Earlier this year we attended my wife’s sister’s wedding reception. Now this was no ordinary event; themed as a tea party it was a nostalgic affair, including cream teas (I will do one of those one day) and decor that whisked us back to a bygone era when England punched way above its weight, and, as they say, ruled the waves.
The fussy eater came with us (the older child was somewhere else; teenagers. Nuff said). As we sipped tea from china cups, and nibbled scones with strawberry jam and cucumber sandwiches, out came several enormous pies.
Now my laser-like food sensors immediately indicated that these pies might be an interesting proposition. So I was at the table they were being placed on before they had arrived.
Corned Beef Pies. Big ones. A took a large slice for me and one for the fussy eater. He liked it that much we conspired to recreate this creation at home.
Now in the UK corned beef is not the same as corned beef as it is in the States. Over there it appears to be more like salted beef. I mean it looks like beef. Over here it comes in tins (from Argentina usually) and has the consistency of lumpy pate.
Not that it matters. This is a) Easy and b) Delicious. And that, oh wonderful readers, is all that matters. Everything else is flim-flammery.