The Pieologist's Assault on London - Part IV: Pieminster, and some other stuff

Chelsea - Pieminster
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A couple of days after Rules Restaurant, I found myself walking down the Kings Road towards Sloane Square, wondering how in the hell I was going to carry Sports' shopping for the next couple of hours - let alone pay for it - when we came upon a food market that had sprung up in Duke of York Square. 

I had just given an interview on the street (seriously) and as a result was starting to get some post-interview peckishness that I completely made up as an excuse to eat.

Dispensing pearls of wisdom makes a bloke hungry

There was such a fantastic array of cuisines on offer that all thoughts of continuing on to the Phat Phuc Noodle Bar (no shit, check it out) were immediately banished, and I let myself be drawn in by the wafting of freshly baked sourdough, steaming gyoza, wild-caught Scottish smoked salmon blinis with Veuve, German brats, soft fish tacos, home-made cheeses, and as it turned out, pies.

This time, it was Sports who tugged my shirt sleeve, pointed into the middle distance and said, 'hey there's a sign for Pieminster pies....isn't that one of the ones your cabbie mate recommended?' God bless her for spotting it, and God bless Steve the cabbie, because I shitcanned all that other garbage and made a beeline for the Pieminster stall...which was curiously devoid of queueing punters. 

Still, the pies in the warmer looked very appealing, and the menu immediately put me in a quandary. Do I try something I know and have a baseline of for comparison, or do I go out on a limb? Then I saw: wild venison chilli con carne pie. Screw the baseline. You had me at Wild, Pieminster.

Beer and deer - a match made in heaven

The pie was beautifully presented in a little recycled cardboard box, with a napkin (which came in very handy), a fork (straight in the bin), a nice bit of friendly banter, and a menu for future reference.

Put simply, the pie was excellent. 

Vegetarian Society approved....pfffft. Would you bother?

It's like opening a Christmas present....only better!

Ta - DAAAAA!!

The temperature was perfect (especially on a cool and breezy London day), and the heat was fairly fiery - contrary to assurances that it had 'a bit of go but not too much, you know? Just nice.' Bullshit...it had heeeeeaps of go. 

Look how golden flaky that lid is....

I love a lot of heat and as such it was perfect for me, but a child - or Roobs - would find this one quite challenging. My lips were tingling for a full 5 minutes after finishing this magnificent creation.

Oh yeah, baby - chocka block full of goodies. And beer!

The shortcrust pastry held together nicely and there were plenty of golden brown flakes on top. It contained a plethora of visible ingredients, had a good consistency to the gravy and was extremely difficult to fault. I gave it another 9/10. The only reason I didn't have another one is that I'd managed to sneak in a couple of the aforementioned gyoza while Sports was in Lululemon....which I regretted immensely.

Seriously, have a go at some of these flavours:

http://www.pieminister.co.uk/food/pies/

Some goose

A cockney ATM...so called because cockneys are the only
people who can work them out and win anything. AKA the fruit machine

Selfridges

The next day, we ended up at Selfridges (department store) - because we needed to do some shopping for a change. Lunchtime rolled around, and I suggested that we mooch on down to the food court, where I came across this pie.

For some reason - whether it was shopping fatigue, hunger, beer-withdrawals - I don't really know - I accepted their offer of mash and gravy. So they spooned a great pile of mash into the bottom of this thing, then ladled an ocean of gravy on top. Viola...

It actually wasn't as bad as it looks. The gravy was really rich, the mash was pretty good, and the pie was a perfect temperature and had plenty of juicy meat in a good gravy that made me regret the additional ladlefuls on top. 

Unfortunately, the extra gravy made the pastry soggy and eating it with a plastic fork out of this cup became a diabolical pain in my arse...so I didn't bother finishing it...I just ate the filling which was quite delicious and left most of the rest.

Still, as I keep telling Sports: sometimes you've got to admit when you're wrong (she hasn't taken me up on it yet, but it could be any day now), so I put it down to user error - if I had just ordered the pie by itself and eaten in in my hands I'm confident that it was good enough for a 7.5/10.

The Flight Home

Imagine my delight when, perusing the Cathay Pacific in-flight menu on the way home, I came across a lamb pie. That's right, on Cathay-bloody-Pacific. Bless.

