Pie Makes the Heart Happy
Jun. 6th, 2007 06:39 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
fantasy-fan.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
shire_kitchenI cross-posted this as a birthday present on my LJ last week, but it was always intended to go here.
Title: Pie makes the heart happy
Rating: G (for Good!)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fantasy_fan
Summary: Frodo is a good friend. And, he can cook, too, as Bilbo discovers. (Recipe at the end of the fic.)
Bilbo hovered uneasily in the doorway to the kitchen at Bag End, as Frodo confidently chopped and mixed at the well-scrubbed wooden table. Frodo sneaked a look at him from under his lashes, and his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he quickly finished chopping the onions and added them to the potatoes and ground beef in the skillet on the stove. Bilbo quickly clasped his hands behind his back to prevent Frodo seeing him wring them in agitation. After all, he had to admit Frodo seemed to know his way about with a kitchen knife, and he was certainly tall enough to use the stove in perfect safety. As he watched the tween adjust the damper on the fire heating the baking oven, then clear away the filling ingredients and start to mix pie crust, moving surely and with agile poise, he began to think that at least one practical aspect of his young cousin’s education had not been neglected at Brandy Hall, no matter what some of his relatives might have said about the lad’s culinary skills.
Nevertheless, he had to make sure. “Are you certain you want to make the Gaffer’s favorite recipe and then give it to the Gamgees, lad? Maybe you’d rather start with something, err, simpler?” Not as familiar is what he was thinking. It wouldn’t do to send the Gaffer’s own specialty back down to Number 3 in an inedible state, no matter how well-intentioned Frodo was. Especially now, with the troubles in the family.
Frodo flashed a brilliant grin at his uncle as he deftly cut the lard into the flour. “Nonsense!” he said, consciously imitating one of Bilbo’s favorite exclamations, but then ruining the impression by giggling at Bilbo’s expression. “Uncle, I’ve seen Sam eat these meat and ‘tater pies for lunch ever since the first time he toddled up to Bag End with his Gaffer. If I bring the Gamgees some, it will make them feel as if things are normal, even if Sam’s mum is sick and can’t make them herself any more.” The smile quickly faded from his face, and the Bilbo had to strain to hear the rest of his words, spoken as if to himself. “Nothing will make the hurt go away, but pretending everything is normal helps, sometimes.”
Bilbo quickly swallowed back unexpected tears at the young orphan’s words. It was true that Bell might die, and he had no idea Frodo had grasped the consequences of her illness so quickly after arriving at Bag End. Frodo kept his head down, rolling out the crust with a light hand and easing it into the largest pie pan. Bilbo saw him sigh, and then visibly push away the sadness with a small shrug of his shoulders.
“Besides, I’ve made some improvements to the recipe, and I want to see how Sam likes them,” Frodo said, looking up at his uncle with a small but determined smile on his face, and only a trace of pain left deep in his eyes. Bilbo’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline, and Frodo laughed at his astonishment.
“I’ll tell you lad, you certainly have cheek, and a good heart as well,” Bilbo replied, pleased to see the smile returning to Frodo’s face. “What can I do to help?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves and waiting expectantly at the kitchen table. If Frodo was determined to make pies for the Gamgees, Bilbo was determined to work right alongside him.
“I’ll need milk and cream from the cold pantry,” Frodo replied as he tested the potatoes simmering on the stove with a fork. “Then the mushrooms will need to be chopped.” Frodo popped one of the newly cleaned mushrooms into his mouth from the pile draining on a towel next to the sink. Turning his most innocent expression toward his uncle, he said, “Just testing to make sure they’re fresh.” He grinned and quickly ate one more. “That one had a spot. They have to be perfect.”
“Cook’s responsibility,” Bilbo agreed solemnly, and munched on a few of the mushrooms himself as he went to the pantry to fetch the requested ingredients. There were plenty of mushrooms for whatever Frodo had in mind.
“Sam always eats his pies cold,” Frodo explained as he transferred the cooked filling into the pie shell and added a top crust. “His mum makes them into half-circles, and then he can carry them in his dinner pail and eat them while he’s in the garden with the Gaffer. I think if we make a big pie instead, everyone can have a piece while it’s still hot. And it will be even better with mushroom gravy on it. I made up the recipe myself, and Merry says it’s very good.” Frodo quickly pierced the top crust with a paring knife, creating a design of a vine with young leaves curling across the surface of the pie.
