A pie too far??

A few months ago, my Mum came on a visit from Lancashire, bringing with her one of her good friends of more years than I’ve been alive for. They were joined – and driven – by my Uncle. Their plan was to do a bit of sight seeing and generally soak up the delights of the South West, as well as visiting me and my sister, as both of us now reside in the West Country.

Wigan Pier. Image: http://www.answers.com

The visitors all hail from good old Wigan, famous for many things: The ‘Casino‘, in which many influential bands wowed crowds of people who flocked from all over during the 60s and 70s; The pier, made famous by George Orwell’s work ‘The Road to Wigan Pier‘; An ‘ancient and loyal’ (and highly successful, not that I’m biased at all) rugby league team, the Wigan Warriors; and of course, pies.

Funny how the pies are the things that stick in most people’s minds, even when they are unlikely to understand the real reason for us Wiganers being called ‘pie eaters’. But you know what, we do like pies and there’s no shame in that! So when the Wigan three were coming over for dinner, I wanted to cook something worthy, some ‘proper’ grub.

So I decided to go all out, northern style. That’s right, I went for a pie duo, two courses of traditional tasty pastry dishes. Risky, I know. This plan had a high probability of causing indigestion/stodge overload/instant fatigue. But hey, my guests were Lancastrians: I went for it.

I started with a steak and ale beast, from the Hairy Bikers’ Perfect Pies book, the subtitle of which is ‘The Ultimate Pie Bible from the Kings of Pies‘. If that didn’t fill me with confidence nothing would!

The humble beginnings of this recipe were dicing bacon, onion and garlic then frying until brown in a heavy pan. Once the bacon was nicely cremated and the onions soft, I tipped them into a bowl and covered to keep warm.

Next it was the beef’s turn. After heating a little olive oil to stop it sticking to the pan, I left it to sizzle away, turning to make sure it browned all over.

I exercised my puny muscles by lifting my insanely heavy cast iron Le Creuset casserole dish down from on top of the cupboards, then heated it for a few minutes on the hob. In went the bacon and onion mixture, plus the beef. Once they were sizzling I added some thyme, beef stock and about half a pint of dark ale – specifically Hobgoblin, I believe. Don’t worry, the other half went to good use.

In a separate pan I gently fried some sliced mushrooms in a little olive oil until just soft, then added them to the bubbling pot. While that was reducing down, I made a start on the pastry. This really was a complex and time consuming process: I took it out of the packet and rolled it to the size I needed.

That’s right! I don’t make my own. If I didn’t have to work and spent all my time in the kitchen (my dream, by the way), I would happily make pastry from scratch, perfecting my own recipe just as I like it. But sadly this is not the case, so if buying ready rolled pastry makes it possible for me to make a pie, I’ll stick with it.

There was some effort involved though – once the filling had thickened and the meat was tender, I poured it into my pie dish then brushed the lip with milk. I laid the pastry lid on top then copying my Mum’s technique, held the dish high in one hand and turned it in a circle, cutting the excess pastry from around the edges as I went.

Then the final touches – I cut a few delicate little leaf shapes out of the left over pastry and stuck them on with milk, before brushing the whole thing over with another milky layer to give it a nice colour once cooked in the oven.

I served it with mash, carrots and broccoli and of course, gravy. It was homely and tasty, very welcoming for my guests. In fact, they were nearly too full for dessert, but given this was a special pie-fest, they succumbed and we indulged in apple pie and cream.

The apples, which came from a friend’s garden, were a mixture of yellowy greens and blushing reds, with lovely shiny skins. They were fair whoppers and made a generous filling for my apple pie, a traditional dessert that my Mum made a lot when we were little. I can still taste it now, delicious! If my creation was half as good as that I’d be happy.

After peeling the pretty skins off the apples, I cored and sliced them, then again using my trusted Le Creuset pan, I simmered them with a few tablespoons of light brown soft sugar and a sprinkling of water. To add a different texture and extra sweetness to the filling, I added a handful of raisins. I kept the mixture on a gentle heat until the apples had begun to break down, then tipped it into a pie dish to cool.

I did my same strenuous pastry making routine, then covered the dish, trimmed the excess and pressed the edges down to seal it. A neat little cross in the centre to allow steam to escape and a brushing of milk finished the dessert.

The pie had been cooking in the oven whilst we were enjoying the steak pie, so the sweet aromas had begun to drift through to the table as we were putting the world to rights and allowing the first course to go down. It didn’t take much encouragement for us to dive into pastry treat number two.

The sweetness of the raisins complimented the tang of the apples, which had caramelised slightly in the sugar. The pastry was just crunchy, giving a base for the mushy filling. Along with the delicious flavours of this dish, I also love the temperature contrast of the cool cream with the pie just hot from the oven.

So after the pie duo, we were full to the brim, buttons were straining and post-good food sluggishness was setting in.  We could hardly move, but we still managed some after dinner entertainment in the form of the family classic, ‘Charades‘, or as we call it, being from the north, ‘Give us a clue‘. Our farcical gestures and guess attempts had us in absolute stitches, creating a wonderful ending to a special evening of good food and great company.

Not only that, but I think it’s safe to say we answered the age-old question, “Who ate all the pies?”

