I do love a pasty. It does everything it promises. It doesn’t lie, fool around or break your heart. A pasty nourishes you, fills you, comforts and cuddles you from the inside out. It doesn’t need a frilly garnish or a poncey sauce to make it more attractive. It’s simple, loving, and at times when you might need it most – your very best friend.
These were first devised for a cookery show: ‘Lotte, do you have a twist on the burger?’ (Much eye rolling and muttering from me with my hand over the phone – why has there always got to be a twist?) ‘Absolutely no problem at all – why don’t we use minced lamb for a change, season it, shape it and shove some feta in?’ Silence.
I arranged a supper for some of the girls. We were 6 opinionated, strong birds all sat at my round table in my very old dining room. A recipe for democratic disaster you might think – but actually no. Not a knife was thrown, not a cross word expelled. We sorted the world, spoke about how much we adore men (as long as they do