—Igris' Point of View—
After cleaning myself up, I got dressed and stepped outside. I leaned my arms against the marble edge of the balcony and gazed into the valley below. The sun had risen high, its light beginning to illuminate those elegant elven structures whose design was in perfect harmony with nature itself. For a brief moment, images from my previous world surfaced before my eyes—endless masses of concrete, towering skyscrapers piercing the sky. In my mind, birdsong blended with the blare of car horns, and the scent of flowers mixed with exhaust fumes and nitrogen.
When I compared my former world to the one I now lived in, a single truth became crystal clear:
"…I am definitely not a man of the modern age…"
To be honest, my previous world had many beautiful things, but factors like visual pollution, rampant urbanization, and moral decay were slowly killing nature. Scenes like this were becoming increasingly rare—but that was only natural. After all, everything has an end. That world was already living out its final years…
But I was in Arda now.
This was a younger world… a world still breathing.
After stretching calmly, I turned around and walked back inside, returning to the elven guard on duty.
"Where do you prepare the meals, by the way?"
The guard chuckled.
"What is it? Did elven food bother you?"
I smiled as I replied.
"Elves should eat like elves, Dúnedain like Dúnedain and dwarves like dwarves. If we don't want to witness a dwarf uprising anytime soon, I need to prepare some proper cooked food today."
The elf paused for a moment, then shrugged.
"Go up one level, turn left, keep going straight and at the end of the corridor you'll see a door. That's where we prepare the meals."
I nodded.
"Thank you."
He returned the gesture with a nod. I calmly went upstairs and headed in the direction he'd indicated. Along the way, I spotted a small, familiar figure leaning against the railing, gazing out with unmistakable admiration. Smiling, I called out as I approached:
"Bilbo!"
Lost in thought as he watched the valley, Bilbo startled at my voice. When he turned toward me, a warm, genuine smile spread across his face.
"Igris! How are you feeling? Is your arm all right?"
He paused for a moment, then his eyes widened in surprise as he spoke with a grin.
"Oh! Your arm is back to normal!"
Chuckling, I flexed my left arm, puffed up my bicep, and showed it to him as I replied.
"Much better, my friend. Yes, after a bit of effort, I managed to get it back to normal. But forget about that—why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be training?"
I thought of Halt and Gilan; those two were as merciless about training as slave drivers, rarely allowing any slack. Bilbo scratched his head awkwardly.
"I'm glad your arm is better—congratulations. As for training, we've been working nonstop for days now, Igris. Halt and Gilan allowed us a bit of rest today. They said, 'rest is also part of training.' Where are you headed?"
A mischievous grin crept onto my face as I spoke in a playful tone.
"I'm going to prevent a major dwarf rebellion that's about to break out in Rivendell, Bilbo. I'm seizing the kitchen and cooking something proper."
Bilbo blinked in surprise for a moment, then burst into cheerful laughter once he understood.
"Hahaha! Yes, that would be absolutely wonderful! Bombur is usually the quietest of the group but lately he's become so irritable from hunger that we think twice before approaching him."
I nodded, then leaned in and lightly nudged his arm with my elbow as I added,
"Since you're free, come help me. Now that I've caught you, I won't feel at ease unless I take advantage of this free labor!"
Bilbo didn't hesitate for even a second. As if he were a knight, he snapped to attention, struck his chest firmly with his right hand, and gave a mock military salute.
"At your service, Commander! Ready for the kitchen front!"
We both laughed at his act as we started walking down the corridor. As our footsteps echoed along the stone hall, my tone grew more serious, and I asked with concern:
"How are Nori and Bifur? What did the healers say?"
Bilbo let out a deep sigh, the cheerfulness on his face instantly shadowed by sadness.
"They're not terrible, but their condition isn't very good either, Igris. Nori is still extremely weak… He lost a lot of blood, and the elves say that because of the poison, his body was close to collapsing. It looks like he'll be bedridden for quite a long time. As for Bifur…"
Bilbo hesitated for a moment, then continued.
"Bifur's arm muscles are irreversibly damaged. He can still move his arm, but every movement causes pain, and it keeps twitching constantly. It seems he won't be able to swing his great axe the way he used to."
