It seemed a bit rough – and very American – when in 2006 That 70s show actor Wilmer Valderrama described (then) teen girlfriend Mandy Moore’s efforts in bed as good but not ‘like warm apple pie’. Yet on an austere January evening on the other side of the Atlantic, I do wonder if nothing can really beat the comforts of a truly excellent pie.
The anticipation of pushing a fork through the pastry. An oozing middle revealed. The steaming aromas that furl out. And that’s even before the embrace of the first mouthful, succulent savoury or sweet. As Margot Henderson, co-proprietor of Rochelle Canteen, one of London’s finest pie-making establishments, says: eating a pie is ‘a little like unwrapping a present’ and gosh in January there is a dearth of presents.
Astoundingly – given the Brits chomp through an average of ten pies per week, according to research by pastry makers Jus-Rol – the pie does not come from this rainy isle.
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