prepared. You need to make sure you have everything that the receipt requires and that everything is within reach.”

“I wasn’t entirely prepared,” Merry admitted and grinned impishly. “Next time, I’ll have to bring rags.”

“So step one is to be prepared, and you also guessed step two, which is to be organized,” Frodo continued. “Can you tell us what step three is?”

“Don’t make a mess?” Pippin said.

Merry laughed. “Messes are inevitable when you’re cooking,” he replied. “That is why step four is so important: clean as you go. It reduces the amount of washing you have to do later if you wash up as you go along or while you’re waiting for the food to cook.”

Pippin thought hard again, trying to figure out what the third rule might be. Then he remembered Merry’s earlier lecture and perked up. “Don’t eat the food!” he exclaimed.

Now it was Frodo’s turn to chuckle. “It does make it easier to cook if you have something to cook with, but that wouldn’t be a step. How did Merry know what to use for the broth and how much of each ingredient to put in the stew?”

“He read the receipt!” Pippin answered, bouncing excitedly in Frodo’s lap, sending up more clouds of flour. “Step three is read the receipt! But I can’t read yet.”

“You’ll learn soon enough,” Merry assured. “You must always read the receipt thoroughly and consult it often while cooking. You want to be sure you don’t skip any steps and that you follow the directions precisely, especially as you’re learning. Once you have some experience in your belly, you can experiment with the receipts or create your own, but you’re still a few years away from that.”

“Because I’m a novice,” Pippin stated.

“That’s right,” Frodo said. “Step five we haven’t got to yet, but I bet you can guess that one well enough. You’re already an expert at it.”

“Eat?” Pippin guessed.

“Serve your guests and enjoy,” Merry confirmed, “and remember, a proper host never boasts. If you did your job well, the food will speak for you.”

The lesson and cooking over, Frodo and Merry tidied up and Pippin set out the bowls and spoons for the judges. All over the field, the other teams were doing the same except for a few who were still adding their final touches. Slowly, the judges made their way to the center of the field, and Mistress Tulip rang the warning bell, sending the few teams still cooking into a scramble to finish on time.

Frodo, Merry and Pippin sat near their steaming pot of stew, the fire having been left to die out on its own. They played some more biscuits-and-scones, trying to keep their minds off the fragrant aromas surrounding them and the judges standing at centerfield. The last fifteen minutes passed quickly and before they knew it, the final bell was sounded. Mistress Tulip stepped forward and waited for everyone’s attention; she didn’t have to wait long, as most were already watching her and the other judges with bated breath.

“Everyone, please, stop cooking and prepare to present your creations,” she said. “The judges have been split into teams of four, and each team will be responsible for one category.” She quickly introduced the judges, having them stand forth as their names were called. “I have seen some wonderfully appealing entries today, and I know the judges will have their work cut out for them – not that they’re complaining, are they?” Nervous laughter tittered across the grounds. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I even get to taste some tie-breakers. Judges, you have an hour.”

The judges divided and began making their final round. At each station, they were given a sample of the food and the contestants gave a brief description of their creations as the judges ate and made notes. Though they spent no more than a couple of minutes at each station, it was nearly a half-hour before they reached Merry and Pippin.

Though all the judges had witnessed the mishap with the flour, they still needed a moment to digest what they saw. Merry and Pippin did indeed look like two little gaffers, as Frodo had said, their curls dusted white and lines of flour caked onto their skin from the sun where Merry hadn’t quite been able to wash it all away. Unperturbed by their silent reception, Merry spooned out a small portion of the stew for each judge and Pippin handed them their bowls and spoons.

“Good day, Sirs and Misses,” Merry greeted politely, though one of their judges was a gammer. A comely young maid and two middle-aged chaps comprised the other three. “I am Meriadoc Brandybuck and this is Peregrin Took, and we made chicken stew with vegetables. This stew was created by my grandmother, Menegilda Goold Brandybuck, nearly fifty years ago, and it has been a staple of Buckland festivities ever since,” he explained, repeating much the same thing as he had told the hobbitess who checked them in.

“I got to peel and squish tomatoes, and I had to peel the fat off the chicken and it was very sticky,” Pippin chimed in.

“Is that right?” one of the fellows said. “Well, then, I must say, your extra effort has paid off. You’ve an exceptional stew.”

“Thank you!” Pippin said.

“This is quite marvelous,” the gammer agreed. “It just warms you right up!”

“The blend of ingredients is perfect,” the other fellow praised next.

“It’s wonderful indeed, a perfectly hearty meal,” the young maid said.

“Thank you,” both Merry and Pippin said with delight.

The judges each took one more sample, made some notes, then moved on to the next table, wishing Merry and Pippin good luck before they left.

“Did you hear that, Frodo!” Merry said, bouncing himself now. “They liked my stew!”

“Don’t get too excited Merry,” Frodo warned. “They say such things to everyone.”

“That may be, but I think they meant it in my case,” Merry said with confidence, his competitive streak now emerging.