I let out a quiet sigh and slowly shook my head.
"…I understand."
Disability is truly an unpleasant thing. I've suffered similar injuries myself—many healers even told me I would be crippled. Yet after lying still for a few days, I would recover… Although that was somewhat of an advantage, it still required me to remain motionless for long periods.
We continued walking as we talked. Bilbo asked curiously,
"So, what are you planning to do today?"
I shrugged.
"First, I need to see what ingredients are available—but I can guarantee you'll be eating things you've never tasted before."
Bilbo pulled out a notebook and a pen from the bag he was carrying and spoke excitedly,
"I can't wait!"
I froze in surprise.
"What are you doing?"
With pride, Bilbo held up the notebook in his hand along with another one from his bag—one large, the other smaller.
"I'm keeping a journal! Thorin suggested it."
Raising an eyebrow, I asked with curiosity,
"That's a good idea, but why do you have two notebooks?"
Bilbo opened the smaller one and showed it to me. I took it in my hands and looked inside—then froze in surprise.
"Igris' Recipes No. 8: Spiced Fish Cooked in Butter…"
I turned the page.
"Igris' Recipes No. 9: Recipe for Spiced Venison Stew."
I flipped another page.
"Igris' Recipes No. 15: Pan-Seared Venison Recipe."
Well damn… The man was meticulously writing down my recipes… Technically, recipes from the modern world… For a moment, I felt like a thief… These aren't even my recipes… This wouldn't count as cultural theft, would it…?But explaining where these recipes actually came from would require far too much explanation, and it would utterly confuse the people of Arda. Besides, I'm far too lazy for that kind of effort…Whatever. People have been stealing things from my people's culture forever anyway. Might as well benefit a little myself. Technically speaking, I'm the first one to make these dishes in Arda… right?
With a sigh, I handed the notebook back. Bilbo carefully tucked it under his arm. As we continued walking, I brought up what I was truly curious about.
"How is the training going, Bilbo? Are Halt and Gilan pushing you too hard?"
Bilbo thought for a moment, then a tired yet satisfied expression appeared on his face.
"Good... very good, actually! It's genuinely fun. Halt and Gilan are like bottomless libraries; I learn something new every minute. I can't thank you enough for giving me this opportunity."
"It's nothing, my friend," I said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You'll become an excellent ranger—just keep focusing. So, what happened with the group while I was resting?"
Bilbo paused briefly, then replied,
"Honestly, everything is fine except for the dwarves. The Khuzait women are learning healing techniques from the elves, the men are training in archery with Gilan, Halt, and the elves, and the people of Veagir are practicing close combat and they've improved quite a lot. Also, Gilan competed in archery with the elves several times."
Raising my eyebrows, I asked with interest,
"And what was the result?"
Bilbo answered with faint pride,
"Gilan won every single time! He only lost against Lord Elrond. Lord Elrond praised Gilan's archery."
I chuckled.
"What about Halt? Did he compete as well?"
Bilbo shook his head in the negative.
"Halt doesn't like showing off."
I nodded. Halt prefers to keep a low profile, he's more of an observer. And that's precisely what makes him terrifying. I'm certain he has already memorized every inch of Rivendell.
"And our dwarf friends?"
Bilbo chuckled.
"Even though their patience is about to crack, thanks to Thorin's orders and the condition of Bifur and Nori, they aren't clashing with the elves. Still, they're far from happy about staying here, especially Bombur! When he gets hungry, the way he looks at elf statues is downright terrifying, and he stares at living elves as if they were steaks…"
After nodding and laughing out loud, I asked,
"What about Balin?"
"Balin is enjoying the peace. According to him, we won't find tranquility for a long time once the journey resumes, so he says it's best to savor it while we can."
I nodded and chuckled. Heh! Balin is still Balin, he always likes to evaluate everything from a positive angle.
"I think this is the place."
