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The sandwich I held in my hands was a gift from a fair stranger to speed me on my way. Wearied from my travels, I had taken repose in copse or clearing, the border of which was menaced by looming trees whose rustlings and shiverings boded ill should I stay too long. Despairing, I cried,
“Oh! That I had saved my last piece of elf bread!”
As though it were a summons, before me emerged a fair woman, from the shadow-path which wound its way out into the woods. Human or no, succumbing to the generous nature of her kind she answered my plea, offering in her outstretched hands the Ginsters. Humbled by her kindess, I declined.
“But it is mine to give to whom I will,” she said, her voice like the rills of a stream, enchanting me. “Besides, I don’t really want it.”
And so it was that the All-Day Breakfast Ginsters sandwich was bestowed to me. Although unfamiliar to human ears, the celebration of the All-Day Breakfast has its roots in Hobbit culture (Ginster being, presumably, familiar with these otherwise human-shy creatures). Never one to pass up a feast, if a Hobbit cooks more breakfast than one can manage, the surrounding inhabitants of Hobbit-holes are invited to join the dining, no matter what the time of day.
In homage to this custom, Ginster has filled his All-Day Breakfast sandwich with enough pork-flesh to make an orc drool. Unaccustomed as I am to such fare (Oxford boys are fed on finer stuff), it was with great relish that I took my first bite, which I can only describe as ohtatyaro, in the elven style, or indeed as the dwarves might have it
Editor’s note: Guys, we’re gonna have to cut this one down. No-one wants a page-long review of one bite of a sandwich. Tell JRR to stick to the word count next time.
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