Les Delices De Cumbria - Part VIII

We were sitting in the bar of the George Hotel in Keswick, the Cineaste, the Director & I, plotting the success of an arts festival we're involved with. A waiter brushed past, serving food to two men at the next table. He set down their suppers and we stared in astonishment. Each plate was overburdened by a massive square slab of pastry, meat and sauce which left no room anywhere for such superfluities as vegetables or salad. Each slab was a good two inches deep. Heaven knows what they weighed or contained. The Director's eyes sparkled (she's purportedly vegetarian). What was it? we enquired breathlessly. Pie came the response. What sort of pie exactly? The waiter shrugged. It was just, well, pie.
The men at the next table grinned in anticipation and fell to. We never did discover quite what variety of pie they'd been lucky enough to encounter, so I can't pass on a firm recommendation, but I'm sure that if you stagger into the George one evening and just say I feel a pie coming on . . . the extremely helpful waiting staff will know just what to bring you.