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shire_kitchen2005-03-18 03:55 am
sila-lumenn.livejournal.com) wrote in shire_kitchen2005-03-18 03:55 am
Entry tags:
Comfort Food by Lbilover
Sam offers Frodo comfort the best way he knows…
Title: Comfort Food
Author: lbilover
Rating: PG
Pairing: F/S
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I am only borrowing these two wonderful characters.
Summary: Sam offers Frodo comfort the best way he knows- with food.
A/N: This is dedicated to my mom, who has always believed in the importance
of comfort food. Thanks to Trianne for the beta!
Comfort Food
“Sam?”
Sam Gamgee looked up from the potato he was peeling as Frodo Baggins, the
new Master of Bag End, entered the kitchen. Frodo was dressed for the
outdoors in his heaviest jacket, and he held his walking stick in one hand;
his expression was somber.
“Yes, Mr. Frodo?”
“I’ve decided to go for a walk,” Frodo said, in the quiet, subdued voice he
often seemed to use these days. “I should be back by tea time.”
Sam couldn’t help but glance out the kitchen window. It was a cold, dreary
day and the wind was blowing hard. He could hear it soughing in the chimney,
and the shutters were rattling on their hinges. Although Frodo had a warm
woolen muffler wound around his neck, Sam couldn’t see that he had either a
hat or mittens. He bit his lip against the words that rushed up inside him.
It weren’t his place to warn his master against being out in such weather
bare-headed, or to ask him what was troubling him so that he had to go
walking on a day when any sensible hobbit would stay indoors, snug and warm.
He’d tried similar words a time or two when he’d first come to work inside
the smial, and been told in no uncertain terms not to fuss.
“All right, sir; I’ll have your tea ready and waiting for you when you get
home,” was all Sam said in reply, though his heart ached for the sadness in
his master’s face.
“Thank you, Sam. I’ll see you later then.”
Sam could hear the tap of Frodo’s walking stick echo as his footsteps
receded down the hall.
Setting down his peeling knife, Sam hurried to the window. He watched Frodo
struggle with the garden gate that wanted to buck in the wind like an unruly
pony, before finally securing it behind him. Frodo set off down the Hill
Lane at a brisk pace, his brown curls whipping about his head and the tail
of his coat flying up in the breeze. Sam continued watching until his master
was out of sight, then returned to his potato peeling with a worried frown.
He didn’t have to look far to find what was troubling Frodo: he missed Mr.
Bilbo, gone these four months now. Sam dearly missed the old hobbit himself,
so he could only imagine how Frodo must feel, alone in Bag End for the first
time, with only Sam there to do for him during the day, and the occasional
visits of his cousins and friends to provide him with company of an evening.
Sam thought hard while his hands deftly continued their work. There must be
more he could do to help ease his master’s grief and loneliness. If it was a
different season, he’d fill Bag End with flowers, but it was winter now and
there was naught to be found in the garden that was bright and cheery.
Then a sudden, unbidden memory came into Sam’s mind: he was in the kitchen
at Number Three with his mother, and she was cooking, kneading dough for a
pie. He couldn’t have been more than seven years old, so he’d needed to
stand on a stool at the counter in order to see what she was doing. He’d
asked her what she was making.
“Comfort food, Sam,” Bell Gamgee had replied, smiling down at him.
“What’s that?” Sam had wanted to know. It sounded a strange name for a dish.
“Well, your dad had a hard day today, Sam, and he came home feeling a little
low in his mind. So I’m making him comfort food to help him feel better.”
“Oh.” Sam had thought a bit. “What do you put in comfort food?” he had asked
curiously.
“Comfort food can be anything you know the person likes best,” she had
replied as she finished kneading the dough and reached for the rolling pin.
“Your dad now, he fancies a nice roast chicken and apple pie more than
anything, so that would be his comfort food.” She paused in her rolling and
fixed Sam with a serious look. “But no matter what the dish, there’s one
ingredient you always have to remember to put in comfort food, Sam. It’s a
secret ingredient, and the most important one of all.”
“What is it, Mam?” Sam had demanded, anxious to know what this secret
ingredient might be.
“Love, Sam. Comfort food has to be made with love. Don’t ever forget that.”
Sam placed the last potato in the bowl. He’d never forgotten her words, not
really, for love was a part of everything he did for Frodo. Still, he set
his chin in his hand and gazed with unseeing eyes into the fire on the
hearth, thinking on what his mother had told him all those years ago, and
trying to decide what comfort food he could make that would cheer his master
best.
