It was always cold in that part of the Shire when Thanksgiving rolled around. Usually it meant that Frodo and Sam were to travel a long distance in order to share in the victuals, the fellowship, and the football. It was an opportunity for Frodo to be waited upon, as opposed to the shared labor which Sam required of him. The perfect holiday memory was, however, clouded by the annual struggle over the dressing.
Frodo had been raised on a mushy dressing, so soft that one wouldn't even need to chew. Simply roll it around in one's mouth two or three times and let it slide lovingly down into the swelling receptacle at the end of the gullet. Sam's Mother, casting all of her other culinary talents aside, had obviously been the victim of abuse as a child. She had been introduced to a dressing which was only suitable for use as a puck by teams in the National Hockey League.
Annually, at Thanksgiving dinner, and for the remaining meals in that time period, Frodo was confronted by the presence of a hockey puck immediately adjacent to the candied yams and the green peas on his plate. At first he would tactfully observe what the other sufferers did to dispose of the disgusting geode. Sam would simply push things around on the plate, and eventually no one could tell what was left on the plate. Sam's Father had a special relationship with Prissy and Gumbo (canines of the period) who, being strong of tooth, would be able to surreptitiously down any object laid before them. Other guests simply wandered from the table to catch the "latest score" and left the brick in place.
Frodo was always trapped by the question, "How do you like the dressing? You don't seem to have eaten much of it?" Frodo's eyes met Sam's every year, and only the subtle threat of locked ocular orbits kept him from answering truthfully. Always, Frodo endured. Sam still owes Frodo, big time.
Time has passed and such a trip is no longer possible. Frodo misses the fellowship very much, so much so in fact that one more hockey puck wouldn't be so bad after all.
Happy Thanksgiving. Eat the dressing.
Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:06 PM EST