Bilbo smiled to himself as he chopped mushrooms. Young Merry would probably eat worms and pronounce them ‘very good’ if his beloved older cousin fed them to him. Still, Frodo looked quite at home in the kitchen, and the pie in the oven did smell enticing. There was some filling left in the pan, and some scraps of pie crust, and Frodo was busying himself making a smaller pie with the leftovers. Bilbo began to hope that this one might be intended for their own lunch.
Soon Frodo was moving in a swift dance between oven and stovetop, adjusting the temperature of the oven, sprinkling flour onto the bubbling mushrooms, turning the pies to brown evenly, stirring cream into the thickening gravy, and Bilbo stood back out of the way in admiration of his lad’s grace and obvious competence as a cook. The gravy was ready, peppery-creamy and dotted with chunks of mushroom, at the same time as the pies came out of the oven, crisp and steaming with a mouth-watering scent. Bilbo had already fetched two carry baskets, clean towels to wrap the pie and the large tureen, and in a twinkling the larger pie and most of the gravy were ready for the trip down the hill. As the two moved out through Bag End’s back door, Bilbo was surprised anew as Frodo snagged another basket onto his elbow, which evidently held a salad of crisp greens and tomatoes, and a peach crumble that the lad must have put together before Bilbo had come into the kitchen. Inwardly, Bilbo chided himself for his lack of faith. Never underestimate a Baggins! he thought as he puffed down the hill behind Frodo, carefully carrying the heavy tureen of gravy.
When they approached the front door of Number 3, Bilbo’s heart sank. The shutters were closed, and the colorful garden that usually bloomed profusely in front of the smial seemed somber and drooping. Even the cheerful yellow door was shadowed and subdued. Frodo set down his smaller basket and knocked very softly.
The door slowly opened to reveal the tired countenance of Hamfast Gamgee. The gardener’s eyes moved dully from Frodo’s face to Bilbo’s, and then fastened on the basket Frodo still held. Bilbo had expected surprise from his longtime employee, or perhaps protest that a visit from the Masters of the Hill ‘weren’t proper’, but he had not expected the deep shadows under the Gaffer’s eyes, or that his face looked ten years older than when Bilbo had seen him set off for Healer Brownlock just Wednesday last.
Inside the cozy smial, a fire burned brightly on the hearth despite the warmth of the day. May held her little sister Marigold on her lap, brushing back the soft frame of curls around the little girl’s face. Bilbo could see the struggle in Daisy’s face as she realized she would need to be the one to act as hostess and receive the visitors. But the poor girl looked even more exhausted than her father. Bilbo wondered how many sleepless nights she had spent nursing her mother, followed by days of cooking, cleaning and trying to hold the little family together. He resolved that right after luncheon he would be off to Hobbiton to see about hiring in someone to at least do the laundry and take care of the goat and chickens. Ham would never ask for help, but that didn’t mean Bilbo couldn’t give it anyway.
But before Daisy could put down the mending she was holding and rise from her bench near the hearth, Sam moved deliberately through his bewildered elders until he was standing before Frodo. Frodo knelt on one knee to look the nine-year old lad in the eye, and gravely offered his basket with its still-steaming pie. “Hullo, Sam. We thought we might bring you something for luncheon today, while your mam is sick.. I made it myself and I hope you’ll like it. If she’s feeling up to it, perhaps your mam might like some too.”
Sam made a stiff sort of little bow, the tug at his forelock reminding Bilbo sharply of his father, so many years before when Ham was the apprentice, and Bilbo the young Master of the Hill. Sam solemnly accepted the basket from Frodo, and the elders watched from the door as Frodo smiled at the little lad, holding his eyes until Sam smiled back: just the barest hint at the corners of his mouth and an easing of the tightness around his eyes, but it was enough for Frodo. He rose gracefully, and surrounded by younger Gamgees, began to lay out the meal. May got out tin plates and cups, and Daisy set the little ones to washing hands and faces at the basin near the back door. When she turned around again, Frodo was just setting a tiny posy in the center of the table: a little cup of violets and buttercups that must have come from the verge just beyond the Bag End garden gate. Bilbo wondered what else might come out of that last basket, as he watched Daisy control her tears at the sight of the spot of bright color that splashed sunlight and summertime into the sad little smial. Wordlessly with a touch on the shoulder, Bilbo directed the Gaffer toward his place at the head of the table, and hoped his gardener felt the encouragement and concern that Bilbo intended the gesture to convey. He set the tureen of gravy in the center of the table as Frodo began to portion out the pie, and was pleased to see a bit of curiosity and anticipation on the faces of at least the children at the savory aroma.
