Happiness Is a Warm Pie

Our trip to the United Kingdom wasn't simply a holiday, er, vacation. It was a last hurrah, of sorts. Well, not last, really, but, because my ladyfriend is to soon experience a profound alteration to her life, let's say, the trip was a last bit of fun before she has to deal with some trials and tribulations. And so I wanted to make sure she had the grandest time, that her every whim (more or less) was catered to.

Having noted some tough times ahead for her, I will confess that my ladyfriend is an addict. A meat pie addict. Madison has, perhaps, a few places where a chicken pot pie may be had, but that's about it. Have a hankering for a steak and ale pie? Forget it. So, being in a country that has a long tradition of putting tasty things in a pie shell, she was like a kid in a candy store. Thusly our first dinner was to be savory pies. She found a place called Pieminister in the Northern Quarter which fit the bill. Being close to a pub that I was keen on trying sealed the deal. Also handy was its proximity to a butcher's shop.

Our walk to the Northern Quarter revealed more wonderful Victorian architecture. Or maybe Edwardian. Or just neat buildings with pediments. Also prominent was public transit. The hotel was within spitting distance of the St. Peter's Square tram stop.

But there were buses everywhere as well. Yellow double-decker buses of the Bee Network with the city's mascot emblazoned on it.

I think fully half the buses had ads for the new Shaun the Sheep movie on them which isn't surprising as it is a UK production and involves sheep which are everywhere in the countryside. I don't recall when the industrious insect became the city's mascot but it surely was back in its industrial past when those dark satanic mills were running at full bore employing the unwashed masses and their children too.

Walking by Piccadilly Gardens I spied this bus.

Was The Who song of the same name about this very line of buses? I was always under the assumption that the title was just a fun, late 1960s thing and not named after a real company. Had I been wrong all these years?

The answer is no. I looked it up when I got home and found that these magic buses are a product of the 1990s.

The Northern Quarter seems to be the trendy, hip-hop-happenin' part of the city centre. While walking along Tib Street, I spied a bit of a poem in the pavement.

I saw bits elsewhere on the street too but surely missed more as I was often looking up to admire the wonderful architecture...in search of ghost signs. Investigating further, I see that it belongs to a poem called Flags by the British-Ethiopian author of verse, Lemn Sissay.

Our first stop was The Butcher's Quarter so we could get some real food for our hotel room, food that wasn't a biscuit or a salt & vinegar snack. Walking in, the air had the butcher shop smell, that aroma of fresh meat.

It was a bit weird to peer into a display case of sausage and not see any brats. Another display case held a myriad of pork pies, Scotch eggs, and other distinctly British delectables (and non-British ones too).

But, being from Wisconsin, it was the cheese case which drew my lady's attention. Upon seeing it, I proclaimed, "Cheese, Gromit!" and did Wallace's hand gesture.

I'd only heard of 3 or 4 of the varieties on offer but the gentleman behind the counter was quite knowledgeable about them all and quite generous with the samples. In addition, a hearty thanks must be given to the friendly Chinese Welshman who had come into the store shortly after we did and identified the name of the one of the cheeses as being Welsh and pronounced it for us.

After apologizing for the lake of drool on the floor, my lady bought some cheese and we quickly made our way to dinner.

The look on my ladyfriend's face when we approached Pieminister was of sheer, unadulterated joy. If she were to ever quit her job and pursue another line of work, it'd be as a piemonger. Her enthusiasm made me very happy, her eagerness to dig into a savory filled pastry would not be denied.

She ordered a steak and ale pie while I went with the steak and ale and Stilton pie. Pieminister is a casual, nouveau pie place and you could put add-ons onto your pie such as a skewer of small sausages or, as I did, Yorkshire pudding. I mean, they give you a small boat of gravy so I had to.

It was delicious! While I'd heard of Stilton before - likely from Monty's Python's cheese shop sketch - I don't think I'd ever eaten any. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was a blue cheese with a lovely sharp, moldy taste.

Our final stop of the evening was one that I had scouted out before we crossed the ocean: Fell Northern Quarter.

Housed in an attractive older building, Fell NQ is a taproom of Fell Brewery in Cumbria which, I later learned, is an area north-northwest of Manchester. My attraction to the place stemmed from a post online stating that it had a nice selection of ciders. You see, in addition to the goal of drinking less coffee and more tea, it was also my intention to drink less beer and more cider.

I made my way to the bar and looked at the big board. It was disappointing to see so many American style IPAs - hazy, West Coast, blah blah blah. But there were other options and I immediately went back on my pledge to drink more cider by ordering a Gose for me and a ginger beer for my lady. The bartender was a young woman in her mid-20s. She was tall and thin with a beautiful warm, thin face. Clad in a halter top, I admired her willowy figure as she filled my order and thought that she must make good tips. Then I recalled that you don't tip at pubs over there.

The place had a smattering of fellow folks enjoying libation. One table off by the bar had several people at it chatting and laughing while a couple tables away from us were two guys having a more serious sounding conversation. In the other direction sat a young man and his dog in quiet contemplation.

While the Gose was quite tasty with a nice sourness to it that didn't taste lethal and just the right salinity, I felt guilty. And so my final nightcap was a perry.

This was a Ross-on-Wye Yellow Huffcap perry and it tasted quite dry and delicious. The yellow huffcap, as most people know, is a type of pear. (Ahem.) On each sip the tannin dryness would fade allowing a scrumptious pomaceous flavor to emerge.

Our trip was off to a fine start.

On the way home I noticed this restaurant.

What an odd name.

A pub close to our hotel (and next to another pub that gave a 10% discount to CAMRA members) advertised this:

Back in our room, we busted out the cheese and some cream crackers too.

Cheddar. (I don't know where the Isle of Mull is.) Not unexpected but a classic. A young cheese, it was mild and creamy.

This stuff was a soft cheese. Mild and creamy.

The Red Leicester proved to be the big hit.

Think of Colby. Then give it a nutty flavor. And to top it off, add very mild herbal overtones. We are going to seek this stuff out here in the States.