I Tried Making Lembas Bread From a Tolkien Cookbook and It Did Not Go to Plan

I made lembas bread from a book of recipes from the world of Tolkien. It tasted good, but it would not come out of the tin and ended up a hot mess. There is a scene in Game of Thrones where Jaime Lannister, before he pushes Bran out of the window, says "The things we do for love." After this bake, I understand where he was coming from.

The other week I asked for recommendations for things I have not done yet, and baking and cooking was the most popular request. So here we are.

A Tolkien cookbook, a gift from a fan, and lembas bread

The book was very kindly gifted to me by a fan, so they are the reason this happened. It is a collection of recipes from the world of Tolkien, and there are so many in there. I went with lembas bread because I was hoping it was one that would not burn my house down.

The first page is quite nice. It describes lembas with a hint of spiciness from chili, delicious warm from the oven alongside the smoky stewed beans on page 16, or simply with a few rashers of crispy bacon. It also suggests mature cheddar and a few sweet pickled cucumbers from page 59 for lunch.

The book says lembas feeds the soul even more than the belly, helping travellers keep the willpower to overcome tremendous obstacles and intimidating distances. Galadriel gives the Fellowship a stock of it, each piece wrapped in mallorn leaves. According to The Silmarillion, lembas was first made by Yavanna, the queen of the Valar responsible for all things that grow, using a special corn grown in Aman. The book concludes it was likely similar to a comforting cornbread.

Tesco never delivered the polenta, so I used out of date bread flour

I had most of the ingredients and even did a Tesco shop, but they failed to deliver one thing, the one thing I needed. The recipe calls for 150 grams of polenta. Tesco did not even substitute it; it just said not available. I had nothing else and I was not going to the shop, so I dug out some grainy bread flour. It is really out of date. Oh well.

The recipe starts by oiling a 20 cm square cake tin. I did not have one, so I used what I had and oiled it with a nifty spray from my camper van that I got from Aldi.

No scales, no sieve, no teaspoons: measuring with Alexa and a spoon

I do not own weighing scales, so I asked Alexa, armed with a clean dessert spoon from the dishwasher. The first answer told me a dessert spoon holds 50 to 70 ml, which was not what I asked. The second time it said 150 grams of plain flour is around 6 to 7 dessert spoons, so I did seven, using it as a general guide.

For the polenta I did not own, I started with the same again, but it felt like a lot of flour and probably a bad idea, so I did roughly five without counting. The recipe says to sift the flour, polenta, salt and baking powder into a large bowl. I have no sieve and no large bowl, just a bowl, so I mixed it. I also have no teaspoons, so the salt was guesswork, and the two teaspoons of baking powder, from a fancy tub I got from my mum, were eyeballed too.

Parmesan, parsley and a mystery about vegetarian cheese

Next came a tablespoon of sugar, then three spoons of Parmesan, plus a bit for good luck. The recipe says Parmesan or a vegetarian equivalent, which confused me. Does Parmesan have meat in it? If anyone knows why it is not considered vegetarian, I would greatly appreciate being educated.

Then a handful of parsley, chopped, and the recipe says just the leaves. I could not be bothered picking out only the leaves, so the stalks went in too. It will add a bit of crunch.

Tolkien's love of languages goes deeper than most people realise

While chopping, I thought about a chat I had that morning about Tolkien's use and love of languages. Someone pointed out how even the months had different names and he simply translated them for the reader. There is so much to it that a lot of people never fully understand or realise, and you could talk about it forever. It is probably why my family roll their eyes whenever I start.

A huge red chili and a cruel sleepover memory

The recipe wanted one red chili, deseeded. It was huge, so I did not use the whole thing; it would have been too much heat.

Chili brings back a memory. When I was young and naive, I went to a sleepover where some of the children were not very kind. We were making homemade pizzas with the mum, and one child told me that if you touch a chili and then your eyes, your wish comes true. So there I was, wishing: "Turn me into an elf ranger." That was fun.

Oil, eggs and a very smelly buttermilk

In a separate bowl, the wet ingredients: two to three tablespoons of olive oil (three, and a bit for good luck), two eggs, and 300 ml of buttermilk. Alexa said that was roughly 12 dessert spoons, so I counted out twelve. The buttermilk stinks. "That buttermilk is not a vibe." My only whisk has no handle, which made things harder.

The wet mix gets stirred gently into the dry ingredients, poured into the tin and baked in a preheated oven for 30 to 35 minutes. I had no clue how it would turn out.

It baked golden brown, then refused to leave the tin

It actually turned out all right: golden brown on top, as the recipe asks, and not wobbly. The recipe says to transfer it to a wire rack to cool slightly and eat it warm, so I tried to tip it out. It would not come out, even though I had properly sprayed the tin. I ran a knife around the outside, and it broke apart. This is probably where I should have had a proper baking tin. I was quite looking forward to it, so I scooped it out instead.

My verdict: "It tastes good, but I don't know if I'm vibing with this parsley." Maybe I picked too big a handful. On the bright side, my house is not burning down. I have actually had lembas before, when a fan very kindly made me some at a festival, and theirs is way better than mine. They can stick to making it.

So, can anyone finally explain why Parmesan is not considered vegetarian?