“You shall have to tell me later, Sam, if you like my gravy as much as Merry does,” Frodo said as he ladled the velvety sauce over a generous serving of pie and placed it before the little hobbit. Bilbo started the bowl of salad around the table. Sam’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and he turned bright pink with embarrassment while his sisters laughed.
With that, the tension that had dimmed the room was broken for good, and instead the happy kitchen-chatter of young hobbits with a tasty meal before them began to fill it like a sun-bright morning dispelling the shrouding mists of dawn. Frodo gave his young friend a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, and Bilbo murmured a last few words to Sam’s father. They collected their baskets and promised to be back for the dishes later, although Bilbo privately expected that Sam would be trotting up the Hill with them by the time he and Frodo had finished their own lunch.
Once they were outside and beginning their walk back to Bag End, Bilbo tried to examine Frodo without being too obvious about it, wanting to know how the visit had affected his generous, caring lad, and wondering how he would deal with the unhappy memories that were sure to have been evoked. He had thought his glance was subtle, but evidently Frodo had been waiting for it, and met his uncle’s eyes with that little determined smile on his face.
“I remember what it feels like,” Frodo said simply, and Bilbo nodded at him to continue. “When my parents died, I was horribly afraid. I didn’t know who would take care of me, or how long it might be before I could sleep at night. There’s no way to take away the great fears, but sometimes all you need is a little pie to make the heart happy.”
Bilbo’s own heart overflowed with pride and admiration for his young cousin, so different from the typical thoughtless and irresponsible tween of Hobbiton. Different from himself at that age too, Bilbo had to admit. Took curiosity, Brandybuck cleverness, Baggins determination; but tempered by instruction and grief and responsibility into wisdom beyond his years and compassion wider than the open fields surrounding them. Best hobbit in the Shire, he’ll be one day, if he isn’t already, Bilbo thought. I hope I’ll be here to see him shine.
The Gaffer's Meat and 'Tater Pie
Ingredients:
Pie crust for two 10” two-crust pies
3 pounds hamburger, extra lean
3-4 good sized potatoes
1 medium yellow onion
Salt and pepper
Optional: can substitute for or add other root vegetables to potatoes: rutabagas or turnips or carrots work well.
Directions:
Crumble meat into large saucepan.
Chop onion fairly finely, add to pan
Cut potatoes or other vegetables into ½” (1 cm) cubes, add to pan
Add water to pan to cover ingredients, bring to a boil
Simmer until potatoes and vegetables are fork-tender, about 15-20 minutes. Hamburger will be cooked but not browned.
Pour off liquid, draining meat well, then add salt and pepper to taste.
Place into prepared pie crusts, top with second crusts and seal edges.
Bake until crust is browned and filling is hot, approximately 30-40 minutes at 400 F. May need to put foil around edges of crust for the last ten minutes to prevent overbrowning.
Serve hot with Master Frodo’s mushroom gravy. Also can be made into portable pies by placing filling on a round of piecrust, folding over the edges and sealing all around with a fork. Then bake and serve cold as a take-away lunch. Makes two 10” pies or eight pocket pies.
Master Frodo’s Creamy Mushroom Gravy
Ingredients:
8 oz white mushrooms, chopped into fairly small pieces
2 Tablespoons butter or bacon fat
2 Tablespoons flour
2 cups milk
2 Tablespoons heavy cream
1 Tablespoon salt
¾ teaspoons black peppercorns, freshly cracked
Directions:
In a saucepan over medium-high heat, melt the butter/bacon fat.
Sauté mushrooms until cooked but not browned. Mushrooms will significantly reduce in volume.
Whisk in the flour.
Sauté the flour until lightly browned. Remove pan from the heat.
Pour the milk into the pan in a steady stream, whisking constantly.
Return pan to the heat.
Whisk until the gravy thickens. Whisk in the cream, salt, and pepper. Serve hot over pie.
Double the recipe if you like lots of gravy with your pie.
If not in the Shire, you can substitute 3 cans condensed cream of mushroom soup plus one and a half cans of milk for gravy. Mix well and heat through.
Title: Pie makes the heart happy
Rating: G (for Good!)
Author:
fantasy_fanSummary: Frodo is a good friend. And, he can cook, too, as Bilbo discovers. (Recipe at the end of the fic.)
