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b2memB2MeM Challenge: 2014 Seasons of Middle-earth
Title: Mistress Butterbur and the Ranger
Author: Baranduin
Rating: G
Warnings: Rather fluffy
Characters: Strider, OFC
Summary: This combines two of the winter prompts: two or more characters snowed in plus a story highlighting a recipe. This story is an excuse for wallowing in food :-) I know this is being posted outside the fest timeframe though I believe that's all right. If not, I'll remove asap.
Notes: Thanks for Phil Rickman for Merrily's name ...
Mistress Butterbur and the Ranger
Mistress Merrily Butterbur was fortunate in her married surname. Born a Goatleaf, she felt from early childhood that the name never suited her, not that she ever said so to her parents. But on her wedding day, she happily slipped off Goatleaf for Butterbur. And a Butterbur she was from the top of her curly golden brown head to the tips of her plump toes.
For you see, Mistress Butterbur was possessed of such a rounded perfection so complementary to Barley that they seemed a matched pair, even to the extent of their garrulousness.
This snowy March afternoon found the scullery maid, Esmeralda Banks, the target of Merrily’s unending speech though Merrily would have said she was merely instructing the lass for her own good. Which was true enough …
“Now, now, my girl,” Merrily was saying. “Lay out all our ingredients first so we can see what we have and make sure we’re not missing anything. Yes, that’s it … no, not the cream, it’s not time for that …”
Esme murmured, “You did say everything …”
“Well, so I did,” Merrily said, being after all a reasonable sort and not a tyrant, Esmeralda’s dark whispers to her sisters at night notwithstanding. “But that will come later, all in its due course. Just lay out all the vegetables first … onions and carrots, yes carrots, I think four big fat ones will do … and celery root, butternut squash, acorn squash, yes I want both squashes … mushrooms, the big kind, and don’t forget the parsnips. Drat … no good herbs left. Well, we’ll make do. After all it is the tail end of winter and guests mustn’t expect anything special, but I will keep them fed and warm, I can do that much or my name’s not Butterbur and I’ll give it back to Barley for him to keep to hisself.”
After Esmeralda lined up the piles of vegetables to Merrily’s satisfaction (more or less), the two began chopping and slicing and peeling. They started with the onions. Soon their eyes were streaming and Merrily was warning Esmeralda not to rub them with her fingers or she’d be sorry. A distant slam broke into her stream of chatter.
“Was that the front door?” Merrily looked up, dabbing at her eyes with her apron, fighting against ignoring her own advice, wanting to rub and rub and rub with her hands though she knew from painful experience what the cost of doing that would be.
“Dunno.” Esme’s eyes were red and wet but she also had a neat pile of sliced onion rings in front of her.
“I think it was. Who can that be? Oh, those are well done, Esme, and now we’ve done the hardest part. But we’re near full up already and who knows how long we’ll all be here with the snow coming down so hard and fast. And in March no less!”
Merrily did not have to wait long to find out who it was, for just then Barliman came bustling through the swinging door into the kitchen, bearing a overflowing tray of empty mugs to be washed.
“More guests?” Merrily asked, pursing her lips. “We’re near out of room already, I think. Do we have room?”
“Yes, my dear, just barely enough, I can put him in the last hobbit room though he’ll be a little cramped in the bed. I don’t think he’ll mind seeing as he’ll have a roof over his head. But it’s a good thing he’s on his own, otherwise I don’t know what we might have done.”
“And who is ‘he’?” she said as she started to brown the onions and carrots in a mixture of butter and vegetable oil. The smell of the onions caramelizing was tantalizing enough to draw the new guest to the kitchen though no doubt he would have ventured there eventually any way, being known to the household.
Merrily broke into a big grin when he came into the room. “Strider!” Then, just as quickly as she had smiled, she frowned. “Oh, you ruffian, you haven’t been here for months … and now here you are when we’ve barely a closet to spare, what with everyone being stuck here with the snowfall, Big Folk and Little! Snow in March! It’s not natural, it’s uncanny I say. Though I can’t deny it’s good for business. It’s not often we have a full house in winter, even if this is the raggle taggle end of it.”
Strider shed his sodden cloak, spreading it on a chair by the hearth to dry. He kept silent at first and wandered around the room, first peering at the chopped squashes and mushrooms, then bending over the enormous pan on the stove with the browning onions and carrots and sniffing appreciatively. “Shall I leave?” he finally said with a raised eyebrow. “What say you, Barley, shall I shelter in the stable? Perhaps you can find some spare hay for me for my bed.”
Merrily and Strider stared grimly at each for a moment, then they burst into laughter and Strider picked her up and twirled her around the room. Barley grinned and left to go back to his domain in the Common Room, knowing he was leaving his newest guest in capable hands. And if the rascally Ranger acted up in any dastardly way, not that he ever had in the past but Barley was always expecting it (or perhaps hoping for it), but if he ever did, Merrily would give him what for.
After Strider put Merrily down, she went back to the stove and stirred the onions and carrots. “Come on, Esme, help me pour these out. That’s it, now more butter and oil and then put the celery root and butternut squash in the pan. There you go, good girl. And use that stool to stand on, I don’t want you teetering on your tiptoes, you’ll knock over the frying pan and then what will everyone eat for dinner? There, there. I may bark at you but you are a good girl and I’m lucky to have you.”
Esme smiled and bobbed a quick curtsey before clambering onto the stool. “Thank you, Mistress.” She shot a quick glance at Strider, her eyes big. Though she’d seen the Ranger at the Pony and around Bree before, this was her first chance to have a look at him close up. It made her glad to have braved the snowfall and left home that morning even though she knew Mistress Butterbur would have understood if she’d stayed home warm and cozy. But Esmeralda was fond of her work at the Pony and, though she would not admit it to Merrily, just as fond of her talkative mistress. She hadn’t liked to think of Merrily alone with a full house to cook for. Plus, you could learn more during one day at the Pony under Mistress Butterbur’s tutelage than a year staying at home.
Merrily joined Strider, who had seated himself at the large wooden table in the center of the kitchen. She proceeded to oversee Esme as the hobbit lass continued to brown the vegetables, seasoning everything liberally with salt and pepper before distributing each set among three large baking dishes, until she finally browned the mushrooms in the last measure of butter and oil.
