Jam Making (prompt: Headache)

A clatter of pans drew Elrohir to the kitchen door.  “Whatever is that racket?” Elladan queried.

“Bilbo.  He brought his mother’s old recipe book from the Shire, and wants to make us all some jam.”

The noises stopped, and they heard Bilbo muttering to himself.  “Bother it all!  Why do elves have to be so tall?”

Elrohir peered in to see Bilbo stretching precariously towards a high shelf.  He leaped forward as the hobbit wobbled, only to be hit by a cascade of heavy saucepans.

“Oh dear!  Oh dear!” Bilbo exclaimed.  “I do hope I haven’t given you a headache!”

Yule Pudding  (prompt: Toothache)

Bilbo carried the dish in triumphantly. "Yule Pudding!" he exclaimed. "A speciality of the Shire, and my mother's favourite!"

Elrohir helped himself as the pudding was handed round. It was delicious; sweet, laden with currants, nuts and cherries, and spiced with cinnamon.  He scraped the plate clean as he chewed the last mouthful, but suddenly bit down on something hard.  He felt a sharp crack, and a flare of sudden pain.  "Argh!"

He spat half a tooth into his hand, and a small silver coin.

Bilbo beamed, clapping his hands with delight. "Oh, well done!  You found the lucky sixpence!"

Misunderstanding (prompt: Sore Throat)

“Is there anything cold to drink?”  Elrohir asked as he came in from training.

“There is lemonade,” Lindir said doubtfully.  “A recipe of Bilbo’s, but …”

“Bilbo’s?  Then it must be good!”  Elrohir poured a cup, drinking it in one gulp.  He went red and began to gasp, then dashed to the well.

“What have you done to him?” Elladan demanded.

“Nothing!”

Elrohir returned, still gulping water. “What was that?” he croaked.

“Nothing!  I just followed the recipe!  Look!” 

Elladan squinted at Bilbo’s writing.  “Add sugar and chill.  So?”

Lindir turned pale.  “Oh,” he whispered.  “I thought it said chilli!”

(Author's Notes:  There is a reason why Lindir is a minstrel, not a cook …)

Mulled Wine  (prompt: Cold)

Elladan and Elrohir returned from patrol very late; cold, wet and mud-splattered.  As they crossed the silent hallway Bilbo appeared from the kitchen, carrying a steaming cup.

"Hello!  I was just making myself a little nightcap."  He blinked at their appearance. "Bless me, you're soaked!   You’ll catch your deaths of cold!" 

Elrohir began to explain that they did not suffer from colds as mortals did, but delicious scents of wine, cinnamon and nutmeg wafted up as Bilbo thrust the cup at him.

He took a scalding sip and cursed as Bilbo exclaimed, “Oh, but be careful!  Don’t burn your tongue!”     

Haggis  (prompt: Nausea/Vomiting)

“This is a very old recipe,” Bilbo explained as he put the dish down.  “My mother had it from her mother, who got it from hers, who …”

“An old recipe indeed,” Elrohir forestalled him quickly.  “But what is a haggis?  I have never seen one.  Is it native to The Shire?”

Bilbo chuckled.  “I’ll explain.  You’d better taste it first!”

Elrohir tried some.  “It is very good,” he agreed, taking some more.  “What manner of creature is it?”

“It’s made from a sheep’s heart, liver and lungs; minced and all wrapped up in its stomach … Elrohir?  What’s wrong?”