pork pie periodical

Today I purchased a pork pie from The Ginger Pig, one of London’s premier meat boutiques, the kind of old-fashioned place where the produce is well-loved and very much part of the family. You’d like a cut of Daisy, Sir? Certainly, no problem. Lovely temperament, she had – was almost sorry to slaughter her. Tastes great, too.

Normally I wouldn’t write about such a mundane act, but at five pounds a pop I thought I’d better document the pie’s demise in detail. The picture below shows the produce carefully wrapped for transport. This technique, although outwardly primitive, will keep the contents fresh for up to two days when utilised in conjunction with a dependable refridgerator.

Our next image shows the pie sans wrapping. Please note the traditional pastry cracking and colour, a lovely set of golden-red hues, bringing to mind an African safari sunset or the parched floor of the Kyzyl-Kum Desert in Central Asia.

The next step is to cut the pie. Tradition dictates that I choose a serious blade for the job, in this case a 10-inch cook’s knife made by Gustav Emil Ern at the world-famous steel works in Solingen, Germany. You’ll notice the smoothness of the laceration made in the image below, a picture also demonstrating the meat suspended in the traditional transparent pie liniment, or jelly. This feature was added to the recipe during the latter part of the 18th Century, when stock was used to fill up any airholes created during the baking process, extending the shelf-life of the pie whilst retaining the succulence of its nectareous cargo.

I don’t really think I’m ready for this jelly, but I get stuck in all the same. It’s scrumptious, of course, the opulent pig-flesh tempered with a hint of anchovy essence, oganic bacon brawling for predominance with sage, thyme and ground mace. It’s quite delicious, a meticulously fused riot of herb and spice, gastronomic alchemy in a grease-proof paper wrapper.

And then it’s gone.

If anyone wants me to review their food, please get in touch. Especially restaurants. Or pretty ladies.


  1. I too have waltzed with Le Porc de Gingembre, and concur with your expert opinion. The pie’s spicy innards bayonet the palette with unique clarity. May I recommend the Chateau Margaux 1985 as a suitable companion. Or Vimto.

  2. Re: the final picture in this series, the sad but enevitable empty plate. Surely there’s some photoshopping going on there, what no trace of a condiment? I’d have opted for one or a combination of the following; Apple sauce; english mustard; piccalilli. No? Call me non-traditionalist?

  3. Looks like too much jelly for my liking. My personal tastes dictate that there should only be a thin of layer of jelly (5mm max) seperating pork and pastry.

    But it looked lovely none the same.

  4. To be honest today was your “last chance” Fraser! Before logging on i said to myself “if he hasn\’t bloody updated that site for my amusement then i won\’t log on again! Never, not even to steal the links!” Hooray for pig entrails, Blogjam is back in my good books again and said URL can be retrieved from the bin. Happy pork filled days to us all

  5. Hope you have plenty of antacid.

  6. That wasn’t funny.

  7. That jelly looks awful.
    I can just feel the insolid slime in my mouth.
    But, love pork:)

  8. My nan used to make her own and let us fill them with liquid jelly. They were ace. I may dig her up at the weekend.

  9. l have a cold and it is poring with rain outside and l am many miles from home in a best forgotten part of the world…l wish l could have eaten that delicious pie

    when l get back l will immediately purchase the best pork pie l can lay my hands on and eat it with homemade chutney. yum yum

  10. I’d much rather eat a Hostess fruit pie.

    But then again I’m American so go figure.

    mmmmmm, cherry pie.

  11. My name is Jim, and I’d have loved to have added a bit of meat of my own to your pork pie. Please could tell me if the shop involved does mail order.

  12. Sodry pleased :(
    Wrong ctaegoyr…

    wlpl be carefful