AN: I don't own any of The Hobbit/Lord of the Rings characters I am just taking them out of Tolkien's toy box and playing with them.
May the dawn of the Winter Solstice chase the dark away.
May it bring to you the promise of endless brand new days.
May all your sorrow vanish. And all your dreams come true.
And may the light of the Winter Solstice always shine on you.
Warning: Food porn.
Feast Day.
Bombur groaned as he rolled from his bed and dressed in the still darkness of the early morn. He'd spent the day previous in the kitchens with those who worked with him preparing for the day. Now they had to be down early to start the ovens and so the meal would be ready for that night. He was honoured to be chosen to work on the Feast Day. Mahal had granted him this blessing and there would be feasting in the Father's name that night.
Finally awake he strolled into the kitchens whistling a rolling tune. As he twisted his beard and braids out of the way, and even as he was donning the protective wear the first of the songs started.
Laughter and song filled the kitchen as they worked. For once they were cooking purely dwarven recipes and for the first time in a long time their supplies were plentiful.
Great steaming pies, made with suet pastry were the first to be made. Bombur grinned as he piled the beef, thyme and stout mixture into its casing. The next table along he could see Gladkral doing the same for the lamb, rosemary and garlic version. While Gorvae was taking great delight in teaching a new cook the finer details of his pigeon, bacon and hyssop pie. The lad's eyes going wide as he realised just how much ruby ale was in the mixture.
Pies in the oven they started on the meat itself. Bombur found himself in charge of the venison and rubbed his hands gleefully. He'd set a loin of the meat to marinate in a sloe gin and blackberry glaze the previous night and this he set to cook himself. His fellow cooks were working with other cuts. One was pan searing a blackberry, shallot and red wine coated joint. While another was roasting a rack of venison that had been cleverly coated in a garlic and herb crust.
Across the room the head cook was sweating gently as he spit roasted the boar Kili had caught on the princes' last hunting trip. Several pheasants, were been carefully roasted with either cider and blackberries or a lemon and thyme crust. Full salmons had been smoked when they were in season and there were now several cooks carefully slicing them and dressing them with butter, garlic, scallions, dill, parsley, lemon juice, salt and pepper. Duck was slowly simmering in the ovens, along with pans of either black cherry or raspberry ju. Sides of ham had been pre-baked and sat gleaming and golden in cold storage. Some were simple, roasted as they came while others had been studded with cloves, slices of oranges slipped under the skin. Some had been doused in a sugar syrup and others studded with pepper corns.
Vegetables were to be few in variety, but great in choices of dishes. Mushrooms braised in garlic butter, or deep fried in a groundnut batter. Mushrooms baked in blue cheese, or griddled with lashings of salt and pepper. Parsnips were roasted in a honey and black pepper glaze, or griddled with a handful of raspberries. There was a large pan of thick and creamy parsnip soup, and baby parsnips boiled until tender and coated in butter. Potatoes came in all forms, from the rich garlic and herb mash, to roasted in beef dripping. There were some cold and smothered in chives and sour cream, and others fried with chestnuts. There were fluffy croquettes and cheesy dauphinoise. Some had been baked in their skins in the embers of the flames. Finally there were the onions. Some had been simply boiled, some were pickled in a sweet, but herby vinegar. Others were fried until crispy, some battered. Onion and garlic soup sat bubbling merrily and some were baked after being wrapped in this slices of ham and covered with cheese.
Rounds of cheese came out of cold storage, and Bombur couldn't help but chuckle again at the sheer variety there. Some were filled with herbs, others fruit and some peppers or onions. There was a selection of blue cheese, soft cheese, hard cheese and spreadable cheese. These were trayed up with crackers of all kinds and loaves of bread fresh from the ovens.
Bombur smiled slyly as the last of the savouries left the kitchen. Dessert was a serious business. He was in charge of the large crumbles that needed to be sent out. The crumble itself was the same for all of his dishes. Brown sugar, butter, nutmeg and cinnamon. The fillings were mouth-watering. Black cherry with raspberries, hibiscus syrup and a splash of rum. Apples cooked with brown sugar, nutmeg and a hefty dose of Calvados. The first of the rhubarb, liberally enhanced with whiskey and ginger. The final filling was of pears with a vanilla liqueur and enhanced with ground almonds.
Across the room cooks battle with vats of egg custard, valiantly getting the balance of nutmeg and creaminess just right. Jugs of thick cream and brandy laced sauce were the final additions to the trays that were made up.
As the final server left the kitchens a small silence filled the air as every cook took a relieved breath. The head cook was the first to break. Chuckling merrily he cracked open several bottles of spiced rum which had been warming next to the fire and his wife ladled out bowls of steaming beef and ale casserole with chunks of thyme bread.
While the nobles, royalty and patrons of Erebor finished their feast the cooks honoured Mahal in their own way.