Pie

by admin

July 14, 2019

3815

Gotta love pie. What’s not to love? The basic, most crucial ingredient of any great pie, in my humble opinion, is not the filling or the topping. It’s Butter. Lots Of Butter. To make the perfect pastry. That’s the bottom line. I could eat well made pie pastry and not miss the filling at all. No, that’s an exaggeration. The butter which makes the pastry which encases the filling – it’s a natural progression to perfection. I remember the truly great pies of my life with fondness. All savoury. My experience with sweet pies have been limited to the sickly sweet, not particularly well made American versions, topped with unnecessary amounts of whipped cream or ice cream. I reserve judgement until a really outstanding tarte tatin or apple pie comes my way. Until then, savoury pies fill my culinary dreams.

Victoria Station in London. An unseasonal cold spell in early October. A light dusting of snow, London’s first in sixteen years at that time of the year. There were only two early breakfast options. One was a generic fast food restaurant, a burger place already lively with customers. The other was a little kiosk selling Cornish pasties. Each half moon shaped golden pie was bigger than my hand. The crust was crisp and flaky and buttery. A little pattern of leaves was picked out on top. One bite and the stuffing inside made me forget all about the pretty leaves. A dark brown jelly in which nestled onion and bacon, mushroom and diced steak. Fragrant, flavourful and very comforting. The pastry so flaky that each bite sent a shower of tiny golden specks cascading down. So buttery that the face soon acquired a glossy sheen. Yet the pasty was beautifully constructed. No soggy bits, no leaks. As I bit down, a puff of steam escaped and with it, all the hitherto hidden aromas. Every morning, in that cavernous hall of Victoria Station, my day began with some variant of Cornish pasty. Breakfast was a highlight of that London holiday.

In Queenstown, South Island. Again, a spell of unexpected cold weather. Bitter, bright sun in the morning, a light drizzle by lunch, turning into a stormy evening and then snow. Snow to cover the hills and trees. The lake was picture perfect the next morning. We followed our noses to a pie shop. The best pies in Queenstown, was their claim. The choices were bewildering. Venison, steak and onion, pulled pork, mushroom besides the sweet options. These were encased in beautiful pastry, light as air but substantial enough to hold the generous amount of filling. Each pie was big enough to feed two, unless the eater wasn’t inclined to share. So naturally, one each for us. The smiling family running the counter seemed to be Korean – that accounted for the faintly oriental flavour. Very tasty, those pies and like Jo and Meg, cuddling one of these warmed up the hands. Eating it warmed the rest. A cup of hot chocolate, not as good as Mumbai’s but still delicious, finished the elaborate warm up routine.

Finally, at the risk of bragging, my steak and guiness pies. Gary Mehigan, bless him, demonstrated the art of these pies on a Masterchef episode and over the next year, I made them again and again. The recipe had to be tweaked a bit but still, the results were very toothsome. The pastry made with with some hung curd to substitute for the sour cream. Water buffalo steak. Kingfisher Ultra when Guiness wasn’t available. These are small pies, about the size of a large muffin. The large chunks of meat are seared in a hot pan along with carrot. The onions are cooked down till they are caramelised and almost jammy in consistency. Then the stout is added along with the meat and veg and herbs, and all this left in a slow oven for hours. The meat has to be tender enough to flake with a fork. The pastry is temperamental in this humidity so it has to be handled quickly and carefully. The house fills with the aromas as the pies bake – the butter in the pastry, the herbs and the beer, the succulent meat.

Warm out of the oven, one is plenty but it’s tough to resist the second. Consequently, I’m not sure how they taste the next day – we’ve never managed to have left overs.

Sigh. Gotta love pie..