A fool and his money are soon parted. This is especially true of a fool who loves pies. It’s why I shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a food market. This little lot:
A packet of wild boar bacon (dry and disappointingly tasteless)
A packet of traditional pig bacon. (Nice, one very happy fool.)
Four cheeses. Cheddar. Unpasteurised. (Hit the tastebuds running)
And five pies ranging from Chicken, ham and leek, Steak and Kidney, Venison, Beef in wine, and Wild Game pie. I would still have been buying but someone with more sense pulled me back.
I love pies. Every kind of pie, though I draw the line at what I call the ‘adventurous pie.’ One that I still dream about we bought from our local butchers in Aintree and also local chip shops. They were small and round in hot water pastry. They contained a large dollop of peppery minced meat swimming in hot gelatine, and they were heaven. If anyone knows where I can buy them, please send me a line – better still a pie. *
The adventurous pie is an entirely different kettle of fish. They’re a bit like the previous mixed metaphor. They’re just wrong. I’m talking about pies like Beef and Stilton and worst of all – curry pies. Wrong wrong wrong, like Saris in Iceland, roast pork in Mecca, Gazpacho in Saskatoon, and Mars Bars deep-fried. There are also curry pasties, and they’re pretty foul too.
But enough of this, I have a fridge full of pies to get through and four solid weeks in the gym
*I’m wondering whether they were called Scotch pies but googling it, it seems they have gravy in them – not the hot succulent, gelatinous meat I remember. The search continues.