So naturally I ordered it, and this arrived:

Good thing I'm not carb-phobic

Good looking top, nice plump peas....looks promising!

You know me punters - I detest swearing. But in this case I have to make an exception and state for the record that this thing was abso-tootely fucking DISGRACEFUL. It was dry, it was flavourless, it was dry, and as the Honey Badger would say, as tough as woodpecker lips. Did I mention it was dry? Bereft of flavour? Shame, Cathay, shame. I even put sauce on top to try and make it edible - without success. I'm giving them 1/10 for the peas only. Zero points for the pie.

The Pieologist's Assault on London - Part III: Rules Restaurant, 34 Maiden Lane, Covent Garden

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One day, Sports was worn out by a particularly intense and prolonged bout of shopping and decided to opt for a bit of R&R...at least that's what I think it was. Maybe she just had the shits with me after a couple of weeks' solid one-on-one (hey, I'm a lot for anyone to handle). 

Either way, I had a couple of hours to myself while she decompressed. So I did what any professional pie eater would do; I followed the advice of a helpful cabbie and went in search of a pie and a drink.

The helpful cabbie in question was Steve Dunn, and apart from pointing out all the sights as we passed them, pointed me in the direction of several excellent 'foodie' destinations such as the Borough Markets, Pieminster Pies, and Rules: the oldest restaurant in London. It was frequented by Charles Dickens & Edward VII...and shortly the Pieologist.

http://rules.co.uk/

So I made a call, secured a table, and wandered down the road towards Covent Garden with the sun on my face and a song in my heart. The door was opened for me by a waistcoated, top-hatted doorman and I began to get the feeling that I was in for something special.

The exterior facade

The restaurant is proper old school. It's *that* old school, that you couldn't even call it old skool (too modern). It's all brass rails and velvet drapes and oil paintings. The waitress told me that a scene from the new Bond film, Spectre was shot at table 9. It doesn't get more British than that, unless you're dining at Buck House with a Corgi humping your leg under the dinner table.

A scene from Spectre was shot in this room

Upstairs: the 'bar' area

Once seated, I checked the drinks menu, and as I was feeling a little frisky I ordered some sort of Campari-based cocktail with a frozen blackberry in it. Christ knows why. But it cleared the sinuses and sharpened up the palate and gave me something to slurp while I perused the menu.

Ooo-err, fancy!

Once again, sorry for the angle

Not that I needed to look - Steve the cabbie had already reliably informed me that the steamed steak and kidney suet pie - with the optional oyster, guv - was what I'd be going there for; so my decision had been made the day before.

So I ordered that with a glass of Chateauneuf du Pape to wash it down...as you do in a posh gaff, and struck up a conversation with the chap at the next table - who turned out to be John S. from Bulimba, who was over there teaching the Poms how to build a proper rail network like ours.

The pie was served with a silver jug of gravy & Paris mash. Much to my surprise the optional oyster was presented in its shell alongside the pie, rather than inside it as I had anticipated - perhaps because Steve and I had gotten sidetracked talking about carpetbag steaks. The oyster was covered in a dry-crumb of parsley and bread crumbs and baked.

The pie itself was large in size, temperature was perfect, and it was filled with LOTS of meat - flaky like pulled brisket with big chunks of kidney. The meat was moist and fork-tender, and the gravy delicious and plentiful.

Just look at that chunk of kidney...

I hadn't had a suet pastry before, and I quite liked it. Not that I prefer it to a short crust / puff pastry pie that we're used to here; but the flavour and texture was a bit like steamed bread: moist and doughy and bready...quite heavy and filling, but in a good way.

Now that's meaty!

The heaviness made it into a substantial meal, particularly with the side dish of spectacularly buttery mash which I doused in gravy and shoveled into my face whilst making inadvertent nom nom nom sounds.

It was a great pie and a lovely experience, but eating in London rarely comes cheap, and my lunch-for-one bill weighed in at a hefty £54. Factor in an outrageous exchange rate, and we're looking at about $116 !! (gratuity thoughtfully included).

