My entry into the shire_kitchen 2008 recipe challenge. The theme this year was "In a Pinch".

A Taste of Home

Pippin sighed as he leaned against the door frame of the doorway of the bedroom in the small home he and his older
cousin shared in Minas Tirith. He was looking at Merry, who sat propped up in his bed.

“You are not that old.” he said firmly. “You just want to act old today.”

“I’m nearly one hundred and four years old, Peregrin Took,” Merry replied just as firmly, although there was a touch of a wheeze in his voice. “I’m old.”

Merry paused, then added, “So are you.”

“I refuse to see ninety-six as old.” Pippin retorted. “And in your case, I refuse to see one hundred and three . . .”

“Nearly ‘and four’,” Merry cut in.

“. . . and three,” Pippin replied with force. “I refuse to see it as old. You’re a hobbit. You’re a Brandybuck. You aren’t old. And you were fine just yesterday.”

“I’m not fine today.”

“Tosh!”

Merry sighed, almost but not quite dramatically, as his eyes looked down at his hand plucking at his coverlet. “Today is First Yule, or, well, it is First Yule in the Shire and it is part of what they consider to be Yule here. I’m missing home. Last year on Yule being here was still fresh and new and . . .” A shadow came to Merry’s face. “I was still rather caught up with mourning Eomer to really think about it all.”

He now looked back up to Pippin, still leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m missing home and missing my family and I’m feeling ancient.”

Pippin’s irritated look was instantly replaced with one of concern and sympathy. He uncrossed his right foot from where it had been leaning over the top of his left foot and planted it firmly next to the doorpost to leverage himself into an upright position. Crossing the room he sat down in the chair between their beds. It was there to make things easier for someone to sit with either of them should one of them be feeling under the weather. Pippin sat in it slightly sideways so that he was turned toward Merry instead of his own empty bed.

“I miss them all too, Merry.” He patted his friend’s hand as he spoke, though the sparkle returned to his eyes as he added, “You aren’t ancient, even if you feel that way.”

“Hrumph,” Merry contradicted the comment but then he turned his hand a bit on its side to grab hold of Pippin’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. “Thank you, though. I know you mean it.”

“Well,” Pippin said with a nod of his head. “So you are feeling homesick and old. I’m really certain that lying about in your bed is just the thing to cure those problems.” The knight of Gondor stood up. “Get up, Merry.”

This time Merry was the one with his arms crossed over his chest in a gesture of defiance. He did not respond other than by shaking his head.

“Get up, Merry.”

Another firm shake of the Brandybuck’s head.

“Get up or I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”

“Pull me out of bed, Pip?” Merry taunted. “That’s the spirit, lad! And I know you will be all patience while tending me as I’m bedridden for months with a broken hip.” Merry cocked his head to one side and looked thoughtful. “Actually, more than a few months. Most likely it would leave me permanently incapacitated. You could have the fun of taking care of me the rest of my days.”

“I . . . I wasn’t going to say ‘pull you out of bed’, Merry.” Pippin lamely tried coming to his own defense. “I was . . . eh . . . I was going to say, eh, say I won’t bring you any Yule treats. Yes, that’s it! I won’t bring you any Yule treats, I’ll just go off and have them myself and you won’t get any unless you get your cranky old ar . . .”

“Aha!” Merry crowed, pointing at his now blushing cousin. “Aha! Yes! I’m old. You just admitted it yourself, Peregrin Took. Ha!”

Pippin quickly recovered. “Either way, it makes no difference at all. You’ll get no treats if you don’t get up.”

“I want fruitcake,” Merry sullenly stated, crossing his arms over his chest again and giving them a sharp bounce to emphasize his rebellious mood.

“Fruitcake?” Pippin replied, distracted from restating his ultimatum by both the force of Merry’s statement and the item mentioned.

“Fruitcake. Good, rich, dark, moist, nearly more fruit and nuts than cake, aged by soaking in Brandybuck Brandy, glazed and generously sprinkled with icing sugar, like our mothers and our wives used to make fruitcake.”

“Th-there isn’t any, Merry. They don’t make anything like that here.”

Merry turned an imperious eye to his cousin. “Fruitcake.”

“They . . . Theirs . . . Fruitcake, Merry?”

“I’ll get up for fruitcake.”

Pippin’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out so he closed it again. He looked thoughtful, puzzled, irritated, then resigned. With a sigh and a drooping of his shoulders, Pippin turned and walked slowly toward the door.

