Even the word pie to me conjures up connotations with comfort and home. A bit like an edible cuddle.
I’m sat o the couch watching Heston Blumenthal, eating chocolate biscuits and drinking wine.
Tonight I am not denying myself the pleasures of comfort eating and drinking.
It is winter, time to fatten up, snuggle in layers and latch down the hatches.
Even the dogs (3) have snuggled on the day bed in the kitchen, raising a head to just check that the magic black food box isn’t offering up edible goodies as I pass through to make a cup of tea.
Winter makes me tired, it even feels like a hibernation time, and since my house has no heating upstairs, I make getting dressed and undressed a magical race against time. Effects of pie and winter fattening are fleetingly ignored in the bid for heat.
Heston has now roped a Yorkshire pie making man in to create bricks made of pies. I love Heston, a pub made of pies……
Hubby I think, will go to bed happy, he is a man that likes simple good quality comforts. He will hopefully dream the dream of a virtuous pie fed boy x