Pippin tastes of strawberries, freshly stolen from whichever farmer happens to be growing them this late Shire summer.
Merry tastes of woodsmoke and pipe-weed… and mushrooms.
Merry has been trying to teach Pippin to swim in the Brandywine, today. At least, he was. After Pippin sank three times and had to be hauled out spluttering and gasping, though, they gave up.
Now they are lying on the bank of the river, drying off in the sun, and occasionally kissing lazily. Mostly, though, they just lie there and talk inconsequentially.
They are perfectly happy. And they think it will last forever.
Merry and Pippin know what the rest of the Company think of them. That they are of no value to the Quest. That they do nothing but sleep and eat.
That's not true, though. They are of enormous value to the Company, if only the others could see it.
Who else keeps the mood from getting too dark, at times? Who else snuggles with Frodo at night, to comfort him? (Well, yes, Sam does, but that's not the point).
They think they know another way to be of use, now. They have been increasingly worried about Boromir, recently. They think perhaps they should leave Frodo in Sam's capable hands, and concentrate their efforts on their favourite Man.
And so that is what they'll do.