Another childhood memory, a memory of a cold winter day like this one,
flashed into his mind, and Sam knew exactly what the comfort food should be.
***
When Frodo returned home, just in time for tea, Sam was waiting by the door
to help him off with his coat. He noticed with concern that the tips of
Frodo’s ears were bright red, and he was shivering slightly.
“Bless me, Mr. Frodo, you do look that cold!” Sam exclaimed, hanging the
coat on a hook, and trying not to sound too anxious. “You go right along to
your study. I’ve built up the fire so it’s nice and cozy, and left a blanket
on the settle for you. I’ll bring you your food in there straight away.”
Frodo rubbed his hands briskly together and blew on his fingertips. “Thank
you, Sam,” he replied through lips that had the faintest tinge of blue to
them. “The fire sounds delightful. I confess I’ve been looking forward to
little else this past half hour or more.” He gave Sam a warm look, one that
held none of his usual reserve, and touched him briefly on the shoulder.
“You take such good care of me, Sam. I’m a very fortunate hobbit indeed.”
The light touch of Frodo’s fingers seemed to linger as Sam followed his
master down the hall.
When Sam entered the study a short time later, tray in hand, he found Frodo
wrapped in the blanket and seated as close to the fire as possible. “Here’s
your food, Mr. Frodo,” he said, setting the tray down on a table. As Frodo
made to rise, Sam motioned to him to stay where he was. “I’ll just move this
little table over by the settle; that way you won’t have to leave the fire.”
Frodo sank back down with a grateful look. “Mmm. Something smells quite
delicious, Sam. What is it?” he asked, sniffing appreciatively.
Sam picked up the little table and set it down in front of Frodo. Close up,
he was relieved to see that his master was no longer shivering, and the
colour of his lips was now a soft rose pink. He couldn’t help but notice as
well how brilliant Frodo’s blue eyes looked against his wind-reddened
cheeks, and how fetching his dark curls looked tumbled about his brow. But
Sam hastily averted his gaze, scolding himself; gawping at Frodo like that
would not put warm food in his belly, now would it? He went to the tea tray
and picked up a large mug and a plate, and carried them to Frodo.
“I’ve made you something special to drink today, Mr. Frodo, instead of tea,”
he said, setting the food down on the table. “Hot apple cider with caramel
and whipped cream, and I baked gingerbread to go with it.”
Frodo stared in some astonishment. “Why Sam,” he said, “you must be a mind
reader! I was remembering on my way home how Bilbo used to have cider and
gingerbread waiting for me when I’d come in from sledding or skating on a
cold day. It’s been years since I’ve had them, but I don’t recall anything
ever tasting so good!”
“I remember, Mr. Frodo. Happen you don’t recall, but Mr. Bilbo invited me in
a time or two to share them with you, him being the kindest of hobbits.” Sam
flushed slightly. “I thought maybe it would cheer you to taste them again.”
Frodo was still staring at him, almost as if he’d never seen Sam before. “It
does cheer me, Sam,” he said slowly. “You’ve no idea how much. I can’t,” he
paused to clear his throat, “I can’t believe you remembered, after all these
years.”
Sam held Frodo’s gaze, flushing a bit redder under that intent stare. “I
remember everything about you, Mr. Frodo,” he said simply. Some impulse of
bravery, inspired perhaps by the look in Frodo’s eyes, allowed him to
continue in a rush, “I know I can’t replace Mr. Bilbo, no one could, but I
know you’re lonesome for him sometimes and if there’s aught I can do to
help…” he trailed off, then ended in a whisper, “I’d do anything, Mr. Frodo,
to see you happy and smiling again.”
There was a silence, while Sam trembled inside at his boldness and waited
apprehensively for Frodo’s response. It wasn’t at all what he expected.
Without a word, Frodo picked up the slice of warm, spicy gingerbread and
took a bite; he then reached for his mug and had a drink of the hot caramel
cider that was topped with a froth of whipped cream and cinnamon. He closed
his eyes for a long moment, clearly savouring the taste. When he opened
them, his eyes were shining, and he was smiling, a smile such as Sam had not
seen since the day Bilbo left: a happy smile.
