“Do different” is a Norfolk motto: based on the old Norfolk adage “the people of Norfolk dew things different”. If I had a tattoo, that might be it.
I actually grew up in the Midlands – traditional pork pie country – beside a canal, in what was then a small village inhabited mostly by a mixture of farming families and engineers who commuted to the industrial towns nearby. On Saturdays, I had piano lessons on Albert Street in Rugby. There was just enough space in the tiny front room for Mrs Bradwick, who knitted in time throughout, a vast grand piano and me.
Afterwards, when teenage hunger pangs struck hard, my mum would get me a fabulous pork pie from Rugby market. I was already fascinated by food, so I knew exactly what I liked about those pork pies and what I didn’t. Mostly, I considered them delicious.
Still medieval in our palate, the British are unique in their affection for savoury pies, and hot water crust pastry. (It always amazes me that America only really has a sweet pie tradition – how did that get lost in the crossing from Liverpool?). It surprised the Midlander in me how English a thing pork pies are – you don’t see hot water crust pastry in the Scottish, Welsh – or even the English West Country food traditions, but I sense that the love of a pork pie is spreading a little more now. Quite rightly.
In the 1970s, pork pies were served as a lunch or easy tea, with salad, or as a fast food in a time before the golden arches had spread all over the UK. Black Country families around Birmingham ate (and still eat) pork pie for breakfast on Christmas or Boxing Day. In those days, fewer pies originated in factories, whereas now, even ones I see in delis, to the practised eye, have arrived on a wholesaler’s lorry. That makes a difference. If pork has been processed to pass easily through an extruder, rather than the pie being filled by hand, and engineered for a long shelf life, that pie is inevitably going to taste very different.
Ten years ago, escaping office life, I started making pork pies myself in a rented kitchen 15 minutes from my Norfolk home. I’ve been here since I was 18, and I’m as much Norfolk as anything now. My heart is well plumbed-in to the chalk streams that run through its woods and across its wide salt marshes, haunted by harriers, otters and swallows. Norfolk, despite having a wonderful food culture, doesn’t have a pork pie tradition, so I’ve had the freedom to make something contemporary – something that I really wanted to eat.
People assume Melton Mowbray pork pies are best because of their familiarity and ubiquity in shops. I admire what the businesses there have done with their marketing and investment in the EU programme of regional protection, but there are also other excellent traditional pork pies from Yorkshire to Lincolnshire.
And Norfolk, which is big outdoor pig country: pigs here have space to stroll about in the sunshine and socialise, and I’m convinced this makes a difference in many ways. I pack my pies full of this luscious free-range pork, and lace them with a little bit of bacon for a smoky note (I do this rather than leaving a gap and including jelly, which I’ve never liked, but which the Mowbray producers are beholden to do). My seasoning is several steps away from a Melton Mowbray style pie too – theirs must contain only salt and pepper; mine are more reminiscent of the pâté en croûte you can find in some French charcuteries.
I like my pies to have an interesting twist of flavour, such as onion marmalade, piccalilli or chorizo. In spring, I do a wild garlic one, the leaves foraged from a nearby woodland, and in autumn with apples from Sandringham. A departure from Melton Mowbray, for sure; do different indeed.
Pork and sausage pie
I have included pigeon breasts and gin-soaked apricots as optional – and very delicious – additions here, but the pork and sausage together make for something more straightforward, which is no less good for it. My pies don’t need a condiment, but a good chutney or wholegrain mustard can be a welcome addition.
Serves 4-6
260g lard, melted
360g strong white flour
360g plain flour
375g hot water
2 tsp salt
2 tsp sugar
1 egg, beaten
3 tbsp double cream
For the filling
70g smoked bacon
150g sausage meat
500g pork shoulder meat, cut into 1cm dice
¼ tsp nutmeg
1 tsp smoked paprika
1 bay leaf, rolled and finely chopped
1 clove, ground
2 tsp salt
1 tsp ground black pepper
4 pigeon breasts (optional)
6 apricots, soaked for at least 2 hours in just enough gin to cover them (optional)
1 Combine the lard, flours, water, salt, and sugar, then mix until it forms a dough, wrap in clingfilm and chill for about 40 minutes.