Bilbo hovered uneasily in the doorway to the kitchen at Bag End, as Frodo confidently chopped and mixed at the well-scrubbed wooden table. Frodo sneaked a look at him from under his lashes, and his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he quickly finished chopping the onions and added them to the potatoes and ground beef in the skillet on the stove. Bilbo quickly clasped his hands behind his back to prevent Frodo seeing him wring them in agitation. After all, he had to admit Frodo seemed to know his way about with a kitchen knife, and he was certainly tall enough to use the stove in perfect safety. As he watched the tween adjust the damper on the fire heating the baking oven, then clear away the filling ingredients and start to mix pie crust, moving surely and with agile poise, he began to think that at least one practical aspect of his young cousin’s education had not been neglected at Brandy Hall, no matter what some of his relatives might have said about the lad’s culinary skills.
Nevertheless, he had to make sure. “Are you certain you want to make the Gaffer’s favorite recipe and then give it to the Gamgees, lad? Maybe you’d rather start with something, err, simpler?” Not as familiar is what he was thinking. It wouldn’t do to send the Gaffer’s own specialty back down to Number 3 in an inedible state, no matter how well-intentioned Frodo was. Especially now, with the troubles in the family.
Frodo flashed a brilliant grin at his uncle as he deftly cut the lard into the flour. “Nonsense!” he said, consciously imitating one of Bilbo’s favorite exclamations, but then ruining the impression by giggling at Bilbo’s expression. “Uncle, I’ve seen Sam eat these meat and ‘tater pies for lunch ever since the first time he toddled up to Bag End with his Gaffer. If I bring the Gamgees some, it will make them feel as if things are normal, even if Sam’s mum is sick and can’t make them herself any more.” The smile quickly faded from his face, and the Bilbo had to strain to hear the rest of his words, spoken as if to himself. “Nothing will make the hurt go away, but pretending everything is normal helps, sometimes.”
Bilbo quickly swallowed back unexpected tears at the young orphan’s words. It was true that Bell might die, and he had no idea Frodo had grasped the consequences of her illness so quickly after arriving at Bag End. Frodo kept his head down, rolling out the crust with a light hand and easing it into the largest pie pan. Bilbo saw him sigh, and then visibly push away the sadness with a small shrug of his shoulders.
“Besides, I’ve made some improvements to the recipe, and I want to see how Sam likes them,” Frodo said, looking up at his uncle with a small but determined smile on his face, and only a trace of pain left deep in his eyes. Bilbo’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline, and Frodo laughed at his astonishment.
“I’ll tell you lad, you certainly have cheek, and a good heart as well,” Bilbo replied, pleased to see the smile returning to Frodo’s face. “What can I do to help?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves and waiting expectantly at the kitchen table. If Frodo was determined to make pies for the Gamgees, Bilbo was determined to work right alongside him.
“I’ll need milk and cream from the cold pantry,” Frodo replied as he tested the potatoes simmering on the stove with a fork. “Then the mushrooms will need to be chopped.” Frodo popped one of the newly cleaned mushrooms into his mouth from the pile draining on a towel next to the sink. Turning his most innocent expression toward his uncle, he said, “Just testing to make sure they’re fresh.” He grinned and quickly ate one more. “That one had a spot. They have to be perfect.”
“Cook’s responsibility,” Bilbo agreed solemnly, and munched on a few of the mushrooms himself as he went to the pantry to fetch the requested ingredients. There were plenty of mushrooms for whatever Frodo had in mind.
“Sam always eats his pies cold,” Frodo explained as he transferred the cooked filling into the pie shell and added a top crust. “His mum makes them into half-circles, and then he can carry them in his dinner pail and eat them while he’s in the garden with the Gaffer. I think if we make a big pie instead, everyone can have a piece while it’s still hot. And it will be even better with mushroom gravy on it. I made up the recipe myself, and Merry says it’s very good.” Frodo quickly pierced the top crust with a paring knife, creating a design of a vine with young leaves curling across the surface of the pie.
Bilbo smiled to himself as he chopped mushrooms. Young Merry would probably eat worms and pronounce them ‘very good’ if his beloved older cousin fed them to him. Still, Frodo looked quite at home in the kitchen, and the pie in the oven did smell enticing. There was some filling left in the pan, and some scraps of pie crust, and Frodo was busying himself making a smaller pie with the leftovers. Bilbo began to hope that this one might be intended for their own lunch.