“Smells good, Merrily,” Strider said, deep into a mug of Barliman’s finest brew. “Especially after a month of jerky, dried fruit and stale biscuits. Soggy stale biscuits, I should say, what with all the rain getting into everything. Oh! That reminds me. I’ve brought you something. It’s in my pack. I hope it’s still dry.”
“Did you? Well, let’s have it.” Merrily sniffed the twist of rough brown paper Strider handed her. Her face lit up. “Marjoram! And I was just wanting some though I’ve been out for months. Wherever did you find this? Come over here, Esme, I want you to smell this.”
While Merrily and Esmeralda opened the packet carefully and sniffed the herb, exclaiming over its fresh strong scent even though it was dry, Strider answered Merrily’s question.
“I was down south of the Shire a month or so ago.”
“Oh, that place! You have folk there, don’t you, Esme?”
“Yes, Mistress, round about Michel Delving and those parts, not that I’ve ever been there. Not yet at least.”
Strider cleared his throat and continued. “Well, I was down south a while back and stopped the night at a village.”
“A hobbit village?” Esme asked, her eyes round. “Outside the Shire? Well, I never …” She had not heard of any hobbits south of the actual Shire but then you never knew what outlandish things those hobbits Inside might get up to. Who knows, maybe they were colonizing outside the Bounds. The thought made her shiver with a sort of appalled delight.
Strider smiled. “No, Esme, a few days south and east of the Shire is a small village of Men. Really, more of an outpost of my people.”
“Your people …” Merrily said, giving Strider a sharp look. He’d never exactly been talkative about his people. She opened her mouth to ask a question or two for truly she had always been fascinated by this mysterious Ranger, well, fascinated by all the Rangers who stopped now and then at the Pony but especially this particular mysterious Ranger. The one who the other Rangers always seemed to answer to in some way, not that Strider ever acted like he was in charge exactly. But then she though better of it. Curious and talkative as she was, Merrily Butterbur was no fool and well knew that, while prying questions sometimes got you the information you wanted (and sometimes more than you wanted), for some folk that was the absolutely wrong tactic. And Merrily Butterbur was nothing if not tactical and strategic. So she just said, “Hmm … and you found some marjoram there?”
Strider grinned. “I did. And thought of you. I figured you might have a use for it some day.”
Merrily quite liked it when Strider smiled, not least because he did it so infrequently. She had no way of knowing that her company tended to bring out the smiles from the naturally dour and circumspect Ranger. Mostly she just thought it made him look less grim, almost handsome though certainly not in the solid Bree-ish way. While she turned these things over in her mind, she said aloud, “And that day is today, thank you very much. But first, Esme, put the mushrooms in the baking dishes and give them all a good stirring. Make sure everything is mixed evenly. It wouldn’t do for one guest to get nothing but parsnips and another just carrots.”
While Esme did that, Merrily took a large saucepan of mushroom broth that had been simmering at the back of the stove and poured it into the frying pan, then stirred it vigorously to remove any of the delicious fried bits stuck to the pan.
“Now, Strider, if you would do the honors, let’s have a good handful of that marjoram.”
Strider was very happy to oblige and scattered the herb with an expert hand over the bubbling liquid. Merrily whisked it all in and exclaimed, “Oh, how fresh it smells! I could almost think it spring outside if it weren’t for the fact that the windows are all snowed over!”
They all smiled. As inviting as the kitchen had already been smelling, what with the butter and oil and caramelizing vegetables mingling together in a hearty, earthy aroma that sharpened the appetite, the marjoram added a level of intense freshness that balanced out the heaviness of the browned vegetables.
Soon Merrily and Esmeralda had the savory broth well mixed with the vegetables and placed the baking dishes in the large oven to continue cooking.
“Whew!” Esmeralda said after she shut the oven door.
“Hard work, isn’t it?” Strider asked with a grin. He liked this Esmeralda Banks; she had a sharp eye and a good hand in the kitchen. Not that he was surprised. Merrily Butterbur did not suffer fools in her kitchen.
“Oh, she’s just begun,” Merrily answered, laughing. “Remember that cream you were trying to set out earlier?”
“Now?” Esme said, consternation written all over her round face.
“Very well, ten minutes rest, off you go, get a sniff of cold air outside, then we have to make the dough. That’s the best part of this recipe, if you ask me, being fond of a good crust and this is as fine as I’ve ever made or tasted, if I do say so myself. I’ve experimented many a time to get it to this point.”
“I won’t argue with you, having eaten your cooking many times though not this particular dish,” Strider said. “May I smoke?” he asked, waiting for Merrily’s nod of assent before pulling out his pipe and pouch of tobacco from his pack.
“Shire tobacco?” Merrily asked with an arched eyebrow.
Strider shook his head. “Not today. I’ve got some Southlinch someone gave me a month or so ago. Just have a little left. I’m hoping to get some more while I’m here.”
“I expect that could be arranged. I’ll mention it to Barley; he always has a goodly supply. But where might you have gotten Southlinch tobacco a month or so ago when you were southeast of the Shire and nowhere near the Bree-land?”
Strider flushed a bit. Now, wasn’t that an odd occurrence, thought Merrily. She supposed it could be from the heat, well, she supposed it could be but Strider wasn’t sitting near the hearth. No, that was an actual flush from her favorite mysterious Ranger.
“Now what would the folk who live south and east of the Shire a ways be doing with Southlinch tobacco, I wonder? Southlinch is a bit far from their home, isn’t it? Or are they travelers like you?”
Strider shrugged, then pretended to busy himself with his pipe. Oh, that pipe is in no danger of going out, Merrily thought, but I’ll give him his time.
Eventually, when Strider showed no signs of answering her question, Merrily sighed heavily in exasperation. “If you aren’t the most aggravating man.”
Strider took his pipe from his mouth and, waving it around with one hand, said with an innocent look in his eyes that did not fool Merrily one bit, “What in Middle-earth do you mean, Merrily?”
“You know very well what I mean.”