2 Knead it on a lightly floured surface until it’s the consistency of play-dough. Hot water crust pastry wants to be worked, it doesn’t demand delicate handling. Roll out the pastry to around the thickness of a £1 coin and line a 15cm deep, loose-bottomed, round pie (or cake) tin with it. If the tin isn’t non-stick, line it with a good parchment paper. When you are putting the pastry in the circular tin you’ll find that you have at least one fold in the wall of the pastry creating double or treble pastry thickness (that’s just geometry). This can easily be worked up and out of the crease by gently pressing until the pastry is a consistent thickness all the way round. Try not to make any holes in the pastry – you need a complete, leakproof vessel for the filling. Leave a small overhang of pastry around the lip to crimp the lid to. Cut a lid about 1cm in circumference wider than the tin.
3 If using, put the pigeon and apricots to one side, then combine the rest of the filling ingredients. Fill the pastry with about a third of the meat, and then a layer of pigeon breast. Add a little more filling and then a layer of apricots, then a final layer of meat. Dampen the lip of the pastry, add the lid and crimp securely. Put a hole in the lid to allow steam to escape during cooking.
4 Mix the beaten egg with the cream, then thinly glaze the pie top with a pastry brush. Repeat this several times during baking for extra shine.
5 Bake on a tray in a pre-heated oven at 180C/350F/gas mark 4 for at least 2½ hours, or until the centre of the pie reaches at least 75C and, importantly, all the visible pastry is cooked. Check regularly during cooking. If necessary, cover the top of the pie with a foil “hat” to prevent over-browning. If your oven has hot spots then you’ll probably need to turn the pie round every half hour or so to get an even bake.
6 Cool the pie completely before turning it out of the tin. The pastry will harden during cooling.
Sarah Pettegree is the founder of Brays Cottage pies; perfectpie.co.uk, @brayscottage
Cook’s supermarket pork pie round-up
The pork pie: as British as queuing, filthy weather and Brexit. The most authentic are thought to hail from Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire, where they must all be made from naturally coloured, chunky, uncured pork swaddled in hot-water pastry and “hand-raised” – baked without a hoop or tin – giving the sides a bowed appearance. Then they’re injected with the purest bone stock jelly – an acquired taste.
Sainsbury mini Melton Mowbray pork pies
£2 for 6, pork quotient: 30%
Edible, but lacks panache. Seasoning a bit low key. The sort of bland fare you might expect at kids’ parties. Begs for mustard. Too much gelatine, no moist pastry. Looks like it could have been made by a robot. Tolerable.
Cook rating: 2/5
Tesco mini Melton Mowbray pork pies
£2.10 for 6 (300g), pork quotient: 31%
Pleasant, but the pastry is a bit tough, and could be moister underneath. No jelly to speak of. Possibly slightly overcooked? Underglazed. Bland. Not too different to above.
Cook rating: 2.5/5
Waitrose Succulent Melton Mowbray pork pie
99p (135g), pork quotient: 32%
Crumblier pastry, plump if pale innards; could be more liberally seasoned, but pleasant enough. No sign of any gelatine – too dry for some. Needs more oomph, but a quality pie.
Cook rating: 3.5/5
M&S mini Melton Mowbray pork pies
£1.50 for 2, pork quotient: 37%
Pastry light, but cool and pleasantly lardy, giving way to a hearty centre. This somewhat masked the flavour of the filling, but then reveals a savoury, meaty taste. The extra meat content shows, though it’s a bit underseasoned.
Cook rating: 3.5/5
Dickinson and Morris Melton Mowbray pork pie
£1.36 (140g), pork quotient: 38%, available from porkpie.co.uk or delis and supermarkets nationwide
The original pork pie, according to the website of this Melton Mowbray bakers set up in 1851. Seems practice makes perfect: convincingly chunky innards with a real meaty kick. Optimal jelly. Peppery aftershocks. Blushing a bit in the middle, moist inner crust. In the presence of greatness here.
Cook rating: 4.8/5
Dave Hall
