Great Aunt Petunia’s Famous Rhubarb Pie

"Rhubarb pie?" Merry asked in astonishment. "You're making a rhubarb pie? You can't even make toast properly."

Pippin scowled at his older cousin. "I happen to make a truly delectable rhubarb pie, thank you very much, but if you don't want any, I suppose I can eat it all myself." He pulled a mournful face that wouldn't have fooled a blind hobbit, and then added, "And it certainly wasn't my fault I burned the toast earlier. I would never have gotten distracted if you hadn't chosen to run through the kitchen just then, with your hair on fire."

"Yes, but how exactly did my hair catch on fire?" Merry asked, rather snippily.

"I'm sure I don't know," Pippin answered, hastily turning away from his cousin to tidy up the mess left over from his pie-making activities.

"No, I'm sure you had nothing to do with that candle that was placed right next to my head while I was napping."

"Cousin! You wound me with such accusations," Pippin exclaimed in all innocence. "I think it must have been Frodo. You know how absentminded he can be when he's working hard."

"Oh yes, he sets hobbits afire on a regular basis when he's deep into a translation. I should have remembered that." Merry gave Pippin a smack upside the head, but let the matter lie, returning to the previous subject. "So, where did you learn to make rhubarb pie, then, Chef Peregrin?"

"Well, it's a funny story, that," Pippin started, pleased that Merry had abandoned his questions regarding that suspiciously placed candle. "You remember my Great Aunt Petunia, don't you?"

Merry frowned in thought a moment before answering, "A rather thin and fragile creature, wasn't she? Always sucking on peppermints."

Pippin nodded with a grin. "She was a strange duck, but she made the most divine pies. I was always sneaking into the kitchen when she visited, to steal a bit of whatever pie she had made most recently. Well, the last time she was here, I could smell the delicious aroma of her pies all the way out by the pony shed. I was out there playing with some friends -- I do have friends other than you, you know," he added indignantly when Merry snorted disbelievingly, "and when that lovely smell came drifting by, I just had to make a bee-line for the kitchen. Unfortunately, Great Aunt Petunia was on the lookout for juvenile predators and caught me just as I dipped my finger in her rhubarb pie. I thought she was going to tell my father and have him whip me, but she decided upon a more fitting punishment for a pie thief."

Pippin's eyes crinkled up as he remembered. "She said that if I knew how much work went into making those pies I might think twice about stealing them. She grabbed me by the ear, marched me to the sink, scrubbed my hands until they were nearly raw, and then proceeded to give me baking lessons. She taught me how to make rhubarb pie. Over and over again. I still don't know what she told my mother, but I was kept in that kitchen for a week, making rhubarb pies. And each time I would pull one out of the oven and set it on the sill to cool, she would call all the lads over and offer them pieces. I didn't get to eat a single piece of any of those pies." He sighed at the remembered tragedy of untasted pie.

"But I learned a valuable lesson about how much work goes into baking, and how frustrating it is to not get to taste the rewards of that work. And on the last day, when my punishment was finally up, she gave me a whole pie for myself and told me that next time I wanted some, I should just ask. Of course, she died shortly after that, in that bad winter we had three years ago. But I still remember how to make her famous rhubarb pie."

By this time, the pie was out of the oven and cooling on the windowsill, and Merry was eyeing it rather greedily. He had to admit, the aroma wafting in on the breeze was truly delectable, even if the pie had been made by Pippin. That same breeze ruffled his curls and he ran his fingers through his hair to bring it back under control. When he encountered the close-cropped section near the top of his head, he remembered their previous conversation.

"That's all well and good, Pippin, but don't think I've forgotten about the candle. Just because we're at Bag End doesn't mean you can blame everything that happens on Cousin Frodo."

"Who is blaming what on me, now?" Frodo asked in bemusement, coming in the door just then, arms laden with the packages he'd picked up while out in Hobbiton.

"Erm, nothing, Frodo," Pippin answered hastily, before Merry could say anything. "Want some pie? I just made it."

"Mm," Frodo allowed himself to be distracted, sparing a glance at Merry and raising a questioning eyebrow at the new hairdo, "That smells just like Great Aunt Petunia's Famous Rhubarb Pie. Who did you steal it from, Pip?"

Merry chortled loudly as Frodo quickly stepped out of Pippin's range, the young Took chasing after his eldest cousin furiously. The chortle died on his lips, however, as Pippin changed direction mid-stride and tackled Merry instead. The scuffle was short-lived, though, as no one could resist the smell of the pie for very long, and soon the three cousins were seated around Bag End's kitchen table, drinking tea and eating pie in perfect peace.