“I’ll see what I can do, Merry,” he said without turning around, and then he was out the door.

****

“Fruitcake!” Pippin muttered to himself as he headed out with the small shopping basket over his left arm. He had taken the time to dress in his least formal livery before heading off to his and Merry’s favorite bakery, The Golden Loaf, in the fourth circle of the White City.

“Good morning, Tildor,” he called out over the jingling of the bells on the shop door.

“And a good morning to you, Sir Peregrin!” the jolly, plump baker replied. “You are about bright and early. I’m surprised, it is one of your feast days, is it not? I thought you and Sir Meriadoc had made your purchases yesterday, my lord.”

Pippin sighed as he set the basket on the counter. “We did,” he said as he bent a bit to rub his arthritic knees. “Four squares of that luscious, flakey honey-nut pastry. Half an orange cake for me and half a lemon one for Merry. A dozen of your jam-filled puffballs, and a dozen cream-filled ones.”

“And three dozen assorted biscuits,” added the smiling baker.

“Yes,” Pippin sighed again.

Tildor became concerned. “Were the items unsatisfactory, my lord?”

“I don’t know as they’ve not been touched.” Pippin looked imploringly at the shop owner. “Merry wants fruitcake.”

“I have some. A moment, sir,” Tildor said as he moved toward the far end of his display case. He bent over, grunting a bit as he pulled the confection out. He proudly set it on the counter before the hobbit.

It was a pale, though heavy looking cake, about the size of a loaf of bread, topped with a layer of various berries and pieces of fruit held in place by a thick syrup.

It wasn’t anything like what Pippin knew his cousin wanted, but he said he would take it anyway.

“Have you anything else?” he asked, trying not to sound too discouraged.

“I’m afraid I don’t, my lord, but I know one of the bakers in the fifth circle has a cake she makes that has fruits and nuts in it.”

Pippin brightened. “Really? Which bakery?”

“Ismelda’s Exotic Confections. She moved here about fifteen years ago from Belfalas.”

Tildor had boxed up his cake and placed it in the knight’s shopping basket. Pippin handed him his money and turned to leave.

“Thank you, Tildor, for this lovely cake and for telling me of this other shop,” he said with a wave of his hand as he left The Golden Loaf.

***

Pippin looked sadly down at the cake on the counter of Ismelda’s Exotic Confections. It looked entirely delectable . . . it just wasn’t what he was looking for. It was more like a somewhat darkish knotted bread.

“Eh, what is in it?”

“Raisins and dates. Dried apricots and pecans, my lord knight.”

Pippin raised his eyebrows and gave a small, approving, slightly tilted nod of his head. This was sounding a bit closer to the right thing.

“Might you have one with, eh, candied fruits as well. Um, cherries? Lemon and orange peel? Almonds?”

“No, my lord. This is all that I have with dried fruits and nuts in it.”

“I see. Could you perhaps put some sort of glaze on it and sprinkle it with icing sugar?”

The baker looked confused. “Icing sugar?”

“Yes. The sugar that is not grainy but is a powder.”

Ismelda smiled broadly. “Ah, yes! Yes, I could do that for you, my lord.”

She took the twisted bread into the back, glazed it by spreading a thin coating of apricot marmalade on it, then sprinkled a generous coating of icing sugar over that. She proudly brought it to the front of her shop and placed it on the counter before the small knight of the realm.

“Thank you,” Pippin said, giving her a smile that was more confident than he was feeling. “That looks quite nice.”

Moments later, he was on his way back to his home where Merry was waiting.

Waiting for fruitcake.

Good, rich, dark, moist, nearly more fruit and nuts than cake, aged by soaking in Brandybuck Brandy, glazed and generously sprinkled with icing sugar fruitcake. Fruitcake with treacle and honey in it to make it heavy and sweet. Fruitcake like they made in the Shire, well, made in the Shire after they came home from the Quest. Before then it would have been a bit more like Ismelda’s bread in that it would not have had the candied citrus peels in it. Those delicacies were added after trade between the Shire and the rest of Middle-earth increased.

Fruitcake which he did not have in the small shopping basket.

He made a pot of tea cut a two generous slices of both confections, put them on one of their best plates, put the pot of tea, cups and the slices of cake on a bed-tray and headed into the bedroom.

Merry was still propped up in his bed, reading a book.

“Ah, Pippin!” he said smiling broadly as he set the book down on his nightstand. “You found a fruitcake for me!”