Strider threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, I suppose I do. I am sorry, I do not mean to be so … well …”
“Aggravating! Mysterious! Aggravatingly mysterious! My word, Strider, you’ve been coming here for years, even back when Barley’s father ran this place, and for all I know his father before him. You’d think you could let your guard down just a little. Who do you think Barley and I might be, some agent of …” And then Merrily ran out of words and certainly out of breath. It was also her turn to flush. Drat! Now she’d done it. He’d clam up worse than ever, she was sure of it.
“Agent of the Enemy?” Though he had been laughing, now Strider had turned serious again, deadly serious, though he spoke in an even, quiet voice.
“Enemy?” Merrily echoed in a faint voice. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Bree is a fine place, a peaceful town, and I and my people mean to keep it so. There are those in the world who would rather see it otherwise.”
Merrily took a deep breath. While it was true that she had lived a sheltered life in the Bree-land all her days, she kept her eyes and ears open and knew that the world outside was a dangerous place, that there were creatures filled with malicious intent toward people like her. Marrying Barley and living at the Pony had brought it all just a little bit closer, sometimes too close for comfort though she was usually able to take refuge in her kitchen when some stranger arrived with news that made her feel lonesome and uncomfortable. She took another deep breath and was not surprised when her voice came out small and just a little quavering. “Folk, you say … in the East?”
Strider leaned forward and took Merrily’s hand, squeezing it for a moment before releasing it. “Yes, my dear. In the East. South and East though many miles away for the most part. It is my job and the job of my people to keep watch so that you and yours can live peaceful lives for as long as possible.”
“As long as possible …” Now it seemed all she could do was parrot what Strider was saying, but truly, she was stymied for anything else to say.
“Yes, as long as possible. The day may come when you will need to defend your home though I hope it never does.” Strider’s voice was gentle though his words frightened Merrily more than she had ever been in her life. He continued in this vein for several minutes, confiding a little of his life as a Ranger, hunting all evil things, keeping them from the peaceful communities of the Shire, of the Bree-land, of other places in Eriador that she had never heard of until this moment. Places like the little village a ways south and east of the Shire. Merrily’s world expanded enormously in the brief time Strider opened a little of his heart and mind to her. She was not sure she was glad he did though she had always wanted him to. But now that he had, she was not sure.
When he stopped talking, he sat back and relit his pipe, looking at Merrily with a quizzical expression as though asking her something even though he spoke no words.
Merrily nodded. “Thank you, Strider, thank you for telling me a little though that is just the edge of what you might confide, I believe.”
“Would you like to hear more?” He leaned forward, a strange, eager gleam in his eyes that brought quick tears to Merrily’s eyes.
She thought about it for a long moment, the only sounds to be heard the bubbling coming from the oven and the faint babble of merry voices in the Common Room. She was just about to open her mouth and speak when the door to the yard slammed open and shut and Esme came back into the room, stamping her feet and slapping her arms.
“Oh, it’s that cold outside! I fair thought I would freeze.”
And so the moment passed without Merrily giving her answer. Not only that, she was not sure what that answer would have been. In the days and months that followed, it always shamed her a little to realize it, as though she’d let Strider down in some way, not that he ever gave any indication that this was so. But for now, she shook the dark thoughts from her head. There was dinner to be seen to after all.
Merrily exchanged a quick smile with Strider and stood up. She hoped her relief at being rescued did not show too much. “Come on, Esme, let’s get started on that crust. And bring out the roast from the larder, we’ll need to slice it up. Some people can’t live on vegetables alone, and I’m one of them.”
***
Everyone at the Pony ate well that night. Most had more than one serving of the winter vegetable stew and declared the biscuit topping the best they’d ever had. Merrily was at her finest, exchanging high spirited jests with all manner of folk, Big and Little, including a few Dwarves who had been traveling up the Greenway when the snow had come.
Many stories were told and songs sung. Merrily would remember it as one of the best nights the Pony ever had, and that was saying a lot for that convivial establishment. Eventually, however, all the guests made their ways to their rooms, ready for a good night’s sleep, and sleep well they all did, full of beer, simple hearty food, and good company. At last, there was only Merrily, Esme, and Barley bustling back and forth between the Common Room and the kitchen with trays of dirty dishes. Strider was seated in a dark corner of the room as was his wont, filling his pipe with a new batch of Southlinch doled out by Barley.
Once everything was washed and dried and put away for the night, Esme went to the front door, peering out and shaking her head. Merrily and Strider joined her. Their breath misted before them as they surveyed the silent white land before them, the courtyard and beyond that the Road.
“How will I get home?” Esme’s voice shook a little.
“Well, not tonight,” Merrily said, squeezing Esme’s shoulder with what was hopefully a comforting grip. “You’ll stay here. I’ll make up a pallet for you in the kitchen. You’ll be nice and toasty warm there.”
“Oh, my folks won’t like that.”
“They’ll understand. They’d probably have my hide if I let you even try to get home. Look at it! Can’t even really see the road.”
“How far are you from home?” Strider asked.
“Oh, not far, just up the road a way, up on the hill where we hobbit kind live.”
“Well, then, what say you? Are you ready for a little adventure, Mistress Banks?”
“What?” That was both Esme and Merrily exclaiming in unison.
To the end of her days, Merrily described with great relish (and with more than a little dramatic embellishment) the moment when the future King of the Reunited Kingdom North and South had knelt before an astonished Esmeralda Banks and said, “Climb onto my back. I think we can make a go of it. ‘Tis but a little covering. I’ve seen worse, especially in the Misty Mountains.”
And didn’t Esme’s eyes just turn round as saucers.
Merrily laughed, shivering hard for it was well and truly freezing. “Well, go on. How often do you get a chance like this? Be something to tell your children and grandchildren some day, how a mysterious Ranger gave you a piggyback ride home one night when the snow lay deep on the Bree-hill.”
Esme clambered up on Strider’s back, clinging to his shoulders.
And off they went. Just as they turned out of the courtyard onto the Road, Strider waved. “Keep a fire going for me, Merrily! I’ll be back soon!” And then off they went, Esme shrieking with laughter and Strider forcing his way through the drifts.
“I can do a bit better than just tend the fire,” Merrily murmured as she shut the door. Tired as she was from the long day, she moved with a quick purpose, preparing to make ready a hot water bottle or two to put in Strider’s hobbit-sized bed. To welcome him home.
