When Sam entered Bag End this fine late winter (or, optimistically, early spring) day, he found Frodo in the kitchen, merrily engrossed in baking preparations.
"Oh hullo, Sam!" Frodo called out cheerily when he saw him hovering near the door to the kitchen.
"Good day, Mr. Frodo," Sam respectfully replied.
"It is a good day, isn't it, Sam? You could almost believe spring is right around the corner. In fact, the excellent weather is what inspired me to try my hand at baking something new."
"Something new, sir?" As Sam made his way into the kitchen, a quick glance at the flour Mr. Frodo had out and ready to use diverted his interest from Frodo's baking, filling him instead with indignation on his employer's behalf. "Haven't I told you, sir, that that miller's son would cheat you as soon as look at you? An' I see he has! Look at this flour! The Master of Bag End should be gettin' the mill's finest grind, not its poorest!"
"My dear Sam, always so quick to my defence!" Frodo laughed. "I shan't deny that Ted Sandyman is not the most trustworthy of hobbits, but in this case you do him a disservice. I asked for coarse flour, Sam. It's for my special recipe."
"Oh," replied Sam, somewhat abashed. "What's this new recipe, then?"
"Most intriguing, really, Sam. I found what purports to be a Numenorean cookbook in the library. Fascinating recipes, very different from hobbit cooking! I thought, in honour of the new season, I'd try something new."
Sam sat down at the kitchen table. "This the book?" he asked.
"Yes, yes. See, here we are, Pelargirian porridge."
"Pelargirian?" Sam carefully repeated the unfamiliar word.
"Pelargir is a city in Gondor, but it was founded before the downfall of Numenor. The cookbook ascribes the recipe to the natives of the area, in fact."
"This recipe of yours must be terribly old, then."
"Indeed. It's quite simple, actually, compared to most of the recipes in the book; that's why I chose it. Just flour, water, hoop cheese, honey and eggs."
"That don't sound so different from plain hobbit food, Mr. Frodo."
"No, I suppose it isn't. But look through the rest of the book, Sam, while I put the porridge together, and you'll see what I mean."
While Mr. Frodo carefully measured out his flour to soak in water, Sam took up the book, but his master's actions raised a question. "Why coarse flour, beggin' yer pardon, sir?"
"Oh, yes. The person who copied the cookbook added a few helpful notes to the margins, explaining some of the more…foreign ingredients and things like that for his readers. He says the Numenoreans used mostly spelt, not wheat, for their flour, and it couldn't be as finely ground. I'm merely aiming for authenticity, my dear Sam."
"Well, if yer wantin' authenticity, I know of a few hobbits up Michel Delving way who grow spelt – to feed to their goats! Hard to imagine these high an' mighty Numenoreans eatin' it regular-like."
"I know, Sam, and you'll notice I did not go so far as to buy actual spelt! But look through the book; you'll soon see the spelt is the least of it." As he spoke, Frodo added what seemed like quite a lot of hoop cheese to the flour and water mixture.
Sam obediently paged through the book. "Asparagus an' pettichaps tart. Now why you'd go eatin' anythin' that sings so prettily, I'm sure I don't know. Crush the asparagus in a mortar- odd. Serve cold!" Sam made a face at that prospect.
Frodo added a dollop of honey and two eggs to the batter. "Not finding anything to your liking, Sam?"
"Well, here's a recipe fer rutabagas or turnips, that sounds plain enough. Says here to boil 'em an' serve 'em in a sauce of…cumin, rue, honey an' vinegar," Sam's face plainly showed what he thought of that combination, "an' garum? What's that?"
Frodo had poured the porridge mixture into a cake pan and set it in the oven to bake. "Oh, the garum. It's a kind of fish sauce. The Numenoreans being a sea-faring people, it seems they were absolutely mad for fish. Or perhaps just absolutely mad. It was the recipe for garum at the start of the book that had me almost convinced the entire thing was some sort of odd joke."
Sam flipped to the front of the book. "'Garum. Take a large, well-sealed container. Line the bottom with dill, coriander, fennel, celery, mint, oregano an' any other strong herbs you please.' Dill an' mint, together?"
"Read on," was Frodo's only response.
"'Put a layer of fatty fish, such as sardines, over this, an' then a layer of salt an inch thick. Repeat these layers until the container is full.' Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but this don't sound much like a sauce to me."
"Read on."
"'Seal the container an' let it rest in the sun for a week!' Were these Numenoreans tryin' to poison themselves, leavin' food to spoil in the sun! 'After this period, mix the sauce every day for twenty days, until it becomes liquid.' You can't seriously believe anyone ever ate such a vile mixture!"
"Oh, but it seems they did, Sam! In fact, if you look, it's in nearly every recipe in the book. They used it to season melon, apricots, rose petal and lamb's brain omelette-"
"Rose petal an' lamb's brain omelette! There's a recipe fer that in this book?" Sam looked revolted at the very idea.
"Yes indeed."
Suddenly Sam felt very dubious about eating anything that had come out of this cookbook, even if the recipe was as plain as Mr. Frodo had made this Pelargirian porridge sound.
Mr. Frodo must've sensed his hesitation, for he said, "Don't fret, Sam, for I believe I located the only recipe in the book without a drop of garum in it! Undoubtedly those natives had more sense than the Numenoreans when it came to such things."
"Well…"
"My dear Sam, where's your sense of adventure? We'll be eating something Isildur or Elendil or someone else out of one of Bilbo's tales might have eaten."
"Really, now?" Sam perked up a bit at that. He knew he wasn't really an adventurous hobbit – there certainly wasn't a bit of Took in him – but he did love a good tale, and he tried to be open-minded about such things, despite what his Gaffer'd say, for Mr. Frodo's sake. Now there was a hobbit with an adventurous streak, and quite lonely now that Mr. Bilbo was gone, such that Sam felt it his duty to be as much of a friend to him as one gardener lad could be to the Master of Bag End.
"Really, Sam. And come now, doesn't it smell good baking?"
It did indeed. "I can't imagine how any hobbit could resist somethin' smells as good as that, Mr. Frodo."
Frodo smiled. "I'm happy to hear such praise for my baking, my dear Sam."
"Oh, every bit of your cookin' I've tried has been downright delicious, Mr. Frodo."
"I'm glad to hear that, Sam. Does that mean you'd be willing to try Elvish cuisine with me next?"
"That depends, sir. Are there any rotten fish involved?"