A Piece of the Pie

By: Elemmírë

Summary: The hobbits encounter the Middle-earth equivalent of pizza for the very first time.

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 tale is based on the following Shirebunny: In either Minas Tirith or Edoras, the hobbits are introduced to spaghetti ... or pizza. I hope it's not too corny!

“This isn’t right, sirs.” Sam stared down at the plate set before him dismally.

“What do you mean?” Frodo asked. He shifted forward on the cushioned bench to better reach the Big Folk-sized table.

The four hobbits had been on their way back to their guest house in the Sixth Circle after spending the day pleasantly walking about the White City. They had been walking by this particular eatery when the owner, who had been taking a bit of fresh air, saw them and bade them to come inside for dinner on the house. Merry and Pippin, who had both eaten there before, heartily dragged their cousin and Sam inside the establishment that specialized in certain types of food from Dol Amroth.

Sam eyed the odd fare with caution. He was familiar with all of the ingredients and it seemed edible enough. However …. “This here dish we were served, Peasant’s Pie. I mean, you and Misters Merry and Pippin are gentlehobbits, along with being knights and lords now.”

“You’re a lord of the realm now too, Sam,” Merry pointed out. He removed a triangular slice from the circular pie resting on a wooden board on the table in the midst of the four hobbits. He winced as the hot, melted cheese burned his fingers, bringing them to suckle in his mouth after having successfully transferred the slice onto his plate.

“Just try it,” he said. “You’ll like it. Faramir introduced Éowyn and I to this particular dish while we were recuperating in the Houses of Healing. I think he was hoping to cheer us up some.

“It’s called Peasant’s Pie because a long time ago in Dol Amroth, the poorer people would make a sort of doughy flatbread and cover it with their leftover scraps of meat or vegetables in order to make a meal. They would add bits of leftover cheese to melt over the top of it all and cut it into slices like this to eat. The dish eventually became very popular when a noble of importance tried it and found it to his liking. Faramir said that when the Itali family immigrated here to Minas Tirith, they brought the perfected and honed recipe with them and opened this eatery. Although they make many other traditional dishes from Dol Amroth, the Peasant’s Pie has become the most popular item on the menu.”

Sam shook his head. “Well it don’t look like any sort of ‘pie’ to me,” he stated. The supposed pie was round and had a thick crust around the edge, but the resemblance ended there. The rest of the dough was thin and covered with a layer of tomato sauce, then a hardy helping of shredded cheese had been sprinkled liberally over the top and cooked until it all melted together.

“I’m just happy it’s round!” Pippin said around a mouthful of the slice he had bit into. He thought the dish would fit in well in the Shire, where most things were round, from hobbit architecture to hobbit bellies.

Frodo frowned. “Pippin!” he admonished sternly.

Pippin, who was contemplating asking the cook for the recipe, wiped a dribble of tomato sauce from his chin. “What?”

Frodo stared pointedly at the knife and fork lying unused at the sides of his young cousin’s plate.

“But Frodo, this is how you’re supposed to eat Peasant’s Pie.” He lifted the slice with his hand and took another bite of the point of the triangle to demonstrate. He had to be quick before the triangle flopped downward and all that wonderful melted cheese slid off onto his plate.

“Besides, I only have one hand to use and you seem to be having a wee bit of trouble yourself, dear Cousin,” he retorted congenially.

Pippin’s left arm was in a sling. The same arm that had been dislocated when the troll fell on him during the Battle at the Black Gates, had been mildly sprained during sword practice a few days ago.

Ever the proper gentlehobbit, Frodo continued to try to cut his slice of Peasant’s Pie with his knife and fork, but he was having great difficulty managing the Man-sized utensils with his right hand. The muscles were cramping, as they often seemed to do towards the end of the day, and Frodo had trouble retaining his grip on the knife with his maimed hand, with its stump of a finger.

Sam offered to help his master and friend however, Frodo Baggins was determined as ever. If he could make it all the way to Mt. Doom in Mordor, he could accomplish this relatively simple task. He pretended he did not hear Merry whisper to Sam that Aragorn had expressed that the hobbits try not to help Frodo with things of this nature … that using his hand was the best form of therapy for regaining his former strength and dexterity.

Pippin merely grunted, “Stubborn Baggins,” for all to hear as he happily chewed another bite of his slice of Peasant’s Pie. Frodo ignored him and concentrated even harder, his inherent determination and resolve coming to the fore.

By the time Merry, Pippin, and Sam had finished their second slice of the pie, Frodo was barely through the first. Frustrated, Frodo eventually gave up and laid his knife and fork down on the table with as much decorum as he could muster, before picking up the triangular slice in his hands himself. He had to admit, Pippin was right … this was the proper way to eat Peasant’s Pie.

Both Frodo and Sam were surprised at just how delicious their dinner tasted and complimented the cook when he came by their table to check on them. The cook (also owner of the eatery) was not very tall for a man, maybe reaching 5 ½ feet in height. He had an olive-skinned complexion and thick, wavy dark hair like Frodo’s, that was nearly black in color. He had a big round belly that would make any hobbit proud and wistfully reminded Frodo of his long-dead father. The cook also had a long, neatly-trimmed mustache that curled up at the ends and he spoke with a heavy, but pleasant accent.

“Gooda evening, Master Hobbits. Did you-a lika your dinner?” he asked jovially, wiping his flour-dusted hands on his white apron.

“Oh yes, thank you very much,” Frodo replied, as they all shook their heads in agreement. "It was most delicious."