“Dear Sam,” Frodo said, “this is simply wonderful, and exactly the way Bilbo
used to make it. But,” he went on, looking quite serious, “a treat such as
this was meant to be shared. Go fetch a mug and plate for yourself, and come
back and join me.” He patted the empty space beside him on the settle, and
smiled again. “There’ll be a place right here, waiting for you.”
~fin~
More A/N: I am quite hopelessly addicted to Starbuck’s Caramel Apple Cider.
So much so that my mom came up with this recipe for me a few years ago. It’s
a pretty close match for the real thing. And yes, gingerbread is the perfect
complement for the cider.
HOT CARAMEL APPLE CIDER
Freshly whipped cream (prepare ahead of time)
½ cup caramel ice cream topping
2 tbs. brown sugar
1 tbs. lemon juice
pinch salt
¼ tsp. cinnamon (or to taste)
1 quart unsweetened cider
Pour caramel topping into heavy 2-quart saucepan over medium heat. Add brown
sugar and lemon juice. Add salt and cinnamon, and bring to a boil.
Immediately add cider and stir mixture until caramel is dissolved. Bring
cider almost to a boil and remove from heat. Pour into mugs and top with an
inch or two of whipped cream. Sprinkle lightly with cinnamon. Serves 4 to 8.
OLD FASHIONED GINGERBREAD
2 cups all-purpose flour, sifted before measuring
1/3 cup sugar
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 1/2 tsps. ground ginger
1/2 tsp. ground cloves
1/2 cup melted butter
1 cup molasses
1 egg
1/2 cup buttermilk or sour milk (1 teaspoon vinegar and enough milk to make
1/2 cup)
1/4 cup hot water
PREPARATION:
Preheat oven to 350°. Sift together the flour, sugar, salt, baking powder,
baking soda, and spices. Stir in melted butter, molasses, egg, and
buttermilk or sour milk. Beat in hot water. Pour batter into a generously
greased and floured 8-inch square pan. Bake for 45 to 50 minutes, until cake
springs back when lightly touched with finger. Serve gingerbread with
whipped cream or lemon sauce.
Title: Comfort Food
Author: lbilover
Rating: PG
Pairing: F/S
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I am only borrowing these two wonderful characters.
Summary: Sam offers Frodo comfort the best way he knows- with food.
A/N: This is dedicated to my mom, who has always believed in the importance
of comfort food. Thanks to Trianne for the beta!
Comfort Food
“Sam?”
Sam Gamgee looked up from the potato he was peeling as Frodo Baggins, the
new Master of Bag End, entered the kitchen. Frodo was dressed for the
outdoors in his heaviest jacket, and he held his walking stick in one hand;
his expression was somber.
“Yes, Mr. Frodo?”
“I’ve decided to go for a walk,” Frodo said, in the quiet, subdued voice he
often seemed to use these days. “I should be back by tea time.”
Sam couldn’t help but glance out the kitchen window. It was a cold, dreary
day and the wind was blowing hard. He could hear it soughing in the chimney,
and the shutters were rattling on their hinges. Although Frodo had a warm
woolen muffler wound around his neck, Sam couldn’t see that he had either a
hat or mittens. He bit his lip against the words that rushed up inside him.
It weren’t his place to warn his master against being out in such weather
bare-headed, or to ask him what was troubling him so that he had to go
walking on a day when any sensible hobbit would stay indoors, snug and warm.
He’d tried similar words a time or two when he’d first come to work inside
the smial, and been told in no uncertain terms not to fuss.
“All right, sir; I’ll have your tea ready and waiting for you when you get
home,” was all Sam said in reply, though his heart ached for the sadness in
his master’s face.
“Thank you, Sam. I’ll see you later then.”
Sam could hear the tap of Frodo’s walking stick echo as his footsteps
receded down the hall.
Setting down his peeling knife, Sam hurried to the window. He watched Frodo
struggle with the garden gate that wanted to buck in the wind like an unruly
pony, before finally securing it behind him. Frodo set off down the Hill
Lane at a brisk pace, his brown curls whipping about his head and the tail
of his coat flying up in the breeze. Sam continued watching until his master
was out of sight, then returned to his potato peeling with a worried frown.
He didn’t have to look far to find what was troubling Frodo: he missed Mr.
Bilbo, gone these four months now. Sam dearly missed the old hobbit himself,
so he could only imagine how Frodo must feel, alone in Bag End for the first
time, with only Sam there to do for him during the day, and the occasional
visits of his cousins and friends to provide him with company of an evening.