Soon Frodo was moving in a swift dance between oven and stovetop, adjusting the temperature of the oven, sprinkling flour onto the bubbling mushrooms, turning the pies to brown evenly, stirring cream into the thickening gravy, and Bilbo stood back out of the way in admiration of his lad’s grace and obvious competence as a cook. The gravy was ready, peppery-creamy and dotted with chunks of mushroom, at the same time as the pies came out of the oven, crisp and steaming with a mouth-watering scent. Bilbo had already fetched two carry baskets, clean towels to wrap the pie and the large tureen, and in a twinkling the larger pie and most of the gravy were ready for the trip down the hill. As the two moved out through Bag End’s back door, Bilbo was surprised anew as Frodo snagged another basket onto his elbow, which evidently held a salad of crisp greens and tomatoes, and a peach crumble that the lad must have put together before Bilbo had come into the kitchen. Inwardly, Bilbo chided himself for his lack of faith. Never underestimate a Baggins! he thought as he puffed down the hill behind Frodo, carefully carrying the heavy tureen of gravy.
When they approached the front door of Number 3, Bilbo’s heart sank. The shutters were closed, and the colorful garden that usually bloomed profusely in front of the smial seemed somber and drooping. Even the cheerful yellow door was shadowed and subdued. Frodo set down his smaller basket and knocked very softly.
The door slowly opened to reveal the tired countenance of Hamfast Gamgee. The gardener’s eyes moved dully from Frodo’s face to Bilbo’s, and then fastened on the basket Frodo still held. Bilbo had expected surprise from his longtime employee, or perhaps protest that a visit from the Masters of the Hill ‘weren’t proper’, but he had not expected the deep shadows under the Gaffer’s eyes, or that his face looked ten years older than when Bilbo had seen him set off for Healer Brownlock just Wednesday last.
Inside the cozy smial, a fire burned brightly on the hearth despite the warmth of the day. May held her little sister Marigold on her lap, brushing back the soft frame of curls around the little girl’s face. Bilbo could see the struggle in Daisy’s face as she realized she would need to be the one to act as hostess and receive the visitors. But the poor girl looked even more exhausted than her father. Bilbo wondered how many sleepless nights she had spent nursing her mother, followed by days of cooking, cleaning and trying to hold the little family together. He resolved that right after luncheon he would be off to Hobbiton to see about hiring in someone to at least do the laundry and take care of the goat and chickens. Ham would never ask for help, but that didn’t mean Bilbo couldn’t give it anyway.
But before Daisy could put down the mending she was holding and rise from her bench near the hearth, Sam moved deliberately through his bewildered elders until he was standing before Frodo. Frodo knelt on one knee to look the nine-year old lad in the eye, and gravely offered his basket with its still-steaming pie. “Hullo, Sam. We thought we might bring you something for luncheon today, while your mam is sick.. I made it myself and I hope you’ll like it. If she’s feeling up to it, perhaps your mam might like some too.”
Sam made a stiff sort of little bow, the tug at his forelock reminding Bilbo sharply of his father, so many years before when Ham was the apprentice, and Bilbo the young Master of the Hill. Sam solemnly accepted the basket from Frodo, and the elders watched from the door as Frodo smiled at the little lad, holding his eyes until Sam smiled back: just the barest hint at the corners of his mouth and an easing of the tightness around his eyes, but it was enough for Frodo. He rose gracefully, and surrounded by younger Gamgees, began to lay out the meal. May got out tin plates and cups, and Daisy set the little ones to washing hands and faces at the basin near the back door. When she turned around again, Frodo was just setting a tiny posy in the center of the table: a little cup of violets and buttercups that must have come from the verge just beyond the Bag End garden gate. Bilbo wondered what else might come out of that last basket, as he watched Daisy control her tears at the sight of the spot of bright color that splashed sunlight and summertime into the sad little smial. Wordlessly with a touch on the shoulder, Bilbo directed the Gaffer toward his place at the head of the table, and hoped his gardener felt the encouragement and concern that Bilbo intended the gesture to convey. He set the tureen of gravy in the center of the table as Frodo began to portion out the pie, and was pleased to see a bit of curiosity and anticipation on the faces of at least the children at the savory aroma.
“You shall have to tell me later, Sam, if you like my gravy as much as Merry does,” Frodo said as he ladled the velvety sauce over a generous serving of pie and placed it before the little hobbit. Bilbo started the bowl of salad around the table. Sam’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and he turned bright pink with embarrassment while his sisters laughed.