Like Mum Used to Make it: Meat Pie

My poor Mum really went through it with me when I was a kid.  I didn’t eat a great deal and was not interested in food at all.  Now as an adult, I’m borderline obsessed with the stuff, how ironic!  She tried various tricks to get some protein and vitamins into my measly diet – adding extra eggs to the cakes she baked, making me hot honey and milk to drink every day, anything she could think of.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t scarily underweight or unhealthy, I just had a kind of mental block when it came to eating.  I was beyond fussy and for some reason I’d get half way through a meal and just suddenly decide that I was full and that was it, I’d struggle to eat any more.  But there was one dish that my Mum made which I actually looked forward to and was able to eat a plateful without drama: Mum’s meat pie.  This was one of my childhood food legends, so on my pilgrimage up North earlier this year, I asked my Mum to show me how to make it…

In traditional northern style, she makes it in a pressure cooker, starting by browning minced beef with chopped carrots and onion.

Firmly sticking to the ‘waste not want not’ principle that she was dragged up on (and in turn so was I, thankfully), Mum will add anything she has lying around which will work in the pie.  She routes around in the fridge and after a thorough rinse under the tap, she slices half a leek into the pan with a ninja precision that would leave me covered in cuts and with fingers missing.

As children, me and my Sister we were taught good table manners, but we didn’t stand on ceremony.  In our house, branded sauce bottles were allowed on the dinner table, whereas some people insist on decanting their condiments into fancy dishes with their own spoons.  There are so many conventions like these that you pick up as a kid which are hard to shake in later life.  How you hold your knife and fork is one, as is how you make a cup of tea (leave the tea bag in while you add milk or take it out first?).  How you refer to certain meal time accompaniments is another.  To us, ‘tomato sauce’ was ‘tomato sauce’ and not ‘ketchup’, but it was always Heinz and never a cheaper alternative.  Yet we called ‘HP Sauce’ exactly that and not ‘brown sauce’.  Why, I have no idea.  The same applied to ‘Lea & Perrins’ instead of saying ‘Worcestershire sauce’, which was an essential in Mum’s kitchen cupboard – and is still now.  A dash of this slightly strange concoction features in Mum’s meat pie, as it adds a salty, tangy flavour, she tells me, as she shakes the bottle vigorously into the pressure cooker.

As the mince and vegetable mixture is subjected to high pressure on the hob, Mum wastes no time in cracking on with the pastry.  Despite my lack of culinary interest as a child, I did love watching Mum in the kitchen, although I think it was the baking that I was interested in, or more specifically eating the left-over cake mixture out of the bowl.  One of my favourite ‘tools’ I remember Mum using was an old Robertson’s Golden Shred jar as her flour sprinkler.  The jar had been thoroughly washed and dried, filled with flour and the metal lid had a series of holes punched in the top, making an excellent tool for scattering flour on the board.

As a working and busy Mum, moved fast in the kitchen and this is another trait which I’m glad to have inherited.  Although I love to take my time over creating a culinary masterpiece when I can, I also have the ability to rustle up a tasty morsel in no time, which I think is a very useful skill to have.  As Mum turns the pastry out onto the board, quick as a flash she has it kneaded into submission.  She moves like lightning, turning and rolling the pastry until she has the right shape to line the pie dish.

The pressure cooker has now cooked the mince to within an inch of its life and is whistling a mandrake-like scream to let us know our filling is ready.  Mum pours the mixture into the pastry-lined pie dish and that familiar smell brings all kinds of meal time childhood memories flooding back.  According to Mum, the less handling the pastry has, the better and she gently folds over the pie lid, which she’s already slashed three vicious steam holes into.

Next she firmly presses her thumb all the way around the edge of the dish to seal the pastry layers together, making a pretty pattern in the process.  A final trimming of the excess pastry finishes the job – Mum doesn’t bother with a milk or egg wash on top of the pie – this is traditional hearty home cooking done quickly.

At this point I am already salivating but I need just 30 minutes worth of patience while my childhood food legend cooks in the hot oven.  When the pie emerges, it is a light golden brown with the steam arrows in the centre.  My stomach growls and I feel that childish excited feeling of looking forward to my tea.  I’m not really sure why this particular dish appealed to me so much more than other foods.  Perhaps it was because I’d watched Mum create this, hanging around as a wee nipper watching her work her magic in the kitchen as she sung along to her favourite songs.  Or maybe it’s the Wiganer in me that has always loved a good pie.  Whatever the reason, I cannot wait to tuck in.

Served with vegetables and a generous dollop of mash, I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be eating.  Of course I’d usually drown the plate in gravy but for the purposes of taking a good photo I held back from this ritual for a moment.  Once the camera was away, the food hardly touched the sides and it tasted just as I’d remembered.  The crunchy pastry melted in the mouth and the meat was well seasoned and moist.  At once I was a nine-year-old again sat with my legs dangling off the kitchen stool, for once happy at the table because I know I’m going to finish my tea without a problem.  Perhaps the meat pie was the start of my transformation from food-hater to food-lover.  Whatever the case, on this Mother’s Day I think it’s more than appropriate to say….thanks Mum!