An interesting conjunction
of pies in the last 24 hours: my supper last night was a wolf pie obtained at
the Raby food festival, after being reassured by the Moody Baker (it’s his
business name not a personal observation) ‘that no wolves were harmed in the
making of this product’, it being named after the ale so deliciously combined
with steak, potato and peas, all encased in a tasty pastry case; today’s dinner
was also misleadingly named, my homemade shepherds’ pie containing neither shepherd
nor sheep, but in its own simple way was equally scrummy as testified by the
clean plates with the leftover portion reserved for someone’s lunch tomorrow.
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