The hobbits soon learned that the cook was named Cimino and was the grandson of the original Itali family to own the eatery since it had been established in the White City. He and his wife, Julia, journeyed yearly to Dol Amroth to visit with family and make trades and arrangements for some of their more rare ingredients used, to be delivered to Minas Tirith. The couple had already been in Dol Amroth during the War when the occupants of the White City had been evacuated. They were very pleased to be back home and even more pleased to find that their establishment had not suffered much damage in the attack by Sauron’s army. They were one of the few businesses that had been able to open rather quickly in the aftermath.

“Would you-a lika another pie?” Cimino asked. The appetite of the Ernil i Pheriannath had become legendary in the city and it was rumored the Prince of the Halflings had an unfathomable stomach. Apparently, all of the hobbits shared this trait for the 16-slice pie was gone in no time, though they were but the size of children.

The hobbits nodded eagerly in response, four sets of curly hair bouncing with the movement. Cimino invited them to the back kitchen to show them how the pie was made, much to their delight. They were quite surprised to discover how the dough attained its round shape.

The four hobbits watched in apprehension and awe as Cimino tossed the semi-flattened dough into the air, giving it an expert twirl. The dough soared higher and higher into the air with each throw until Sam thought it would surely hit the ceiling. With each toss, the dough stretched and flattened further, beginning to form its pleasantly round shape.

“I’m not sure I enjoy seeing my dinner being thrown up in the air as such,” Frodo whispered to the others.

Sam nodded in agreement. “Aye. Meanin’ no disrespect, but what if he drops it?”

“Oh, I asked him that once,” said Pippin, who out of the four, was the only one to have ever watched Peasant’s Pie being made before. “Cimino said he never drops it.”

After the dough was shaped, Cimino brought it to a wooden table. Standing on low stools, the four hobbits were able to see high enough as tomato sauce was ladled onto the flat circle and spread, until every inch of the dough was covered with it. Cimino scattered some pieces of a sliced green pepper, along with some bits of sausage atop the dough, before covering all with a layer of a special shredded cheese … which the hobbits learned was called mozzarella.

“You can put different items onto the pie, Mr. Cimino?” Sam queried.

“Oh yes-a, my friends. Meats, vegetables, different cheeses. I-a maka the pies with meat-a-balls, sausage, and a special imported meat, called pepperoni. I-a can puta peppers, olives, onions, tomato, or-a mushrooms on it too. I cover everything with the mozzarella and bake it in mya brick oven.”

At the mention of mushrooms, the four hobbits’ eyes brightened considerably and they looked at one another eagerly, licking their lips as Cimino slid the finished pie onto a large, wooden spatula and into the hot brick oven.

* * * * *

A week later, Legolas and Gimli, having finished making their rounds of the city to assess the extent of the damage for Aragorn (now King), joined the four hobbits at Cimino’s establishment. They had never eaten there before, but were eager to sample the fare the little ones had so highly recommended.

The Elf and Dwarf came upon their hobbit friends kneeling on the benches of a large booth. The four were chattering animatedly and it was a pleasure to see them all so happy and carefree, especially Frodo, after all that had happened to the Fellowship.

Gimli sat alongside Merry and Pippin, whilst Legolas joined Frodo and Sam’s side of the wooden table. There were two large pitchers of ale on the table and four large circles of baked flatbread dough with tomato sauce and cheese, one in front of each hobbit. Sam’s was plain with cheese on it, as he found he liked his pie just as he had tasted it that first time the best. Merry’s was topped with chopped onions, green peppers, and bits of sausage. Pippin’s held thinly sliced circles of the imported pepperoni meat. Frodo’s, was naturally covered in a healthy, hobbity helping of mushrooms.

To the other patrons, it was a comical sight--these barefoot, child-sized creatures each with their own large 16-slice Peasant Pie in front of them, kneeling in their seats and stretching over the table in order to reach. Legolas and Gimli knew better, however, and that appearances could be very deceiving. They fully expected every crumb of the strange food to be rapidly devoured and then hear the high-pitched voices pleasantly clamor for more.

The hobbits offered their companions ale and slices from their pies, but Gimli just had to ask what in Middle-earth were they eating. Although familiar with the ingredients, he had never seen the like before.

“A piece of pie,” Pippin replied in his Tookish lilt, while chewing with a very full little mouth.

To Gimli’s Dwarf ears, it sounded like, “A pizza pie,” which is how he introduced the delightful dish to his fellow Dwarves when they came to help repair the White City.

~The End~

Author's Note: The foundations for pizza were laid down by the early Greeks, who first baked round, flat breads and topped them with olives, spices, and potatoes. This flat bread eventually made its way into Italy, where poor peasants, would add tomatoes, various leftover scraps of meat and vegetables, and bake it. Today's traditional pizza with tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese came later on in history, during the late 1800s in Italy. It was brought to America by Italian immigrants, who settled in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut ... and has been loved ever since (although it didn't really catch on in the rest of the country until after WWII).

This story was right up my alley, as I love pizza and I live in the section of the state of Connecticut in which several towns and cities were settled heavily by Italian immigrants. Some of the oldest original brick ovens can be still found in use here and traditional Italian pizzerias can be found in nearly every town (and very few of those pizza chain places that claim to make pizza). Yes, traditional pizza is a very big thing in CT and NYC ... where it is almost considered sacriliege to eat your pizza with a knife and fork. A Hawaiian-style pizza or clams casino is about as crazy as we get around here, although some places are starting to branch out a little more. I'm sorry, but pizza is just not the same in the rest of the country, save for Chicago's deep dish. I hope I don't start a pizza war; LOL!

The cook, Cimino and his wife Julia, were inspired by my own Italian grandmother and her family name.

Thanks for reading!