“Home,” she said aloud as she wrapped the bottles in flannel and carried them to Strider’s room. “He’s never said where that is. I’ve never even wondered before. Maybe that village south of the Shire he mentioned?”
Merrily drew back the covers on Strider’s little bed and placed the bottles at its foot. “Oh, Merrily, you should have asked. Not that he would have answered, would he?”
She drew the covers back up over the bed and lit the bedside candle. Standing at the door, she looked at the snug room. “Well, you could still have asked. Wouldn’t have hurt.”
Merrily made her way to her own bed then. Barley was already tucked up and snoring softly. She settled herself next to his solid warmth but, as tired as she was, she did not fall asleep right away.
How could she when the last member of that night’s household was still out in the cold? No, Merrily lay awake until she heard the distant sound of the front door opening and closing. Then, finally, Merrily felt her eyes grow heavy as sleep called, insistent and welcome. Her day was done.
***
Aragorn padded through the Pony’s dark passageways, shivering a little for he was dressed only in his spare shirt. The rest of his clothing, wet and cold, he held in his arms though away from his body as far as was practical.
The kitchen was warm, retaining the heat from the oven and the open hearth. Aragorn arranged several chairs by the hearth and began spreading out his clothing, including his old worn boots. They’d be dry by morning, not that he was planning on leaving then. He’d stay a few days at the Pony; he could afford to wait for the thaw to set in. It wouldn’t be long, after all it was March.
Once he had placed all his clothing to his satisfaction, he turned to go back to his room but then thought the better of it, instead disappearing into the larder for a few minutes. When he emerged, his arms were full again, but not with wet clothes. No, indeed. Aragorn son of Arathorn had conducted a very successful raid on Merrily Butterbur’s larder and pantry though he would confess to her in the morning. He suspected she would not mind. And after all, seeing Esmeralda home had been hard work. He’d most certainly earned his midnight feast.
Aragorn made his way carefully back through the halls to his room and set down the slice of dried apple tart, chunk of yellow cheese, thick slice of ham, two or three hard boiled eggs and a large mug of milk. He pulled back the covers of his bed and got in, jackknifing his long legs so he would fit. He smiled when his cold feet met the warmth of the hot water bottles Merrily had left for him. Bless her. She was a good soul. He was not sure what had prompted him to confide in her (a little) earlier that day, but it had felt right. Unusual but right. As talkative as Merrily was, she knew how to keep secrets. He wondered if she would have asked to hear more of his story or if she had heard more than enough by the time Esme had come bustling back into the kitchen. He did not hazard a guess one way or the other, best not to.
He continued turning over the events of the day as he munched his way through his booty and washed it all down with milk. Once he was finished, he brushed various and sundry crumbs from his bedclothes, blew out the candle, and settled into the bed, various knees and elbows poking out over the edge a bit. But he didn’t notice the awkwardness for he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the soft pillow, the first real pillow he’d had under his head in more than a few weeks. He sighed once or twice in his sleep, the happy replete sigh of the well-satisfied, another infrequent occurrence. Then he slept through the night, dreaming for once of nothing but happy, contented things, safe and sound in the Inn of the Prancing Pony, by Barliman and Merrily Butterbur.
Recipe. Found this online, am now forgetting exactly where, might have been Bon Appetit or maybe Food and Wine! Never had it but it does look delicious.
STEW
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup olive oil
1 large red onion, cut crosswise into 1/3-inch-thick rounds
3 medium carrots, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 celery root (about 1 pound), peeled and cut into 1-inch pieces
1 butternut squash (about 1 1/2 pounds), peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces
1 acorn squash (about 1 1/2 pounds), peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces
3 parsnips—peeled and quartered lengthwise
5 medium Portobello mushrooms (about 1 pound), stems reserved for broth, caps cut into 1-inch pieces
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1/4 teaspoon marjoram
4 cups Mushroom Broth (see Note)
CHEDDAR BISCUIT CRUST
1 stick (4 ounces) cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
1 cup shredded sharp Cheddar cheese (4 ounces)
1 cup heavy cream
2 cups all-purpose flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons minced garlic
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon coarsely ground pepper
Preheat the oven to 400°. In a large nonreactive skillet, melt 1 tablespoon of the butter in 1 tablespoon of the oil over moderately high heat. Add the onion and carrots and cook, stirring occasionally, until browned all over, about 10 minutes; transfer to a large roasting pan.
Add another tablespoon each of butter and oil to the skillet. Add the celery root and butternut squash, and cook, stirring occasionally, until browned all over, about 10 minutes; transfer to the roasting pan. Repeat the cooking process using another tablespoon each of butter and oil and the acorn squash and parsnips. Add the remaining tablespoon each of butter and oil. Add the Portobellos and cook, stirring occasionally, until tender and browned all over, about 6 minutes; transfer to the roasting pan and stir to mix.
Add the Mushroom Broth to the skillet and bring to a simmer over high heat, scraping up any browned bits. Pour the broth over the vegetables. Season with salt and pepper and add the marjoram. Cover with foil and cook the vegetables in the oven for about 45 minutes, or until just tender when pierced. Increase the oven temperature to 450° and cook, uncovered, for 5 minutes longer.
Meanwhile, make the Cheddar biscuit crust: In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, garlic, salt and pepper. Using a pastry cutter or 2 knives, cut in the butter until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Stir in the cheese. Add the cream and mix lightly with a wooden spoon until the dough just holds together. Cover and set aside.
Using a large spoon, dollop the biscuit dough on the vegetable stew; there will be some bald spots. Bake for about 20 minutes, or until the crust is cooked through and golden.
NOTES In a pinch, use chicken stock or canned low-sodium broth.
SUGGESTED PAIRING
If you want to emphasize the richness of the vegetables and the Cheddar biscuit crust, choose a robust Gigondas, such as the soft, round, earthy-but-lighter-than-most Domaine du Pourra. For a more offbeat partnering, try a Fontodi Chianti Classico Riserva. The simpler choice is a really good C&ôtes du Rhône: Domaine de la Solitude.