With that, the tension that had dimmed the room was broken for good, and instead the happy kitchen-chatter of young hobbits with a tasty meal before them began to fill it like a sun-bright morning dispelling the shrouding mists of dawn. Frodo gave his young friend a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, and Bilbo murmured a last few words to Sam’s father. They collected their baskets and promised to be back for the dishes later, although Bilbo privately expected that Sam would be trotting up the Hill with them by the time he and Frodo had finished their own lunch.
Once they were outside and beginning their walk back to Bag End, Bilbo tried to examine Frodo without being too obvious about it, wanting to know how the visit had affected his generous, caring lad, and wondering how he would deal with the unhappy memories that were sure to have been evoked. He had thought his glance was subtle, but evidently Frodo had been waiting for it, and met his uncle’s eyes with that little determined smile on his face.
“I remember what it feels like,” Frodo said simply, and Bilbo nodded at him to continue. “When my parents died, I was horribly afraid. I didn’t know who would take care of me, or how long it might be before I could sleep at night. There’s no way to take away the great fears, but sometimes all you need is a little pie to make the heart happy.”
Bilbo’s own heart overflowed with pride and admiration for his young cousin, so different from the typical thoughtless and irresponsible tween of Hobbiton. Different from himself at that age too, Bilbo had to admit. Took curiosity, Brandybuck cleverness, Baggins determination; but tempered by instruction and grief and responsibility into wisdom beyond his years and compassion wider than the open fields surrounding them. Best hobbit in the Shire, he’ll be one day, if he isn’t already, Bilbo thought. I hope I’ll be here to see him shine.
The Gaffer's Meat and 'Tater Pie
Ingredients:
Pie crust for two 10” two-crust pies
3 pounds hamburger, extra lean
3-4 good sized potatoes
1 medium yellow onion
Salt and pepper
Optional: can substitute for or add other root vegetables to potatoes: rutabagas or turnips or carrots work well.
Directions:
Crumble meat into large saucepan.
Chop onion fairly finely, add to pan
Cut potatoes or other vegetables into ½” (1 cm) cubes, add to pan
Add water to pan to cover ingredients, bring to a boil
Simmer until potatoes and vegetables are fork-tender, about 15-20 minutes. Hamburger will be cooked but not browned.
Pour off liquid, draining meat well, then add salt and pepper to taste.
Place into prepared pie crusts, top with second crusts and seal edges.
Bake until crust is browned and filling is hot, approximately 30-40 minutes at 400 F. May need to put foil around edges of crust for the last ten minutes to prevent overbrowning.
Serve hot with Master Frodo’s mushroom gravy. Also can be made into portable pies by placing filling on a round of piecrust, folding over the edges and sealing all around with a fork. Then bake and serve cold as a take-away lunch. Makes two 10” pies or eight pocket pies.
Master Frodo’s Creamy Mushroom Gravy
Ingredients:
8 oz white mushrooms, chopped into fairly small pieces
2 Tablespoons butter or bacon fat
2 Tablespoons flour
2 cups milk
2 Tablespoons heavy cream
1 Tablespoon salt
¾ teaspoons black peppercorns, freshly cracked
Directions:
In a saucepan over medium-high heat, melt the butter/bacon fat.
Sauté mushrooms until cooked but not browned. Mushrooms will significantly reduce in volume.
Whisk in the flour.
Sauté the flour until lightly browned. Remove pan from the heat.
Pour the milk into the pan in a steady stream, whisking constantly.
Return pan to the heat.
Whisk until the gravy thickens. Whisk in the cream, salt, and pepper. Serve hot over pie.
Double the recipe if you like lots of gravy with your pie.
If not in the Shire, you can substitute 3 cans condensed cream of mushroom soup plus one and a half cans of milk for gravy. Mix well and heat through.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-06-06 11:22 pm (UTC)*notes down recipe*
no subject
Date: 2007-06-07 12:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-07 12:56 am (UTC)Thanks so much for this wonderful story!
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2007-06-07 10:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-02 02:19 am (UTC)Just one thing though...I just printed off the recipe for my Mom in large print and when I read it to her, we both realized it's a Mushroom Pie w/no Mushrooms. I realize there's Mushrooms in the gravy, but the pie is called Meat and Mushroom Pie, so...Just wondering.
It is a wonderful story and I can't wait to try this recipe. :o)
no subject
Date: 2007-07-03 12:55 am (UTC)And thank you for the kind comments on the story. I've always thought the death of Bell would really resonate with Frodo, and bring out his compassion. And I've also been irritated by the fanon that Frodo was unable to boil water without burning down the smial. This was the result.