We stopped in front of the imposing door at the end of the corridor. First, we looked at the delicate carvings on the door, then at each other. Taking a deep breath, I slowly pushed the door open. The sight before us resembled an art gallery more than a kitchen. It was a magnificent space filled with fresh fruits and vegetables, every corner gleaming with fine elven craftsmanship. In one corner stood a large stone oven, most likely used for making Lembas (elven waybread) and drying fruits. On the shelves were crystal-clear jars and elegant plates neatly arranged.
The three elves inside stopped what they were doing and turned toward us with curiosity. One of them raised an eyebrow and asked,
"Can we help you?"
I nodded.
"We came here to prepare something for breakfast. I hope we're not causing any inconvenience."
The elves exchanged surprised glances for a moment, then looked back at us and nodded.
"Make yourselves at home."
"Thank you,"
I said as I stepped inside. I pulled two clean aprons and a cloth from my inventory. I tied one apron around my waist, tied the cloth around my head, then handed the rest to Bilbo. As Bilbo thanked me and put on the apron, I meticulously cleaned my hands and began surveying the ingredients laid out on the counter.
Hmm… I suppose we should start with the simplest dish... menemen. Now then… with onions? Or without? Hmm… let's go without onions.
I turned to Bilbo and spoke.
"Alright, I need you to chop peppers and tomatoes. Since we're feeding a crowd, we'll need quite a lot."
Bilbo nodded.
"Understood."
After a few minutes of chopping, I took out a pan and a pot from my inventory and gathered the ingredients. Once the peppers and tomatoes were chopped, I poured some vegetable oil into the pan and sautéed the peppers. Then I added the tomatoes, stirred them, and put the lid on. While peeling potatoes, I asked Bilbo—who was helping me with curious interest,
"What's Bamsı up to? Doesn't he get bored?"
Bilbo paused for a moment while peeling potatoes, then answered,
"Interestingly enough, no. Sometimes he trains with the Khuzaits and the people of Veagir. He fights Ordo and Dwalin almost every day, and occasionally he trains with the elves as well… Honestly, he has a rather savage style that really surprises the elves. He spars with Thorin too—his passion for combat isn't any less than yours."
Chuckling, I stood up and opened the lid of the pan. A wonderful aroma spread through the room. I grabbed a wooden spoon and checked the tomatoes—they had softened nicely—so I added a bit of water. Bilbo asked curiously,
"Why are you adding water?"
"I want the dish to have a bit of liquid, but it's best not to add too much otherwise, you'll ruin the flavor."
Bilbo nodded, set aside what he was holding, jotted down a few notes, then asked,
"What's this dish called?"
"Menemen."
Bilbo looked surprised.
"That's a strange name. Why do you call it that?"
I sighed. Explaining this was complicated.
"Because that's its name. I didn't come up with it."
Bilbo nodded and wrote it down. As he did, I added,
"When you write the recipe, note that onions can be added. If you want to make it with onions, you should sauté finely chopped onions in oil before the peppers. Once they turn pink, add the peppers and continue without changing anything else."
Bilbo nodded and kept writing. After peeling two potatoes, I lifted the pan, placed a thick log over the dying embers, then set the pan back in place. After cleaning my hands, I took a few chicken eggs and cracked them into the pan. Honestly, the pan I was using was far larger than a standard one—more like the size used in restaurants. After all, we were cooking for quite a large group.
'Ah! I almost forgot the salt!'
Before stirring, I added salt, mixed it for a while, and the dish was ready. I took a plate and served some of it.
"Bilbo, give it a try."
Hearing my voice, Bilbo stopped peeling potatoes and came over. He took a spoonful, tasted it, and his eyes lit up.
"It's really good."
I nodded.
"It's actually even better with bread. You keep working on the potatoes—I'll make some bread. Trust me, it'll be very different from what you're used to."
Bilbo nodded and wrote a few things in his notebook while I added,
"Eggs aren't mandatory. The essence of menemen is vegetable oil, tomatoes, and peppers, which makes it a very simple dish. Onions and eggs are optional ingredients but honestly, I don't really like menemen without eggs."
While Bilbo continued taking notes, I put some of the dish onto three plates and brought them to the elves working nearby.
"Would you be so kind as to taste the dish?"