FROM EDITOR’S PICKS: GRACE PARISI’S FAVORITE F&W RECIPES, EDITOR’S PICKS: MARCIA KIESEL’S FAVORITE F&W RECIPES, SUNDAY NIGHT STEWS
PUBLISHED JANUARY 1997
Title: Mistress Butterbur and the Ranger
Author: Baranduin
Rating: G
Warnings: Rather fluffy
Characters: Strider, OFC
Summary: This combines two of the winter prompts: two or more characters snowed in plus a story highlighting a recipe. This story is an excuse for wallowing in food :-) I know this is being posted outside the fest timeframe though I believe that's all right. If not, I'll remove asap.
Notes: Thanks for Phil Rickman for Merrily's name ...
Mistress Merrily Butterbur was fortunate in her married surname. Born a Goatleaf, she felt from early childhood that the name never suited her, not that she ever said so to her parents. But on her wedding day, she happily slipped off Goatleaf for Butterbur. And a Butterbur she was from the top of her curly golden brown head to the tips of her plump toes.
For you see, Mistress Butterbur was possessed of such a rounded perfection so complementary to Barley that they seemed a matched pair, even to the extent of their garrulousness.
This snowy March afternoon found the scullery maid, Esmeralda Banks, the target of Merrily’s unending speech though Merrily would have said she was merely instructing the lass for her own good. Which was true enough …
“Now, now, my girl,” Merrily was saying. “Lay out all our ingredients first so we can see what we have and make sure we’re not missing anything. Yes, that’s it … no, not the cream, it’s not time for that …”
Esme murmured, “You did say everything …”
“Well, so I did,” Merrily said, being after all a reasonable sort and not a tyrant, Esmeralda’s dark whispers to her sisters at night notwithstanding. “But that will come later, all in its due course. Just lay out all the vegetables first … onions and carrots, yes carrots, I think four big fat ones will do … and celery root, butternut squash, acorn squash, yes I want both squashes … mushrooms, the big kind, and don’t forget the parsnips. Drat … no good herbs left. Well, we’ll make do. After all it is the tail end of winter and guests mustn’t expect anything special, but I will keep them fed and warm, I can do that much or my name’s not Butterbur and I’ll give it back to Barley for him to keep to hisself.”
After Esmeralda lined up the piles of vegetables to Merrily’s satisfaction (more or less), the two began chopping and slicing and peeling. They started with the onions. Soon their eyes were streaming and Merrily was warning Esmeralda not to rub them with her fingers or she’d be sorry. A distant slam broke into her stream of chatter.
“Was that the front door?” Merrily looked up, dabbing at her eyes with her apron, fighting against ignoring her own advice, wanting to rub and rub and rub with her hands though she knew from painful experience what the cost of doing that would be.
“Dunno.” Esme’s eyes were red and wet but she also had a neat pile of sliced onion rings in front of her.
“I think it was. Who can that be? Oh, those are well done, Esme, and now we’ve done the hardest part. But we’re near full up already and who knows how long we’ll all be here with the snow coming down so hard and fast. And in March no less!”
Merrily did not have to wait long to find out who it was, for just then Barliman came bustling through the swinging door into the kitchen, bearing a overflowing tray of empty mugs to be washed.
“More guests?” Merrily asked, pursing her lips. “We’re near out of room already, I think. Do we have room?”
“Yes, my dear, just barely enough, I can put him in the last hobbit room though he’ll be a little cramped in the bed. I don’t think he’ll mind seeing as he’ll have a roof over his head. But it’s a good thing he’s on his own, otherwise I don’t know what we might have done.”
“And who is ‘he’?” she said as she started to brown the onions and carrots in a mixture of butter and vegetable oil. The smell of the onions caramelizing was tantalizing enough to draw the new guest to the kitchen though no doubt he would have ventured there eventually any way, being known to the household.
Merrily broke into a big grin when he came into the room. “Strider!” Then, just as quickly as she had smiled, she frowned. “Oh, you ruffian, you haven’t been here for months … and now here you are when we’ve barely a closet to spare, what with everyone being stuck here with the snowfall, Big Folk and Little! Snow in March! It’s not natural, it’s uncanny I say. Though I can’t deny it’s good for business. It’s not often we have a full house in winter, even if this is the raggle taggle end of it.”
Strider shed his sodden cloak, spreading it on a chair by the hearth to dry. He kept silent at first and wandered around the room, first peering at the chopped squashes and mushrooms, then bending over the enormous pan on the stove with the browning onions and carrots and sniffing appreciatively. “Shall I leave?” he finally said with a raised eyebrow. “What say you, Barley, shall I shelter in the stable? Perhaps you can find some spare hay for me for my bed.”
Merrily and Strider stared grimly at each for a moment, then they burst into laughter and Strider picked her up and twirled her around the room. Barley grinned and left to go back to his domain in the Common Room, knowing he was leaving his newest guest in capable hands. And if the rascally Ranger acted up in any dastardly way, not that he ever had in the past but Barley was always expecting it (or perhaps hoping for it), but if he ever did, Merrily would give him what for.
After Strider put Merrily down, she went back to the stove and stirred the onions and carrots. “Come on, Esme, help me pour these out. That’s it, now more butter and oil and then put the celery root and butternut squash in the pan. There you go, good girl. And use that stool to stand on, I don’t want you teetering on your tiptoes, you’ll knock over the frying pan and then what will everyone eat for dinner? There, there. I may bark at you but you are a good girl and I’m lucky to have you.”
Esme smiled and bobbed a quick curtsey before clambering onto the stool. “Thank you, Mistress.” She shot a quick glance at Strider, her eyes big. Though she’d seen the Ranger at the Pony and around Bree before, this was her first chance to have a look at him close up. It made her glad to have braved the snowfall and left home that morning even though she knew Mistress Butterbur would have understood if she’d stayed home warm and cozy. But Esmeralda was fond of her work at the Pony and, though she would not admit it to Merrily, just as fond of her talkative mistress. She hadn’t liked to think of Merrily alone with a full house to cook for. Plus, you could learn more during one day at the Pony under Mistress Butterbur’s tutelage than a year staying at home.
Merrily joined Strider, who had seated himself at the large wooden table in the center of the kitchen. She proceeded to oversee Esme as the hobbit lass continued to brown the vegetables, seasoning everything liberally with salt and pepper before distributing each set among three large baking dishes, until she finally browned the mushrooms in the last measure of butter and oil.