“I did the best I could, Merry.” Pippin said as he set the tray over Merry’s lap.

There was a slight pause and then Pippin snatched the serviette off of the plate of cake.

Merry’s smile faded. “That’s not fruitcake, Pippin.”

“It was what I could find, Merry.”

Merry tried a bite of each, solemnly chewing each before washing it down with a sip of his tea. Then, he set his cup down with a genteel rattle.

“Sorry Pip. I’m staying in bed.”

Pippin had intended to try the treats himself, but had been too busy anxiously watching for Merry’s reaction. He now sank despondently into the bedside chair.

“It’s the best I could do, Merry. Can’t you just . . .” The younger old hobbit paused with weariness and frustration. “Can’t you just make do that it’s real fruitcake?”

“I’m not as good at that as I used to be Pippin,” Merry quietly said. “Neither are you, my dear cousin. Remember the whisky?”

Pippin pulled a disgusted face. “Ugh! Gondorians have no idea how to make a decent whisky. I was quite frustrated until we thought to order some from Tookland.” Pippin suddenly paused, then his face lit up. “Merry, we could send home for a fruitcake!”

“Yes, we could and it will get here by part way through Solmath. No, later than that if it is to be properly aged.”

The excitement drained from Pippin. “True,” he said as he sat back in the chair with a sigh. “We’ll just have to try and think of it in time for next year.”

“If there is a next year.”

“Merry!”

“We aren’t getting any younger,” Merry said, waving his hand toward where Pippin was rubbing his stiff knees. The younger cousin quickly pulled his hands away and rested them on the arms of the chair.

“Did you ask in the royal kitchens?” Merry turned back to the original topic.

“No.”

“They might have something closer. Strider used to live up north you know. Spent time in Bree where there are hobbits.”

“But Merry, I’m tired.”

“How can you be tired, you aren’t old, remember?”

Pippin sat and thought a moment then pushed himself out of the chair.

“Alright, I’ll go.” he walked toward the bedroom door, his knees obviously hurting him as he went.

“Pippin.”

“Yes?” he replied turning around to look at Merry. He was hoping he would say not to bother.

“Write a note, hail a passerby and have them run it up to the Citadel for you.”

Pippin smiled. “I do forget about doing that, don’t I?” He went into the study, wrote a short note, then went and stood on the steps outside their front door. Soon a lad came by. Pippin gave him the note and a coin and sent him off at a run toward the Citadel.

A short while later, there was a ringing at the bell. Pippin opened the door to find the head pastry chef of the royal kitchens standing on the small porch.

Dorigon bowed and held out a covered plater. “I hope this will suffice, Sir Peregrin. As you suggested, I enquired of His Majesty and he said this should be close to what you and Sir Meriadoc requested.”

Pippin took the heavy platter. “Thank you, Dorigon, and thank King Elessar for me as well. I’m sure it isn’t right but I at least appreciate the effort. Please tell the king not to expect us for dinner after all as Sir Meriadoc is in a snit and won’t leave his bed unless he get some real fruitcake.”

“I will so inform His Majesty and I am sure he and Queen Arwen will be disappointed.”

He bowed again and strode down the stairs and away up the road.

This was going to be a dull and horrid Yule, Pippin thought as he took the platter straight to the bedroom. No feasting with Strider and Arwen. No stories by the fire in the parlor, smoking some Old Toby and sipping some Tookland Whisky. He set the platter rather firmly on Merry’s lap.

“There. That’s it. That is the best I can do. Strider picked it out himself and said it should be close to what you are wanting. I’m quite sure it won’t do.” He plopped down into the chair and stared up at the ceiling.

Pippin heard Merry removing the lid from the platter, but he didn’t hear anything that sounded like chewing. Gradually, a familiar rich, sweet scent came to his nose. Sweet with the pungent scent of spirits mixed into it. He sat up and looked at the platter.

Pippin’s mouth slowly dropped open. It looked perfect! It was dark, moist, full of so much fruit and nuts that there was barely any cake. Suddenly, an envelope was thrust into his field of vision. As if in a dream he took it and opened it.

**
Happy Yule to our dear Fathers!

We were so pleased when Father’s/Uncle Merry’s letter and request arrived. We (Beryl and Eowynda) got together in Solmath to make this and be certain that it would have enough time to properly age before we sent it to Minas Tirith. He said it would be a Yule surprise for you, Father/Uncle Pippin. We hope it is the best fruitcake you have ever had.