Still, I enjoyed it so much that I couldn't possibly award anything less than a 9/10. The restaurant, pie, wine, and gorgeous French waitress were all top-drawer, what. In fact the only thing I can deduct a point for is the cost...not that I didn't receive value for money; but that I couldn't afford to eat there every week.

Oh, and I stopped in here for a pint on the way home - apparently it's Wills and Harry's local in Mayfair. They weren't there, but it was another beautiful English pub in the backstreets of London. Guy Ritchie (Madge's husband) used to own it, apparently.

​The Pieologist's Assault on London - Part II: The Red Lion, 48 Parliament Street, Westminster

The Red Lion is on the same side of the river as Westminster,
but the other side of the bridge (i.e. to the right of shot)

The Red Lion. Now this place has got some history. There's been a pub on this site since 1434, fercrissakes. Now that's some history! It's situated right between 10 Downing Street and Big Ben; across the road from the horse guards in Westminster, where bored horses bite Chinese tourists for fun and the guards try not to laugh. Don't know how - I nearly pissed myself.

Sheila on the left: not as stupid as she looks.
Sheila on the right (obscured by horse's head): about to be mistaken for horse-lunch.
Sheila on extreme right: about to learn first-hand to read warning signs.

The back of the Horse Guards...noting to do with pie; just a nice photo

They say that every British PM drank at The Red Lion until the 1970's, and it isn't difficult to imagine an underground tunnel running from Downing Street so Churchill could waddle in for a few jars after his evening wireless address to the nation during the blitz. Even Charles Dickens was a regular, although not at the same time as old Winston.

http://www.redlionwestminster.co.uk

Anyhoo, it had appeared on my radar as part of an intensive research process that took place prior to our trip. Sports was checking where every Jimmy Choo store was, while I planned 3 weeks' meals. It's an exceptionally pretty corner pub, with colourful hanging baskets of flowers, brass rails, and sepia-toned mirrors. 

When we arrived, lunch was in full swing and the pub is relatively small and inevitably packed full of tourists, but a small table beside the bar opened up as we entered and I settled in to check the menu with a pint of Fullers ESB (Extra Special Bitter - available at Dan Murphys if you're so inclined).

Apart from anything else (history, location etc), I'd selected The Red Lion because of its ale and pie tasting board - 3 ales matched to 3 mini pies - but one of the 3 pies was a chicken pie (not a massive fan), while another was a vegetable pie (it'll be a cold day in hell....if I was stuck on a desert island I'd chew my own arm off before I ate a veggie pie). 

Still, the remaining selection sounded very good, but once again I was hooked by the daily special: a beef and blue cheese pie. Fwaaaark me - how long has this been going on? Beef and goddamn blue cheese....and Australians think we own the meat pie? I hate to admit it, but we're (with a few notable exceptions) nowhere, folks.

Anyway, in due course, out she comes, presented beautifully on a big white plate with a side of excellent creamy mash, a small side salad (lettuce, red onion, raw courgette sliced with a potato peeler, vinaigrette), and a little jug of extra gravy, most of which I used, save for a few drops that I dabbed behind me Toby Jugs.

The pie had a lovely golden brown short crust pastry, was a good size, perfect temperature and full of great chunks of soft, slow-cooked moist beef. The gravy was your typical, home-made Sunday roast gravy like Nanna used to make. Luvverly. The blue cheese treatment was absolutely spot on too; there was enough to make its presence felt without being overpowering in any way. By Jove, I thought - they've cracked it.

The Red Lion prides itself on its pies, and I was very very impressed with mine. If the pie had had a flaky top, I don't know what I could have deducted points for (maybe for giving me a salad?). As it was, it was a very strong 9/10 with the lost point for the lack of a flaky lid.

The Pieologist's Assault on London - Part I: The Windmill, Mill Street, Mayfair

This is part 1 in a yet-to-be-determined / how-long-I-can-pad-it-out-for series; based on a recent trip to the Old Dart with the old cheese.

That;s the money shot, that is.

