Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Pie = $3.14


Today I’m going to talk about pies.

In New Zealand and Australia the meat pie is part of the culture. It’s the blue collar equivalent of caviar. I think it fits into the cultural jigsaw in a way similar to the way a sausage, bun, mustard and pickles fit into the American culture as hot dogs.

Ah, the joys of cross-cultural food translation.

According to the font of all semi-accurate knowledge, Wikipedia, the standard Kiwi pie is not too dissimilar to the American pot pie. Except that the shortening in the base makes it more structurally sound and I think a little bigger.

Typically a pie will fit moderately comfortably in your hand, and be filled with minced meat, spices and optional extras such as cheese, mushrooms or vegetables. The recipes are often closely guarded secrets.

When I was growing up, May’s pies in Timaru had a national reputation for goodness. These had a kind of yellow pastry but were thick with ground lamb and heavily spiced. It was common knowledge the best mutton pies in the country could be bought at Dunsandel, a few miles south of Christchurch.

The pie warmers in towns from Kaitaia to Bluff would be filled with the drying crusts of three or four varieties.

As a side note, the popularity of the meat pie is such that the Government has set certain rules about them. For example, they must contain at least 25 percent meat. Unfortunately this is the pre-cooked weight, and doesn’t specify what part of the animal is used. Technically muscle, sinew and even snouts are meat, under this definition.

But the Pie Days of my youth are gone. In a similar way to the McDonald’s and KFC invasion from the United States, Australian pie makers have invaded New Zealand.

The worst offender, in my opinion, is Mrs Mac's. These are made in Australia from 100 percent Australian ingredients and, I’m picking, are sent to New Zealand frozen and sold to petrol stations and dairies at about 300 for a dollar and then retail for about four dollars each.

And, frankly, they taste like somebody’s eaten them already.

Less offensive is Big Ben, which is an Australian company which at least uses New Zealand ingredients and makes the pies in New Zealand. But not a great recipe.

Irvine’s pies, made by Goodman Fielder, tend to be the best of the service station crop for my money. Not so strong on mass, but the pastry is nice and it all seems fairly proportionally well balanced.

Fortunately the cafes of the country maintain the quality and individuality of the good old Kiwi meat pie. Great chunks of meat in the middle, blazing hot globs of mushroom falling in your lap as the architectural integrity of the pie’s structure collapses. Or cringing with pain as the melted cheese explodes volcanically from its insulated pastry pocket and burns your lips to shreds. It’s brilliant.

I heard someone say recently that after travelling the world they believed the best pies were made in New Zealand. It gave me a haunting touch of patriotic pie pride; with a bonus 25 grams of saturated fat. I like it.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Doo De Doo De Doo

As you probably know by now, I love the English language. Particularly its ambiguities of spelling. Homonyms are my bread and butter. Which is funny in itself, because I currently have no bread or butter in the house, and have never used a homonym to make a sandwich, and yet you understood exactly what I was getting at.

Hmmm.... a homonym sandwich with cheese and Marmite. Could work.

This particular post was prompted by my good friend Cindy, with whom I have spoken to on the phone a couple of times.

Now, for a Kiwi, half the fun of talking to an American is gently making fun of their accent.

"Say duty"

"Doody."

*snigger snigger*

"Say data."

"Dayta."

*snigger snigger*

I never claimed to be particularly mature. Let it go.

This can even be localised. Nothing's funnier to me than asking a Southlander to say purple. "Paaarlpul." Ah yes, the good ol' southern accent.

Accents can be funny. But on the whole we can understand each other.

But then there are the funny stories of people going into a sh0p and needing somebody to translate English into English so everyone can understand each other through the accents.

I've heard that one of my favourite films, Trainspotting, was nearly given subtitles in America, even though it is simply English with a Scottish accent. I've read American reviews of the film saying: "Don't worry, you can work out what they're saying after about half-an-hour."

Watching the DVDs with the subtitles on can be interesting, too. I think they've cleaned up their act a bit now, but there used to be times where the character would say: "I'm fucking sick of this fucking shit!" and the subtitle would read: "Gosh, I'm upset about this!" ... Like deaf people aren't allowed to swear.

Right. Well, I didn't have a point, and I feel I've made it.

I hope you understand my written accent. I could read it aloud, but you probably wouldn't understand me.