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The king of pies must be a steak-and-kidney. It appears honest in its simplicity, smooth on top, slightly scalloped around its sealed edges by the clean-nailed hands of an expert cook, supported in the centre by a pottery blackbird, representative, allusive, legendary, handed down by generations. Break the pastry open and it is thick enough not to maze into countless brittle fragments. Then that scent rises and you know you are in the hands of a master-chef. The balance is right, the mix is honest, nutritious, memorable. The kidney adds iron to the amalgamation; the steak is from firm, free, well-muscled, grass-fed cows. There is no extraneous fat, but sometimes there might be an unexpected mushroom to roll around one's tongue, and a silken slide of shallots. The gravy is the key. It differentiates one cook from another, but they all have in common their hatred of synthetic powders and granules. They'd rather use a good beef stock, where bones have been roasted overnight in a low oven
until richly brown, and then simmered for days in a stockpot of water and wine, with carrots, peppercorns, onions and added tasty unexpected leftovers, so good that the ingredients are imperceptible. The whole is sealed, baked, perfect - an entire meal in one dish. You might not need to eat again for some time.
Sweeping generalizations about pie preferences are almost as invalid as those about books, or sex, or music. In the end it comes down to individual taste.
Do you like pie?
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