A New Way to Savor Mushrooms

By: Elemmírë

Series: Lord of the Rings

Summary: The hobbits discover a new way to prepare mushrooms. Frodo is 40 years old, Merry is a few hours shy of 26, & Pippin is 18 (ages 25½, 16½, & 12 in Man years).

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters.

Author’s Note: This idea came about from a new dish served at a buffet I recently ate at & it naturally made me think of the hobbits, for obvious reasons. It subsequently became the inspiration for this tale.

“Pippin!” Frodo looked at his younger cousin in exasperation.

“What?” Pippin looked down to where Frodo was staring pointedly into his mug of Buckland’s finest ale. The eighteen-year old hobbit saw something small float to the surface of the rich ale … and then a few small somethings joined the first. “Oh, oops. I’m terribly sorry, Cousin Frodo.”

Tomorrow was their cousin Merry’s 26th birthday and the two were joined tonight by the rest of Merry’s immediate relations for a special family dinner. As always Merry’s mother, Esmeralda, had created a buffet-style dinner which consisted of her best recipes so that one could pick and choose what went on one’s plate and consequently, into one’s stomach as well.

In his haste to be seated with his dinner, Pippin’s arm had bumped into the small but heaping bowl of seasoned mushrooms placed before Frodo on the table, knocking several off the precarious pile. The button mushrooms as this variety were called, had scattered and rolled across the wooden table. Several fell to the floor, much to Frodo and Pippin’s dismay, and several more had inadvertently landed with a resounding plop into the mug of ale Frodo was holding on his lap below the table line at that particular moment.

“It’s all right, Pippin. Just be more careful next time, please.” Frodo sighed, picking the mushrooms out of his ale and setting them on the edge of his plate as far away from the rest of his food as possible. What a waste of good mushrooms, he thought sadly … and good ale too.

Frodo took a half-hearted sip of his ale before setting it down on the table as well (where it would no doubt be safer). He shook his head and chuckled at the youngest of the Took family seated next to him. Pippin was already more than half-way through his first plate of food. Frodo caught the lad’s hand in the act of snitching and he surreptitiously moved his rapidly dwindling bowl of mushrooms safely out of the little Took’s reach. Pippin smiled at him innocently before turning back to devouring his food.

When Frodo turned back to his own dinner, he discovered yet another set of slightly larger fingers lithely pilfering his beloved mushrooms. Honestly! Aunt Esmeralda had made these special just for him and he hadn’t gotten to taste even one yet! Frodo swatted the errant hand away with a light smack. “Merry,” he warned.

Merry sat himself down on the other side of his older cousin. “Well it is my birthday after all, my dear Frodo.” He grinned cheekily.

“Not until tomorrow, officially,” Frodo growled back. “And if I catch you stealing any more of the mushrooms your mother made special for me, you won’t live to see your 26th year.”

Normally, Frodo was one of the most generous hobbits to be found in the Shire … except when it came to mushrooms. He had been planning to share his bowl of seasoned mushrooms with his cousins … after he had tasted a few dozen, of course.

Merry leaned back to chat with Pippin. “What’s with him?”

Pippin paused long enough in his eating to answer. “Oh, Frodo’s just grumpy because I accidentally spilled some of his special mushrooms.”

“Oh, is that all,” Merry answered with a laugh.

“I’m sitting right here and can hear you both, you know,” Frodo said, picking up his knife and fork, preparing to cut up his roast mutton.

While the three were talking and otherwise engaged, the hobbit sitting opposite them blithely reached across the table and stole two of the seasoned mushrooms. He realized, too late, they were the last to be had in the bowl.

When Frodo turned back to his dinner he let out a horrified squeak. With knife and fork in hand, he fixed his gaze first upon Pippin, then upon Merry. Both cousins cringed. “All right, which one of you trolls ate the last of my mushrooms? I didn’t even get the chance to taste a single one yet, you know.”

“I didn’t take anymore, Frodo, honest,” Pippin said, green eyes widening at the knife still clenched tightly in Frodo’s fist.

“Me neither,” said Merry, eyeing the fork in Frodo’s other fist. He knew how much his older cousin loved his mushrooms, going so far as to steal them when he was younger, but was he mad enough to poke them with his utensils? Mad Baggins indeed!

Frodo glared at them menacingly, but saw they were both telling the truth. Then who … ?

All three cousins looked up as someone cleared his throat from across the table. “Um … I’m the troll.”

Frodo’s own eyes widened when he saw who the latest culprit was and his knife and fork fell with a clatter to the table. “Uncle Saradoc?!”

Merry’s father bowed his head in acknowledgement, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment and guilt. “It was me. I took them, Frodo.”

“But Aunt Esmeralda can make them for you anytime!” Frodo spluttered indignantly.

Saradoc smiled warmly at his one-time foster son. “True. She can ... but she doesn’t. Esme only makes them for you lad, you know. She even calls the recipe, ‘Frodo’s Special Mushrooms’. No, she won’t make them for anyone else, not even for me or Merry.”