“Smells good, Merrily,” Strider said, deep into a mug of Barliman’s finest brew. “Especially after a month of jerky, dried fruit and stale biscuits. Soggy stale biscuits, I should say, what with all the rain getting into everything. Oh! That reminds me. I’ve brought you something. It’s in my pack. I hope it’s still dry.”
“Did you? Well, let’s have it.” Merrily sniffed the twist of rough brown paper Strider handed her. Her face lit up. “Marjoram! And I was just wanting some though I’ve been out for months. Wherever did you find this? Come over here, Esme, I want you to smell this.”
While Merrily and Esmeralda opened the packet carefully and sniffed the herb, exclaiming over its fresh strong scent even though it was dry, Strider answered Merrily’s question.
“I was down south of the Shire a month or so ago.”
“Oh, that place! You have folk there, don’t you, Esme?”
“Yes, Mistress, round about Michel Delving and those parts, not that I’ve ever been there. Not yet at least.”
Strider cleared his throat and continued. “Well, I was down south a while back and stopped the night at a village.”
“A hobbit village?” Esme asked, her eyes round. “Outside the Shire? Well, I never …” She had not heard of any hobbits south of the actual Shire but then you never knew what outlandish things those hobbits Inside might get up to. Who knows, maybe they were colonizing outside the Bounds. The thought made her shiver with a sort of appalled delight.
Strider smiled. “No, Esme, a few days south and east of the Shire is a small village of Men. Really, more of an outpost of my people.”
“Your people …” Merrily said, giving Strider a sharp look. He’d never exactly been talkative about his people. She opened her mouth to ask a question or two for truly she had always been fascinated by this mysterious Ranger, well, fascinated by all the Rangers who stopped now and then at the Pony but especially this particular mysterious Ranger. The one who the other Rangers always seemed to answer to in some way, not that Strider ever acted like he was in charge exactly. But then she though better of it. Curious and talkative as she was, Merrily Butterbur was no fool and well knew that, while prying questions sometimes got you the information you wanted (and sometimes more than you wanted), for some folk that was the absolutely wrong tactic. And Merrily Butterbur was nothing if not tactical and strategic. So she just said, “Hmm … and you found some marjoram there?”
Strider grinned. “I did. And thought of you. I figured you might have a use for it some day.”
Merrily quite liked it when Strider smiled, not least because he did it so infrequently. She had no way of knowing that her company tended to bring out the smiles from the naturally dour and circumspect Ranger. Mostly she just thought it made him look less grim, almost handsome though certainly not in the solid Bree-ish way. While she turned these things over in her mind, she said aloud, “And that day is today, thank you very much. But first, Esme, put the mushrooms in the baking dishes and give them all a good stirring. Make sure everything is mixed evenly. It wouldn’t do for one guest to get nothing but parsnips and another just carrots.”
While Esme did that, Merrily took a large saucepan of mushroom broth that had been simmering at the back of the stove and poured it into the frying pan, then stirred it vigorously to remove any of the delicious fried bits stuck to the pan.
“Now, Strider, if you would do the honors, let’s have a good handful of that marjoram.”
Strider was very happy to oblige and scattered the herb with an expert hand over the bubbling liquid. Merrily whisked it all in and exclaimed, “Oh, how fresh it smells! I could almost think it spring outside if it weren’t for the fact that the windows are all snowed over!”
They all smiled. As inviting as the kitchen had already been smelling, what with the butter and oil and caramelizing vegetables mingling together in a hearty, earthy aroma that sharpened the appetite, the marjoram added a level of intense freshness that balanced out the heaviness of the browned vegetables.
Soon Merrily and Esmeralda had the savory broth well mixed with the vegetables and placed the baking dishes in the large oven to continue cooking.
“Whew!” Esmeralda said after she shut the oven door.
“Hard work, isn’t it?” Strider asked with a grin. He liked this Esmeralda Banks; she had a sharp eye and a good hand in the kitchen. Not that he was surprised. Merrily Butterbur did not suffer fools in her kitchen.
“Oh, she’s just begun,” Merrily answered, laughing. “Remember that cream you were trying to set out earlier?”
“Now?” Esme said, consternation written all over her round face.
“Very well, ten minutes rest, off you go, get a sniff of cold air outside, then we have to make the dough. That’s the best part of this recipe, if you ask me, being fond of a good crust and this is as fine as I’ve ever made or tasted, if I do say so myself. I’ve experimented many a time to get it to this point.”
“I won’t argue with you, having eaten your cooking many times though not this particular dish,” Strider said. “May I smoke?” he asked, waiting for Merrily’s nod of assent before pulling out his pipe and pouch of tobacco from his pack.
“Shire tobacco?” Merrily asked with an arched eyebrow.
Strider shook his head. “Not today. I’ve got some Southlinch someone gave me a month or so ago. Just have a little left. I’m hoping to get some more while I’m here.”
“I expect that could be arranged. I’ll mention it to Barley; he always has a goodly supply. But where might you have gotten Southlinch tobacco a month or so ago when you were southeast of the Shire and nowhere near the Bree-land?”
Strider flushed a bit. Now, wasn’t that an odd occurrence, thought Merrily. She supposed it could be from the heat, well, she supposed it could be but Strider wasn’t sitting near the hearth. No, that was an actual flush from her favorite mysterious Ranger.
“Now what would the folk who live south and east of the Shire a ways be doing with Southlinch tobacco, I wonder? Southlinch is a bit far from their home, isn’t it? Or are they travelers like you?”
Strider shrugged, then pretended to busy himself with his pipe. Oh, that pipe is in no danger of going out, Merrily thought, but I’ll give him his time.
Eventually, when Strider showed no signs of answering her question, Merrily sighed heavily in exasperation. “If you aren’t the most aggravating man.”
Strider took his pipe from his mouth and, waving it around with one hand, said with an innocent look in his eyes that did not fool Merrily one bit, “What in Middle-earth do you mean, Merrily?”
“You know very well what I mean.”
Strider threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, I suppose I do. I am sorry, I do not mean to be so … well …”
“Aggravating! Mysterious! Aggravatingly mysterious! My word, Strider, you’ve been coming here for years, even back when Barley’s father ran this place, and for all I know his father before him. You’d think you could let your guard down just a little. Who do you think Barley and I might be, some agent of …” And then Merrily ran out of words and certainly out of breath. It was also her turn to flush. Drat! Now she’d done it. He’d clam up worse than ever, she was sure of it.