“I’m sure they were sincere enough, but you have tough competition,” Frodo reasoned. “No matter what happens with the judging, do try to be gracious.”

“How much longer?” Pippin asked then.

He was growing fidgety again. The morning has been enjoyable and he was happy to help Merry and spend time with his favorite cousins. He had been thrilled to have his first cooking lesson, sticky messes and mishaps besides, but now that the lesson and cooking was over, he was ready to move onto the next event. He was also hot and thirsty from the sun, and his stomach was grumbling for food again.

“Can we eat the stew now?” he asked.

“You can finish what the judges didn’t eat,” Frodo offered and, pouring the samples into one bowl, handed it to Pippin.

“They didn’t finish their samples,” Merry noted with a hint of surprise. He had failed to notice earlier, so wrapped up in visions of First Place victory, and now his confidence wavered. “Maybe they really didn’t like my stew.”

“They never finish the sample,” Frodo assured. “If they finished everything everyone heaped upon them, they’d collapse before they reached the last table.”

“So, if they compliment my cooking they don’t necessarily like it, but if they don’t finish their sample they don’t necessarily dislike it either,” Merry surmised.

“Like that time you apologized to Pimmie for using her new ribbon as a collar for Mr. Gumpie,” Pippin chimed in, talking about his pet toad. “You weren’t really sorry though, because you thought Mr. Gumpie looked better in it than Pimmie did.”

“Sort of like that,” Merry agreed and paced nervously as Pippin ate his stew.

Pippin finished his meal, licked the bowl and smacked his lips. “Your stew is delicious, Mer,” he praised.

“Our stew,” Merry corrected. “We made it together, remember?”

“Can I have more?” Pippin asked.

“We need to save some in case of a tie,” Frodo informed him, “and others will want to sample it also. It’s unlikely we’ll get to enjoy any more of it.”

“But we made it,” Pippin objected.

“For a cooking contest, and the chefs rarely get to enjoy their creations during such events,” Merry explained. “The purpose of the contest is for others to enjoy what you’ve made.”

“That’s not very fair. We did all this work!” Pippin cried.

“How about we make some more when we get back to Whitwell,” Merry suggested. “We already have the broth, so it will be easier next time.”

“All right,” Pippin agreed, quelled by this compromise. “Now what do we do?”

“Now, we wait,” Frodo said.

Too nervous to play any more games, Merry sat in silence as Frodo and Pippin traded riddles. Merry watched the judges’ progression around the grounds back to centerfield. When all the judges were gathered, they compared notes and tallied their final scores, which Mistress Crocker double- and triple-checked. There were quite a few categories that required tie-breakers, and Mistress Crocker visited a number of booths, mostly among the baked goods. She then took a few more minutes to make her decisions. At long last, she stepped forward and raised her hands for attention.

“Congratulations, junior-hobbits, for some truly spectacular entries this year,” Mistress Tulip began. “Your dedication and talents are to be highly praised. Well done!” She paused as the contestants all applauded each others’ efforts. “I was right indeed to think you would put the judges to task. It was extremely difficult to choose who among you created the most delicious, scrumptious dish, and you should all know that no matter who walks away with a ribbon and who doesn’t, you are all winners.

“We will now announce the first, second and third prize winners. Step forward as I call your names and line up here beside me. Everyone who places this morning will receive their ribbons at the commencement ceremony this evening, which will take place just before the Fair’s End Feast.”

She started with the baked goods first, announcing the winners of the Breads, Scones and Muffins, Biscuits, and Puddings. Then came Cakes and Pies, and Merry, Frodo and Pippin waited anxiously to see if their friends would place.

“In the category of Cakes and Pies, the third place ribbon goes to Primrose and Lark Broadback of Little Delving for their delicious upside strawberry cake,” Mistress Tulip announced. The winners jumped up and down with whoops and dashed to centerfield to much applause. “The second place ribbon goes to Tolman and Wilcome Cotton and Robin Smallburrow of Bywater, and Samwise Gamgee of Hobbiton, for their inventive four-layer cake.” More applause and cheers accompanied Sam and his friends as they raced to join the others next to Mistress Tulip. “And finally, the first place ribbon goes to May and Marigold Gamgee of Hobbiton and Rose Cotton of Bywater, for their scrumptious apple pie with custard. Congratulations all of you!” The lasses joined their brothers and friend and they hugged ecstatically. The winners then bowed or curtsied before returning to their booths.

Three more categories were announced before Mistress Crocker came to the Stews and Soups. Merry and Pippin clasped hands and held their breaths.

“In the category of Stews and Soups, the third place ribbon goes to Lily and Daffodil Roundhouse of Tookbank, for their mouth-watering bean and bacon soup,” Mistress Tulip announced, and the lasses skipped and hopped to the center of the field, squealing excitedly. “The second place ribbon goes to Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took for their hearty chicken stew.”

Pippin sprang to his feet and started bouncing up and down. “We won! Merry, we won!” he cheered as his Took relations applauded him and Merry. He hugged Merry and Frodo both, then bounced some more.