Saradoc Brandybuck remembered the very first time his wife had ever made the special dish. Frodo Baggins had just lost both his parents in a boating accident on the Brandywine River and the new orphan was barely eating, too much in shock and grief. The healer had recommended bestowing the lad with his favorite foods whatever they may be, so long as the boy ate something. As it turned out, Esmeralda had come across Frodo’s mother’s recipe for seasoned button mushrooms while helping to clean out Primula and Drogo’s smial of their effects. Knowing how much Frodo loved his mushrooms, Esmeralda tried making the recipe and with the help of old Bilbo Baggins was able to coax poor little Frodo into finally eating again. At that time, it was almost all the boy would consume for nearly a week until he was successfully persuaded to try other foods in addition to the mushrooms.

Somehow, Frodo had not recognized the mushroom dish as being his mother’s-- perhaps Primula had lost the recipe or never made it, or Frodo had forgotten their taste in his anguish--but the Brandybucks had never told the lad where the recipe had come from for fear he would stop eating again in his grief. Instead, Esme told Frodo it was a special recipe she had created just for him and she had never once made them for anyone else, which hadn't exactly been a lie. Even now, twenty-eight years later, Frodo still didn’t know that his “special mushrooms” were really from one of his mother’s old recipes.

Saradoc smiled again, this time sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Frodo. It’s just that they looked so good. I didn’t realize they were the last ones in the bowl until it was too late.”

“But he’s still got four of them on his plate,” Merry indicated with a nod of his head, golden-brown curls bouncing with the motion.

Frodo frowned at the four lonely mushrooms sitting on the far edge of his plate, eyeing them distastefully. “Those were some of the ones Pippin knocked over when he bumped into me. They fell into my ale.”

“Well, if you don’t want them, Cousin, I’ll take them.” Having finished his first plate of food what seemed like hours ago now, Pippin eagerly snatched up one of the errant mushrooms. He was reaching the age where young hobbits grow curious as to what ale tastes like and he figured this was an easy way to find out without getting into any serious trouble. Besides, why let perfectly good mushrooms go to waste? His older cousin was being a bit too picky if you asked him.

“Pippin!” Frodo admonished. He found himself reluctant to share even these four mushrooms dripping in ale, even though he certainly was not going to eat them. They were ruined in his opinion after all.

Pippin leaned back, his green eyes closed in sheer bliss. “Oh, Merry,” he said while chewing. “These are heavenly. You have got to try one.”

Before Frodo could say or do anything, he found one more mushroom missing from his plate and heading into the birthday hobbit’s mouth.

Merry patted his stomach in imitation of his Grandfather Rory. “Now that is the way to eat a mushroom,” he said.

Frodo sighed, offering his plate to his nominal uncle. “I suppose you want to try one as well.”

Saradoc reached over and nimbly took one ale-coated mushroom off the proffered plate. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Frodo watched his former guardian chew slowly and swallow, before he too pronounced the mushrooms edible and bade his nephew to have the last one.

It took some convincing from all three hobbits, but Frodo hesitantly took the very last mushroom and placed it in his mouth finally. His eyes widened in surprise as the rich hearty flavor of the ale combined with the smoked, woody flavor of the mushrooms, creating a savory palette of tasteful harmony within his mouth.

“Mmm, these are good!” he exclaimed with delight, immediately wishing he had more. “I do believe you’ve discovered a new way to eat mushrooms, Pip. I can’t wait to tell Sam how to make these.”

“Hmm, marinated in ale. I can’t believe no hobbit's ever mixed the two before,” Merry remarked and his father nodded in agreement. After all, mushrooms and ales were two of the Shire’s most beloved foods.

“These would be absolutely perfect soaked in herbs and ale with a few thin slices of red pepper added in.” Frodo looked longingly at the empty bowl before him, willing it to suddenly be filled with more mushrooms. To his surprise, a hand came from above and whisked the empty bowl away, replacing it with a new one overly heaped with more of the seasoned button mushrooms. Frodo looked up to see Esmeralda standing over him.

“You didn’t think I’d just make one batch, did you?” she stated, making sure she dished a generous amount onto his plate as only a mother would do. “After all, I know how these three can eat,” she said, smiling at her husband, son, and youngest nephew.

Frodo beamed sweetly at her. “Thank you, Auntie Esme.”

She ruffled Frodo’s dark curls and watched as her boys dug into the mushrooms with enthusiasm. Esmeralda was puzzled to see Saradoc, Merry, and Frodo dipping their mushrooms into their ale before eating them. She voiced her concern when Frodo placed some of the ale-coated mushrooms onto Pippin’s empty plate for the teenaged lad.

They told her how they happened upon their discovery and made her try one. Esmeralda licked her lips in delight and promised them she would experiment until she found the proper mixing of ingredients and marinating time in the ale. Having kept her promise, she entered the new mushroom dish in the cooking contest at the Free Fair the following year and won First Place easily.

For her birthday that year, Esmeralda gave Frodo his mother’s original button mushroom recipe and told him where it had come from so long ago. As she and Saradoc had once feared, she watched the tears gather in his large blue eyes when he recognized his mother’s elegant handwriting. He told her that she and Bilbo had probably been right not to tell him when he was so overcome with grief as a child.

Then to her surprise, Esmeralda found herself enveloped in a warm hug that lasted for several minutes and Frodo thanked her for keeping some part of his mother alive for him and making him feel loved by making the special treat only for him for all these years.