“Agent of the Enemy?” Though he had been laughing, now Strider had turned serious again, deadly serious, though he spoke in an even, quiet voice.
“Enemy?” Merrily echoed in a faint voice. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Bree is a fine place, a peaceful town, and I and my people mean to keep it so. There are those in the world who would rather see it otherwise.”
Merrily took a deep breath. While it was true that she had lived a sheltered life in the Bree-land all her days, she kept her eyes and ears open and knew that the world outside was a dangerous place, that there were creatures filled with malicious intent toward people like her. Marrying Barley and living at the Pony had brought it all just a little bit closer, sometimes too close for comfort though she was usually able to take refuge in her kitchen when some stranger arrived with news that made her feel lonesome and uncomfortable. She took another deep breath and was not surprised when her voice came out small and just a little quavering. “Folk, you say … in the East?”
Strider leaned forward and took Merrily’s hand, squeezing it for a moment before releasing it. “Yes, my dear. In the East. South and East though many miles away for the most part. It is my job and the job of my people to keep watch so that you and yours can live peaceful lives for as long as possible.”
“As long as possible …” Now it seemed all she could do was parrot what Strider was saying, but truly, she was stymied for anything else to say.
“Yes, as long as possible. The day may come when you will need to defend your home though I hope it never does.” Strider’s voice was gentle though his words frightened Merrily more than she had ever been in her life. He continued in this vein for several minutes, confiding a little of his life as a Ranger, hunting all evil things, keeping them from the peaceful communities of the Shire, of the Bree-land, of other places in Eriador that she had never heard of until this moment. Places like the little village a ways south and east of the Shire. Merrily’s world expanded enormously in the brief time Strider opened a little of his heart and mind to her. She was not sure she was glad he did though she had always wanted him to. But now that he had, she was not sure.
When he stopped talking, he sat back and relit his pipe, looking at Merrily with a quizzical expression as though asking her something even though he spoke no words.
Merrily nodded. “Thank you, Strider, thank you for telling me a little though that is just the edge of what you might confide, I believe.”
“Would you like to hear more?” He leaned forward, a strange, eager gleam in his eyes that brought quick tears to Merrily’s eyes.
She thought about it for a long moment, the only sounds to be heard the bubbling coming from the oven and the faint babble of merry voices in the Common Room. She was just about to open her mouth and speak when the door to the yard slammed open and shut and Esme came back into the room, stamping her feet and slapping her arms.
“Oh, it’s that cold outside! I fair thought I would freeze.”
And so the moment passed without Merrily giving her answer. Not only that, she was not sure what that answer would have been. In the days and months that followed, it always shamed her a little to realize it, as though she’d let Strider down in some way, not that he ever gave any indication that this was so. But for now, she shook the dark thoughts from her head. There was dinner to be seen to after all.
Merrily exchanged a quick smile with Strider and stood up. She hoped her relief at being rescued did not show too much. “Come on, Esme, let’s get started on that crust. And bring out the roast from the larder, we’ll need to slice it up. Some people can’t live on vegetables alone, and I’m one of them.”
***
Everyone at the Pony ate well that night. Most had more than one serving of the winter vegetable stew and declared the biscuit topping the best they’d ever had. Merrily was at her finest, exchanging high spirited jests with all manner of folk, Big and Little, including a few Dwarves who had been traveling up the Greenway when the snow had come.
Many stories were told and songs sung. Merrily would remember it as one of the best nights the Pony ever had, and that was saying a lot for that convivial establishment. Eventually, however, all the guests made their ways to their rooms, ready for a good night’s sleep, and sleep well they all did, full of beer, simple hearty food, and good company. At last, there was only Merrily, Esme, and Barley bustling back and forth between the Common Room and the kitchen with trays of dirty dishes. Strider was seated in a dark corner of the room as was his wont, filling his pipe with a new batch of Southlinch doled out by Barley.
Once everything was washed and dried and put away for the night, Esme went to the front door, peering out and shaking her head. Merrily and Strider joined her. Their breath misted before them as they surveyed the silent white land before them, the courtyard and beyond that the Road.
“How will I get home?” Esme’s voice shook a little.
“Well, not tonight,” Merrily said, squeezing Esme’s shoulder with what was hopefully a comforting grip. “You’ll stay here. I’ll make up a pallet for you in the kitchen. You’ll be nice and toasty warm there.”
“Oh, my folks won’t like that.”
“They’ll understand. They’d probably have my hide if I let you even try to get home. Look at it! Can’t even really see the road.”
“How far are you from home?” Strider asked.
“Oh, not far, just up the road a way, up on the hill where we hobbit kind live.”
“Well, then, what say you? Are you ready for a little adventure, Mistress Banks?”
“What?” That was both Esme and Merrily exclaiming in unison.
To the end of her days, Merrily described with great relish (and with more than a little dramatic embellishment) the moment when the future King of the Reunited Kingdom North and South had knelt before an astonished Esmeralda Banks and said, “Climb onto my back. I think we can make a go of it. ‘Tis but a little covering. I’ve seen worse, especially in the Misty Mountains.”
And didn’t Esme’s eyes just turn round as saucers.
Merrily laughed, shivering hard for it was well and truly freezing. “Well, go on. How often do you get a chance like this? Be something to tell your children and grandchildren some day, how a mysterious Ranger gave you a piggyback ride home one night when the snow lay deep on the Bree-hill.”
Esme clambered up on Strider’s back, clinging to his shoulders.
And off they went. Just as they turned out of the courtyard onto the Road, Strider waved. “Keep a fire going for me, Merrily! I’ll be back soon!” And then off they went, Esme shrieking with laughter and Strider forcing his way through the drifts.
“I can do a bit better than just tend the fire,” Merrily murmured as she shut the door. Tired as she was from the long day, she moved with a quick purpose, preparing to make ready a hot water bottle or two to put in Strider’s hobbit-sized bed. To welcome him home.
“Home,” she said aloud as she wrapped the bottles in flannel and carried them to Strider’s room. “He’s never said where that is. I’ve never even wondered before. Maybe that village south of the Shire he mentioned?”