We all love you and miss you terribly, but Uncle Strider has written often to assure us that you are happy in the warmer clime of his city.

We sent sixteen two pound cakes so that you may share them with all of your friends, there in Minas Tirith.

Love to you both,
Beryl and Eowynda

***

“You! You . . . you *knew* this was up there in the kitchens? You sent me all over looking for . . .”

“Happy Yule, Pippin!” Merry cut his cousin off in mid rant. “I know how much you like to be surprised.”

For a moment Pippin sat there glaring at Merry, then slowly his right hand reached out and grabbed a piece of the fruitcake. He took a huge bite. Slowly his eyes closed in sheer bliss.

“‘S prfec!” he said around his mouthful of the luscious cake.

Merry only nodded in return, his own mouth similarly full of moist, fruity goodness.

It was only after they had nearly finished off all of the slices of cake on the platter that Merry coughed and looked startled.

“Pippin, get this platter off of me! Hurry!”

“Why, Merry! Is something wrong with the cake? Are you ill?” Pippin asked as he stood, snatching the platter away and sitting it on his empty bed.

Merry was moving very quickly for an “ancient” hobbit. “No!” he exclaimed as he almost ran to his wardrobe. “We have to get up to the Citadel as quickly as we can.”

“Are they expecting us for something? Dinner isn’t for several hours yet.” Pippin asked as he helped Merry into his tunic while Merry was trying to get his breeches pulled up.

“No, Pip. There are fifteen of the best fruit cakes in all of Middle-earth sitting unguarded in the royal kitchens, and Strider likes fruitcake!”

Finis

*********************************
A/N Beryl is Pippin’s daughter and Eowynda is Merry’s

My great-grandmother, Sarah De Leon’s, Fruitcake

15 oz. seeded dark raisins
1lb-¾ oz. pitted dates
1lb candied pineapple
1lb candied red cherries
1lb candied orange peel
1lb candied lemon peel
1lb whole almonds
1lb halved pecans
½lb citron
1c grape juice
6c flour
1T cinnamon
2T nutmeg
2T allspice
1t baking soda
1lb butter
2c brown sugar
1doz. large eggs - beaten
1c dark molasses (treacle)
1/8c honey
1T salt
1 fifth of brandy (you need a fifth not a pint)
1 cup of the brandy goes into the cake batter

**If you can find it, it is best to use whole fruits and cut them up yourself with scissors dipped in warm water to keep everything from sticking as badly. The pre-chopped fruit isn’t as tasty.**

**This is a large recipe. You will need a large roasting pan (like for a turkey) or large dish pan to mix it in.**

**This is best baked in loaf pans, an angel food cake pan, Bundt pan, or 1-pound metal coffee cans.**

**This is a real labor of love as it takes most all day to make.**

This recipe makes about 17 pounds of fruitcake - about 5 3lb cakes or 8 2lb cakes.

Mix together (in a paper or plastic bag) the flour, salt and spices. Add the fruit and nuts a bit at a time and shake to coat the fruit and nuts. Set aside.

Cream the butter. Stir in sugar. Mix in beaten eggs.

Add some of the fruit, nuts and dry ingredient mix, then some of the grape juice, brandy, honey and molasses. Alternate until all is mixed together. *you may want to do this mixing with your hands*

Spoon into your various pans. This cake does not rise much, so fill the pans almost to the top.

Bake at 250°. 2½ hours for smaller cakes, 3½ - 4 hours for ones in angel food or Bundt cake pans. If the tops look to be cooking too fast, cover them with a piece of foil. Test for doneness with a wooden skewer - it should come out clean.

You will have to bake in shifts unless you have more than one oven. Cover the unbaked cakes with a damp dish towel until you are ready to bake them.

The cake will be dry and this is why it needs to be “soaked” while it ages. Wrap them in a piece of old sheet (white) or buy a cheap white sheet or some white gauze. Pour a few tablespoons of the brandy over and down the edges of each cake then cover it tightly and store in a cool, dry place. If you are using the coffee cans, you can just store them in that and use the plastic lid. Otherwise put foil over the top of the angel food or bundt cake pans as tightly as you can. If need be, you can just wrap the covered cakes in foil and change the foil each time you add more brandy. About once or twice a week, open them up and pour on a few more tablespoons of brandy. They should age at least 4 weeks before eating them. My mother, my grandmother and my great-grandmother all made them in mid November to have ready for Christmas.

In the story I mention glazing them and topping that with confectioners sugar. That is one way fruitcakes are served in the UK.