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shire_kitchenA/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!
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 put in 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 Mid-summer, 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 Mid-summer 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 sniggers 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 onto 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 it would look quite fetching on his bedroom 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.” But there was now also 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 stables. 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 by leaps and bounds. The day was just beginning, Pippin had only had cream meal 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.
“Hullo!” 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 else 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 muffin crumbs 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, 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 cooking. 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. 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. He 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.
Part 2
(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 put in 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 Mid-summer, 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 Mid-summer 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 sniggers 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 onto 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 it would look quite fetching on his bedroom 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.” But there was now also 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 stables. 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 by leaps and bounds. The day was just beginning, Pippin had only had cream meal 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.
“Hullo!” 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 else 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 muffin crumbs 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, 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 cooking. 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. 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. He 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.
Part 2