Sam thought hard while his hands deftly continued their work. There must be
more he could do to help ease his master’s grief and loneliness. If it was a
different season, he’d fill Bag End with flowers, but it was winter now and
there was naught to be found in the garden that was bright and cheery.
Then a sudden, unbidden memory came into Sam’s mind: he was in the kitchen
at Number Three with his mother, and she was cooking, kneading dough for a
pie. He couldn’t have been more than seven years old, so he’d needed to
stand on a stool at the counter in order to see what she was doing. He’d
asked her what she was making.
“Comfort food, Sam,” Bell Gamgee had replied, smiling down at him.
“What’s that?” Sam had wanted to know. It sounded a strange name for a dish.
“Well, your dad had a hard day today, Sam, and he came home feeling a little
low in his mind. So I’m making him comfort food to help him feel better.”
“Oh.” Sam had thought a bit. “What do you put in comfort food?” he had asked
curiously.
“Comfort food can be anything you know the person likes best,” she had
replied as she finished kneading the dough and reached for the rolling pin.
“Your dad now, he fancies a nice roast chicken and apple pie more than
anything, so that would be his comfort food.” She paused in her rolling and
fixed Sam with a serious look. “But no matter what the dish, there’s one
ingredient you always have to remember to put in comfort food, Sam. It’s a
secret ingredient, and the most important one of all.”
“What is it, Mam?” Sam had demanded, anxious to know what this secret
ingredient might be.
“Love, Sam. Comfort food has to be made with love. Don’t ever forget that.”
Sam placed the last potato in the bowl. He’d never forgotten her words, not
really, for love was a part of everything he did for Frodo. Still, he set
his chin in his hand and gazed with unseeing eyes into the fire on the
hearth, thinking on what his mother had told him all those years ago, and
trying to decide what comfort food he could make that would cheer his master
best.
Another childhood memory, a memory of a cold winter day like this one,
flashed into his mind, and Sam knew exactly what the comfort food should be.
***
When Frodo returned home, just in time for tea, Sam was waiting by the door
to help him off with his coat. He noticed with concern that the tips of
Frodo’s ears were bright red, and he was shivering slightly.
“Bless me, Mr. Frodo, you do look that cold!” Sam exclaimed, hanging the
coat on a hook, and trying not to sound too anxious. “You go right along to
your study. I’ve built up the fire so it’s nice and cozy, and left a blanket
on the settle for you. I’ll bring you your food in there straight away.”
Frodo rubbed his hands briskly together and blew on his fingertips. “Thank
you, Sam,” he replied through lips that had the faintest tinge of blue to
them. “The fire sounds delightful. I confess I’ve been looking forward to
little else this past half hour or more.” He gave Sam a warm look, one that
held none of his usual reserve, and touched him briefly on the shoulder.
“You take such good care of me, Sam. I’m a very fortunate hobbit indeed.”
The light touch of Frodo’s fingers seemed to linger as Sam followed his
master down the hall.
When Sam entered the study a short time later, tray in hand, he found Frodo
wrapped in the blanket and seated as close to the fire as possible. “Here’s
your food, Mr. Frodo,” he said, setting the tray down on a table. As Frodo
made to rise, Sam motioned to him to stay where he was. “I’ll just move this
little table over by the settle; that way you won’t have to leave the fire.”
Frodo sank back down with a grateful look. “Mmm. Something smells quite
delicious, Sam. What is it?” he asked, sniffing appreciatively.
Sam picked up the little table and set it down in front of Frodo. Close up,
he was relieved to see that his master was no longer shivering, and the
colour of his lips was now a soft rose pink. He couldn’t help but notice as
well how brilliant Frodo’s blue eyes looked against his wind-reddened
cheeks, and how fetching his dark curls looked tumbled about his brow. But
Sam hastily averted his gaze, scolding himself; gawping at Frodo like that
would not put warm food in his belly, now would it? He went to the tea tray
and picked up a large mug and a plate, and carried them to Frodo.
“I’ve made you something special to drink today, Mr. Frodo, instead of tea,”
he said, setting the food down on the table. “Hot apple cider with caramel
and whipped cream, and I baked gingerbread to go with it.”
Frodo stared in some astonishment. “Why Sam,” he said, “you must be a mind
reader! I was remembering on my way home how Bilbo used to have cider and
gingerbread waiting for me when I’d come in from sledding or skating on a
cold day. It’s been years since I’ve had them, but I don’t recall anything
ever tasting so good!”