Merrily drew back the covers on Strider’s little bed and placed the bottles at its foot. “Oh, Merrily, you should have asked. Not that he would have answered, would he?”
She drew the covers back up over the bed and lit the bedside candle. Standing at the door, she looked at the snug room. “Well, you could still have asked. Wouldn’t have hurt.”
Merrily made her way to her own bed then. Barley was already tucked up and snoring softly. She settled herself next to his solid warmth but, as tired as she was, she did not fall asleep right away.
How could she when the last member of that night’s household was still out in the cold? No, Merrily lay awake until she heard the distant sound of the front door opening and closing. Then, finally, Merrily felt her eyes grow heavy as sleep called, insistent and welcome. Her day was done.
***
Aragorn padded through the Pony’s dark passageways, shivering a little for he was dressed only in his spare shirt. The rest of his clothing, wet and cold, he held in his arms though away from his body as far as was practical.
The kitchen was warm, retaining the heat from the oven and the open hearth. Aragorn arranged several chairs by the hearth and began spreading out his clothing, including his old worn boots. They’d be dry by morning, not that he was planning on leaving then. He’d stay a few days at the Pony; he could afford to wait for the thaw to set in. It wouldn’t be long, after all it was March.
Once he had placed all his clothing to his satisfaction, he turned to go back to his room but then thought the better of it, instead disappearing into the larder for a few minutes. When he emerged, his arms were full again, but not with wet clothes. No, indeed. Aragorn son of Arathorn had conducted a very successful raid on Merrily Butterbur’s larder and pantry though he would confess to her in the morning. He suspected she would not mind. And after all, seeing Esmeralda home had been hard work. He’d most certainly earned his midnight feast.
Aragorn made his way carefully back through the halls to his room and set down the slice of dried apple tart, chunk of yellow cheese, thick slice of ham, two or three hard boiled eggs and a large mug of milk. He pulled back the covers of his bed and got in, jackknifing his long legs so he would fit. He smiled when his cold feet met the warmth of the hot water bottles Merrily had left for him. Bless her. She was a good soul. He was not sure what had prompted him to confide in her (a little) earlier that day, but it had felt right. Unusual but right. As talkative as Merrily was, she knew how to keep secrets. He wondered if she would have asked to hear more of his story or if she had heard more than enough by the time Esme had come bustling back into the kitchen. He did not hazard a guess one way or the other, best not to.
He continued turning over the events of the day as he munched his way through his booty and washed it all down with milk. Once he was finished, he brushed various and sundry crumbs from his bedclothes, blew out the candle, and settled into the bed, various knees and elbows poking out over the edge a bit. But he didn’t notice the awkwardness for he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the soft pillow, the first real pillow he’d had under his head in more than a few weeks. He sighed once or twice in his sleep, the happy replete sigh of the well-satisfied, another infrequent occurrence. Then he slept through the night, dreaming for once of nothing but happy, contented things, safe and sound in the Inn of the Prancing Pony, by Barliman and Merrily Butterbur.
Recipe. Found this online, am now forgetting exactly where, might have been Bon Appetit or maybe Food and Wine! Never had it but it does look delicious.
STEW
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup olive oil
1 large red onion, cut crosswise into 1/3-inch-thick rounds
3 medium carrots, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 celery root (about 1 pound), peeled and cut into 1-inch pieces
1 butternut squash (about 1 1/2 pounds), peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces
1 acorn squash (about 1 1/2 pounds), peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces
3 parsnips—peeled and quartered lengthwise
5 medium Portobello mushrooms (about 1 pound), stems reserved for broth, caps cut into 1-inch pieces
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1/4 teaspoon marjoram
4 cups Mushroom Broth (see Note)
CHEDDAR BISCUIT CRUST
1 stick (4 ounces) cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
1 cup shredded sharp Cheddar cheese (4 ounces)
1 cup heavy cream
2 cups all-purpose flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons minced garlic
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon coarsely ground pepper
Preheat the oven to 400°. In a large nonreactive skillet, melt 1 tablespoon of the butter in 1 tablespoon of the oil over moderately high heat. Add the onion and carrots and cook, stirring occasionally, until browned all over, about 10 minutes; transfer to a large roasting pan.
Add another tablespoon each of butter and oil to the skillet. Add the celery root and butternut squash, and cook, stirring occasionally, until browned all over, about 10 minutes; transfer to the roasting pan. Repeat the cooking process using another tablespoon each of butter and oil and the acorn squash and parsnips. Add the remaining tablespoon each of butter and oil. Add the Portobellos and cook, stirring occasionally, until tender and browned all over, about 6 minutes; transfer to the roasting pan and stir to mix.
Add the Mushroom Broth to the skillet and bring to a simmer over high heat, scraping up any browned bits. Pour the broth over the vegetables. Season with salt and pepper and add the marjoram. Cover with foil and cook the vegetables in the oven for about 45 minutes, or until just tender when pierced. Increase the oven temperature to 450° and cook, uncovered, for 5 minutes longer.
Meanwhile, make the Cheddar biscuit crust: In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, garlic, salt and pepper. Using a pastry cutter or 2 knives, cut in the butter until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Stir in the cheese. Add the cream and mix lightly with a wooden spoon until the dough just holds together. Cover and set aside.
Using a large spoon, dollop the biscuit dough on the vegetable stew; there will be some bald spots. Bake for about 20 minutes, or until the crust is cooked through and golden.
NOTES In a pinch, use chicken stock or canned low-sodium broth.
SUGGESTED PAIRING
If you want to emphasize the richness of the vegetables and the Cheddar biscuit crust, choose a robust Gigondas, such as the soft, round, earthy-but-lighter-than-most Domaine du Pourra. For a more offbeat partnering, try a Fontodi Chianti Classico Riserva. The simpler choice is a really good C&ôtes du Rhône: Domaine de la Solitude.
FROM EDITOR’S PICKS: GRACE PARISI’S FAVORITE F&W RECIPES, EDITOR’S PICKS: MARCIA KIESEL’S FAVORITE F&W RECIPES, SUNDAY NIGHT STEWS
PUBLISHED JANUARY 1997
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