During the 8 days we spent in London I had the pleasure of sampling quite a few pies, and without wanting to preempt my future reviews and turn away the goldfish amongst you; frankly I was amazed by the quality of pie that I sampled in London. Admittedly, I did my research before leaving Oz and steadfastly refused to return to the pie and liquor hell I experienced in Cockneyland when I lived there 20 years ago; seeking out only the best and fairest Blighty had to offer (for the uninitiated, pie and liquor is a hideous concoction whereby a perfectly good pie is doused in a pond of green eel-based parsley gravy....and yes, it's just as bad as it sounds).

Warning: this review has the potential to be a huge time waster. Don't say you weren't warned.

My search began with The Windmill, which was recommended to me by good mate, merchant banker par excellence, former tank commander and all round good guy, Hugo. Hugo lives in London with his gorgeous Australian wife Lizzie and their beautiful baby daughter Primrose, and he came across The Windmill as the venue for his annual boys' Christmas lunch. It sounded so good, that when booking our accommodation, I made sure we were within a short walk of it so that we would be constantly walking past it. Cue evil laugh: Bwwwaaaahahahhahahaha!

http://www.windmillmayfair.co.uk

The Windmill is in a tiny street in Mayfair, just off the end of Saville Row. It's one of the dwindling number of Youngs pubs, i.e. pubs owned by Youngs brewery - one of the best brewers of traditional English bitter in the country. Don't take my word for it - they've won awards n'that. When I lived in London many many moons ago there was a Youngs pub on every corner. Now it's full of Starbucks.

I know what you're thinking: yeah, but Pommie beer is lukewarm flat dishwater that isn't worth a pinch of cocky shit. And you'd be wrong. Unless you're still drinking XXXX Gold as your beer of choice, in which case neither me nor anyone else will be able to convince you differently, and you should go back to your replay of the '92 classic grand final on Fox Footy before you miss something. Hey, before you go: the Broncos won...sorry to ruin that for you champ.

The front bar

But what Youngs pubs have is good atmosphere in abundance and a complete lack of pokies. They're a warm and welcoming place to catch up with your mates...and they usually have pretty bloody good food too. If this lot doesn't make you hungry, you're reading the wrong blog old bean:

http://www.youngs.co.uk/fooddrinks

I fronted up there on a brisk but otherwise typically sunny London day, excited by Hugo's reassurances that I wouldn't be disappointed. The Windmill has a Pie Club. It has a Pie Room. It has recipes on its website so you can make its pies at home. It has paintings of pies with legs standing in fields on its walls. It has national awards and glowing Trip Advisor reviews out the wazoo. If I still worked in London I'd get myself a job within walking distance of this pub.

Secret pie business deserves its own room

Best in show

The important stuff

My eyes eagerly scanned the menu as I sipped my pint of bitter, before alighting on the 'Scrum Down' special pie for the Rugby World Cup. I had gone there specifically for the 3-times national award winning steak, kidney & mushroom suet pie, but the Scrum Down was a beef short rib and horseradish pie with Paris mash...and I find it very difficult to pass up beef short rib. It won.

I have no idea why this picture refuses to turn 90 degrees - it's not that big an ask!

In due course the pie arrived. It had lovely presentation, excellent pastry (puff), good temperature, it was moist, with plenty of gravy which was well seasoned (amazing how the gravy somehow didn't make the pastry soft), and it encased a soft, well cooked beef rib.

All the major food groups

Unfortunately, whilst it was a good meal as a whole with truly excellent mash, I felt that there wasn't enough beef in the pie itself, and not enough horseradish to make its presence really felt - but I admit I'm a horseradish lover so I was hoping for a big hit of it with a hint of vinegar to cut through the slow cooked beef.

This clown certainly looks pretty pleased with himself.
Note the second pie room in the background...

Having said that, the pie was very tasty and still rated a rock solid 7/10. I returned several times during the week, but didn't manage to be there during lunch, which was a major disappointment as I didn't get the chance to sample the award-winner. Overall, I loved The Windmill and will be back there in a heartbeat when Gardner and I finally get around to that much-discussed Ashes tour. Big thanks to Hugo for the referral.

And if you think the pies look good, check out The Windmill's sister pub, The Guinea (also in Mayfair) which is situated on a site that's had an Inn on it since 1423 (I told you this one was going to be a time waster, didn't I?). The Guinea specializes in steak:

http://www.theguinea.co.uk