“You’ve done a leg of lamb?” Frodo asked.
“And Tookland pudding,” Bilbo answered proudly, pointing to the bread set to catch the fat as it dripped from the haunch of meat.
Frodo hadn’t eaten lamb for years, not since the motherless lamb he’d once raised had been returned to the flock, only to be singled out by the Brandybuck shepherd to become the next Highday’s meal. But he had to admit that the succulent scent of the roasting leg caused his mouth to water. He shook his head. “You just may convince me to eat lamb once more,” he sighed.