Merry was a little slower to begin celebrating. He was disappointed at not placing first, but he knew also that Frodo was right. Their competition had been fierce, as most of the other contestants in their category were far older and more experienced. Second place was an achievement worth being proud of. “That we did, Pipsqueak!” Merry exclaimed, grinning wholeheartedly. He hugged Pippin again and hugged and kissed Frodo.

“I knew you two could do it!” Frodo congratulated them, pride shining on his face.

“Let’s go and congratulate the others,” Merry said. He took Pippin’s hand and they dashed down to centerfield, where they shook hands with the third-place winners.

“And lastly, the first place ribbon goes to Calla Delvegood of Michel Delving for her delightful venison stew.”

A young maid of about eighteen years joined the others and they all congratulated each other before taking their bows and curtsies and returning to their booths.

“I don’t understand why we can’t get our ribbons now, Merry,” Pippin was saying when he and Merry came back to their station.

“Because they need time to write your names on your ribbon, Pip,” Frodo explained. He knew his Aunt Dora and Aunt Daffodil would be among the helpers writing the names on the ribbons and he could just picture their surprise when they realized that Merry and Pippin had placed. He grinned at the very thought of it and hugged his cousins again.

“So, you knew we could do it, did you?” Merry asked with a laugh.

“Of course I did,” Frodo replied, “so long as you remained calm.”

“So then the challenge was remaining calm,” Merry said.

“With you two, always,” Frodo confirmed.

“Shh!” Pippin hissed. “They’re announcing the other winners.”

They sat quietly while the last two categories were announced. Once all the winners had been named and were back at their stations, Mistress Crocker held up her hands one last time. “That concludes the Juniors’ Cooking Contest,” she said. “Thank you all for participating. Enjoy the delightful creations of your fellow chefs and bakers, and remember, if anyone wishes for advice, I will be here all through luncheon.”

“Come on,” Merry said, heading across the field at a fast clip. “I want some of the pie and cake that Sam and his sisters made.”

“That’s not exactly a proper luncheon,” Frodo called after them but it was no use. They were already halfway across the field. Frodo quickly arranged the stew pot, bowls and spoons on the table, then dashed after his cousins. If he couldn’t stop Pippin from eating sugar, at least he could minimize the damage.

They made their rounds of the various entries, eating a little of this and a little of that, so by the time luncheon was over, they were all bursting at the seams. They came across the Gamgees and their friends as they made their rounds and shared warm congratulations all around, complementing each other on their efforts. Sam and the others had all managed to get a sample of Merry’s and Pippin’s stew and had nothing but good things to say about it.

When they were finished eating, they gathered up their things to make room for the next set of contestants already lining up to check in, and set out to go. All the stew was gone, but Merry had luckily stashed away the remaining broth in the pull cart for safekeeping. They set out for the campgrounds first so Pippin could grab a change of clothes, then they returned to the Soaring Falcon Inn where the lads could bathe and change into fresh clothes. Frodo volunteered to wash the dishes while they were at their baths and saw them deposited into the bathing room before going to the kitchen.

As he passed through the common room, he spied his Aunt Daffodil outside near the stables, presumably on her way to the sewing tents to help with the prize ribbons. Frodo then spotted his Uncle Ponto, his arms folded and chin lifted in vain defiance. Daffodil looked none too pleased with her husband.

“This was Bilbo’s idea, wasn’t it?” she demanded. “I don’t care what you had planned or how much money you think you’re going to make, but you are not keeping those swine, Ponto!”

Frodo laughed to himself and continued on his way, as down the hall his cousins broke out in a bathing song, accompanied by much splashing. He remembered again why he enjoyed the Free Fair so much: you never knew just what might happen.

The End

GF   4/20/08

* - See “In a Flash”

** - Tulip Crocker was Grey Wonderer’s invention. GW created her when she was first attempting this story and I quite enjoyed her meddlesome character. Tulip’s quite a different hobbitess here, nothing like the conniving or opportunistic character that GW had envisioned, but they both have legendary baking skills in common. I hope you enjoy my interpretation of her, GW.

Harvested Chicken Stew

Prep time: 15 min
Cook Time: 30 min
Serves 10

INGREDIENTS

2 cups chopped onion
2 cups cubed, cooked boneless chicken breast meat
1 cup chopped celery
2 cups whole peeled tomatoes, with liquid
2 cups sliced carrots
5 cups chicken broth
1 cup sweet corn
1 cup peas
1 cup sliced zucchini

In a large soup pot combine the onion, chicken, celery, tomatoes with liquid, carrots, broth, corn, peas and zucchini. Stir together and simmer over medium low heat for 1/2 hour, or until vegetables are cooked and tender.

(A/N: The potatoes and flour were added to Merry’s recipe from suggestions found in reviews of this recipe. As for the corn, I figured if Tolkien gave the hobbits tomatoes, potatoes, and tobacco, I could give them corn.)