Make Mine Mike

"As Mr. Sloman always says, there's no 'I' in 'team' but there is an 'I' in 'pie'. There's an 'I' in 'meat pie'. The anagram of 'meat' is 'team'... I don't know what he's talking about. Look, that's it."
--Shaun, Shaun of the Dead

We had to bring Oscar-movie-themed food to my friend's Academy Awards party last weekend. My ideas were punny but puny, like bringing a bag of Baby Ruths, as in Gone Baby Ruth Gone. Or a lot of Mentos, for Atone-Mentos, or -- wait for it... No Country for Old Mentos. Yeah, baby. When it comes to freaky phrases, I'm the Freshmaker.

But fortunately, my fiancée had a better idea. Meat pies -- like in Sweeney Todd. Great idea, as long as they're made with more traditional ingredients than in the musical... And then, where you gonna get 'em? We're in the US, not the UK. Santa Monica, not Sussex.

Turns out, there's the Tudor House in town. I've lived here for years and often went to the pub around the corner, but never knew about this British bakery. Since there's no barber shop above it, we figured it'd be okay.

Normally the words "British" and "baking" are oxymoronic, like "Great Britain" and "gourmet", or "English food" and "edible", but these looked good. (The picture above isn't theirs, but looks similarly savory.) Adelphia and I eyed the selection of meat pies: beef with potatoes, chicken curry, lamb vindaloo, spinach and cheddar... They were all tempting, but she picked out a half-dozen assortment to bring to the party. I suggested we buy one more. Adelphia thought seven was too many. Yes, but one was the perfect amount. For me. Right now.

Adelphia said no, insisting, and then laughed at me -- moping 'cause she made Mikey miss out on meat pie. She found it endearing. I was like a little kid who couldn't stand to wait for his instant gratification.

Hey, I'm not a little kid. I'm not. I just wanted one all to myself. Why do I have to share? Also, I'd like to point out, we had a few hours to kill before the party and after waiting, Adelphia got anxious and hungry and wanted to cut into one of the meat pies. But I made her wait, too. Pbbfllt!

Thing is, it wasn't that I couldn't have one right away, it was that I couldn't have it the way I liked.

If I had one for myself, first, at home, I could reheat it in the oven, then add some salt, pepper, maybe some salsa, taking big bites, even scarfing it down if I wanted. Then by the time the party rolled around, I'd already know what to expect. So I wouldn't feel a need to bug my host by suggesting he use the oven not the microwave. Or ask if he had any condiments. Or have to take a tiny sliver while secretly wanting more, but waiting politely for the guests consider trying that or some Pirate's Booty of the Caribbean or the perhaps the Ratatouille ratatouille.

So I focused my attention to the Oscar pool instead and I took home the cash. The next day, I went back to Tudor House and took home my own meat pie. Mmmm, meat pie. As expected, it was even more delicious. Some things taste better when you don't have to eat 'em while standing on ceremony... or Oscar ceremony.