One our last trip to England, I was struck by an article I ran across in the Times, or the Telegraph, or the Independent, or one of the other seemingly numberless London newspapers. Apparently, the newspaper you read defines your class, economic status, and/or sexual orientation. I always feel self conscious reading London newspapers cause I'm always unsure if I'm reading the right one, or if everyone in the café is looking at me and thinking, 'blue nosed, toffee snorting, class enemy' or 'radical socialist, brick throwing, animal rights activist scum'. In any case, meandering, after a substantial detour, back to the original point, the article mentioned that in a survey commissioned by one of the major grocery chains - Tesco, I think, most of the meat pies that were sold at the grocers were bought by men and consumed in their cars out in the parking lot. I can understand this. If Mary is any example for others of her sex she is always tut-tutting ferociously whenever I stop and stare into a shop window longingly, salivating at all the wondrous meat pies on display.
Now I love my wife dearly but her unseemly aversion to meat and gravy incased in a light flaky crust has always struck me as strange, if not downright diabolical. I mean, it's almost the perfect foodstuff, chock full of wonderful proteins, fats, and starches all in a package that can be consumed without utensils. Sure it might be short a bit on the veggies but nothing is completely perfect. Mary, bless her heart, is a wonderful person who makes my every day a joy from beginning to end. But she always seemed to be stuck on the formulation that MEAT PIES ARE NOT A GOOD THING TO EAT. Until recently.
While in London town we checked out a street market that specialized in gourmet food. Among the many stands offering cheeses, cakes, meat, and around 170 varieties of sausage (man do Brits love their sausage), I found a stand selling meat pies. When Mary's back was turned I quickly bought a couple with the intention of renting a car later so I could eat them in a parking lot, this be the thing to do in England or so I'm given to understand. But it didn't come to that and I enjoyed my pies back in the apartment we had rented. I offered Mary some of my pie because I love her so and I also figured it was a low risk call. But she surprised me and ate some of my pie and found to her, and my amazement, that she enjoyed it. Quite a lot as a matter of fact. Granted these weren't your everyday steak and kidney pies, being filled with gourmet stuff but still.
So I can heartily recommend specialty meat pies offered at gourmet street markets in London. And so now, can Mary.