The elves paused, looked at one another, then came over and took the plates one by one as I spoke,
"Don't worry—there's no meat in it, only chicken eggs. Other than that, it's made entirely from vegetables."
The elves looked at me briefly, then at the plates. One of them took a spoonful, tasted it, and looked surprised.
"It has an interesting flavor."
The only female elf in the kitchen tasted it as well and spoke,
"The flavor profiles balance each other beautifully. Did you really make this with just four ingredients and a bit of salt?"
I nodded. When I looked at the last elf, I was surprised—there was nothing left on the plate except a trace of oil. Swallowing his last bite, the elf said,
"It's been a long time since I've tasted something this new, young man. Would you be willing to share the recipe?"
I shrugged.
"No problem. Here's how I did it…"
After explaining the recipe in a few seconds, I told the elves that I wanted to use the stone hearth. They said it was no problem. Just then, Bilbo came up beside me and asked a question.
"Igris, what are the standard measurements for the recipe?"
"Ah! Right. For standard measurements, you should use the following amounts: two tablespoons of vegetable oil, three peppers, three tomatoes, three eggs, and a pinch of salt. With these quantities, it will be enough to feed one or two humans with bread—you can adjust the scale for a hobbit. As for adding water, in the original recipe it's only added if the liquid released by the tomatoes runs out, to prevent the dish from burning or drying out. In other words, you don't have to add water; it's a matter of preference. But if you do want to add it, half of the cup you normally drink water from is enough. Just remember—water is added only after the tomatoes have softened, and if the tomatoes have already released plenty of liquid, do not add water. It will reduce the flavor of the dish."
Bilbo spoke while taking notes in his notebook.
"Alright. So what else are we going to do?"
"Keep peeling the potatoes, Bilbo. We'll coat them in oil and put them into the stone oven. Also, I'll show you how to make Potato patties."
Bilbo's eyebrows shot up.
"Potato patties?"
I nodded.
"Yes. Just be patient. We can't do much until breakfast time, but now that I'm fully awake, breakfast and dinner are on me. So don't worry—I'll show you plenty of things."
I grabbed a large pot and filled it with clean water. I placed it on the second fire pit right next to the menemen pan and fed wood into the fire beneath it. I quickly washed a sack of potatoes and dropped them into the water, which was just about to boil; the bubbling sounds spread through the kitchen like a soothing melody. Then I turned toward the stone oven. When I checked its temperature, it was exactly where I wanted it—spotless inside, with a faint, sweet scent of fruit lingering in the air. I turned to the elves and asked,
"Do you have any flour?"
'I hope they do. They must use flour for elven bread… I hope.'
The elves looked at me. The female elf disappeared through a door in the kitchen, then returned shortly afterward with a sack in her hands and approached me.
"Here you are."
I nodded.
"Thank you. By the way, may I learn your names? After all, we'll be spending quite some time together."
The female elf nodded and introduced herself with a gentle smile.
"Nimraeth."
I nodded, then looked at the other elves. The one who had first tasted the menemen spoke.
"Thalanor."
Then the one who had finished his plate the fastest spoke.
"Caelthir. A pleasure to meet you, Black Knight."
At hearing the nickname, my left eyebrow twitched involuntarily, but I didn't let it show.
"A pleasure… Do all of you know my name?"
All three nodded. Nimraeth smiled and spoke.
"You've been staying in Rivendell for eighteen days. Most people are already aware of you. Besides, our alchemy master's apprentice and the guards assigned to protect him have spoken of you often. Killing an adult manticore with only a handful of elves is not a simple achievement."
Just as I was about to respond, a sharp voice rang out from the other side of the kitchen.
"ACK!"
All of us turned to Bilbo at the same time. Bilbo had brought his finger to his mouth and was staring at us with wide eyes. Raising my eyebrows, I asked,
"Are you alright?"
Bilbo, holding his finger, replied,
"Yes, yes. I just got distracted… Did you really kill a manticore?"
I shook my head in refusal.
"No! That was teamwork. It died thanks to the potions prepared by that psychopath Eldarion and the protection of the elves. I only delivered the final blow."