“I remember, Mr. Frodo. Happen you don’t recall, but Mr. Bilbo invited me in
a time or two to share them with you, him being the kindest of hobbits.” Sam
flushed slightly. “I thought maybe it would cheer you to taste them again.”
Frodo was still staring at him, almost as if he’d never seen Sam before. “It
does cheer me, Sam,” he said slowly. “You’ve no idea how much. I can’t,” he
paused to clear his throat, “I can’t believe you remembered, after all these
years.”
Sam held Frodo’s gaze, flushing a bit redder under that intent stare. “I
remember everything about you, Mr. Frodo,” he said simply. Some impulse of
bravery, inspired perhaps by the look in Frodo’s eyes, allowed him to
continue in a rush, “I know I can’t replace Mr. Bilbo, no one could, but I
know you’re lonesome for him sometimes and if there’s aught I can do to
help…” he trailed off, then ended in a whisper, “I’d do anything, Mr. Frodo,
to see you happy and smiling again.”
There was a silence, while Sam trembled inside at his boldness and waited
apprehensively for Frodo’s response. It wasn’t at all what he expected.
Without a word, Frodo picked up the slice of warm, spicy gingerbread and
took a bite; he then reached for his mug and had a drink of the hot caramel
cider that was topped with a froth of whipped cream and cinnamon. He closed
his eyes for a long moment, clearly savouring the taste. When he opened
them, his eyes were shining, and he was smiling, a smile such as Sam had not
seen since the day Bilbo left: a happy smile.
“Dear Sam,” Frodo said, “this is simply wonderful, and exactly the way Bilbo
used to make it. But,” he went on, looking quite serious, “a treat such as
this was meant to be shared. Go fetch a mug and plate for yourself, and come
back and join me.” He patted the empty space beside him on the settle, and
smiled again. “There’ll be a place right here, waiting for you.”
~fin~
More A/N: I am quite hopelessly addicted to Starbuck’s Caramel Apple Cider.
So much so that my mom came up with this recipe for me a few years ago. It’s
a pretty close match for the real thing. And yes, gingerbread is the perfect
complement for the cider.
HOT CARAMEL APPLE CIDER
Freshly whipped cream (prepare ahead of time)
½ cup caramel ice cream topping
2 tbs. brown sugar
1 tbs. lemon juice
pinch salt
¼ tsp. cinnamon (or to taste)
1 quart unsweetened cider
Pour caramel topping into heavy 2-quart saucepan over medium heat. Add brown
sugar and lemon juice. Add salt and cinnamon, and bring to a boil.
Immediately add cider and stir mixture until caramel is dissolved. Bring
cider almost to a boil and remove from heat. Pour into mugs and top with an
inch or two of whipped cream. Sprinkle lightly with cinnamon. Serves 4 to 8.
OLD FASHIONED GINGERBREAD
2 cups all-purpose flour, sifted before measuring
1/3 cup sugar
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 1/2 tsps. ground ginger
1/2 tsp. ground cloves
1/2 cup melted butter
1 cup molasses
1 egg
1/2 cup buttermilk or sour milk (1 teaspoon vinegar and enough milk to make
1/2 cup)
1/4 cup hot water
PREPARATION:
Preheat oven to 350°. Sift together the flour, sugar, salt, baking powder,
baking soda, and spices. Stir in melted butter, molasses, egg, and
buttermilk or sour milk. Beat in hot water. Pour batter into a generously
greased and floured 8-inch square pan. Bake for 45 to 50 minutes, until cake
springs back when lightly touched with finger. Serve gingerbread with
whipped cream or lemon sauce.
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And the recipes look delicious - they almost make me wish for autumn even as spring begins.
Thank you.
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The recipes look wonderful as well! :)
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No, not Sam! For me it would be Merry and Pippin, though I suppose Pippin might eat it all before I got home, lol!
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Wonderful story. So gentle and loving.
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I can see him stand in the kitchen with rosy cheeks, kneading the dough.
I can see Frodo to, frozen to the bones and then ... smiling.
Heartwarming and sooo tenderly written. This story is a treasure!
Thank you, my dear. You made my morning.
Have a wonderful and delightful day!
Love,
Julchen
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And the story ... oh the story ... I love it even more now (if this is possible),
I love the smell in their kitchen, it feels so homely (does this word exist??) ...
I love our hobbits and YOU!
*smooches*