a tunnel that smelled not of wet soil and damp and nasty bugs and worms , but one which smelled of cinnamon and baking apple pies , one which ended somewhere up ahead in the pantry of bag end , where mr. bilbo baggins was celebrating his eleventy-first birthday party ... well , that cozy tunnel never turned out to be there , but to the frannie goldsmith who had grown up in this house , the workshop ( sometimes called `` the toolshop '' by her father and `` that dirty place where your dad goes to drink beer '' by her mother ) had been enough .