The elves covered their mouths, chuckling, while Bilbo innocently asked,
"Who is Psychopath Eldarion?"
After struggling not to laugh again, Nimraeth answered,
"The Lord Eldarion in question is our alchemy master's apprentice. He's a little different from normal elves—but he's a good person."
I raised my eyebrows and joined the conversation while pulling a wide bowl onto the counter.
"A little? Because of him, my entire perception of elves was turned upside down."
As Bilbo looked at me curiously, Thalanor cleared his throat and spoke.
"Ahem! Lord Eldarion may appear a bit… unusual, but he isn't all that different, Igris. We elves feel deep passion for the crafts we practice, and Lord Eldarion feels that same passion."
As I poured flour into the bowl, I asked,
"Is that 'passion' you're talking about dismembering corpses? Or butchery? I've never seen anyone take apart a body so professionally! He was especially precise in certain areas. I've lost count of how many times the guard captain and the other male elves shuddered."
Bilbo's face paled slightly. As I added water to the flour, Caelthir—who was placing raw vegetables on a plate—answered,
"That Eldarion brat really is abnormal; there's no denying it. His interest in alchemy borders on obsession. But you have to admit—he's an absolute genius at what he does. The methods he's discovered through his experiments are invaluable. He's found many new techniques and recipes through experimentation."
After adding all the ingredients, I began kneading the dough, still listening closely to the conversation. When Caelthir finished speaking, I replied,
"Where I come from, there's a very thin line between genius and madness. In fact, most of the time, they're considered synonyms."
Hearing this, Caelthir paused while preparing the plates and nodded in agreement.
"I can't argue with that. On the contrary, that's one of the most accurate observations I've heard."
I chuckled. Honestly, it was clear that Caelthir wasn't just an ordinary elf—while the others called Eldarion 'lord,' he called him 'brat,' which suggested he wasn't exactly low-ranking himself. As I kneaded the dough, a brief silence fell, broken only when I called out to Bilbo.
"Bilbo! Add more wood under the boiling potatoes!"
"Got it."
Caelthir looked curiously at the potatoes, then at me, and asked,
"What are you planning to do with that many potatoes?"
Continuing to knead the dough, I looked at him and answered,
"I'll coat the ones Bilbo peeled in olive oil, lightly season them, and bake them in trays in the stone oven. The boiled ones will be turned into Potato patties."
Nimraeth asked curiously,
"What is a Potato patties?"
After thinking for a moment, I calmly explained what Meatballs were and talked about their varieties. Bilbo and the elves stared at me in surprise. With wide eyes, Nimraeth asked,
"Does a single dish really have that many different variations!?"
I shrugged.
"Yes. I suppose whenever people get bored, new recipes are created."
In the modern world, culinary diversity had reached its peak. Thanks to good old Uncle Internet, a Japanese chef could access American or Mexican recipes with just a few clicks and gain new ideas and the opposite was true as well. In an age where communication was at its height, food culture evolved rapidly… though not everyone was happy about it. For example, Italians were quite sensitive about putting pineapple on their precious pizza… but they'd accept it in a few years. Change always happens, and at least the foundation of the pizza remains intact. Anyway.
Thalanor asked curiously,
"How many recipes like that do you have?"
I paused, thinking in surprise.
"…I don't know. Maybe a few hundred."
The elves were stunned. Meanwhile, Bilbo, still peeling potatoes, looked helplessly at his small recipe notebook and groaned.
"This won't be enough… I'll either need spare notebooks or a much bigger one."
I laughed when I heard that. While the elves continued to stare at me in shock, I kept kneading the dough and spoke calmly.
"Don't be so surprised. What really surprises me is why elves who live for thousands of years have such a small collection of recipes."
Nimraeth scratched the side of her nose shyly and replied,
"We elves prefer to eat food as we take it from nature, out of respect for what nature provides."
I chuckled.
"An interesting choice. I always thought elves were artisans—I expected you to create various masterpieces with vegetables and fruits."
Thalanor stared at me in astonishment.
"Art? With vegetables and fruits!?"
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(3961 Words)
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