Gravy, Liquor and the Great Crust Question: Our Kitchen Settles the Pie Arguments Once and For All

British Pie Week is nearly upon us, and in this kitchen that means one thing: the annual argument. It starts quietly, usually over prep, and by the time the stock is on it has escalated into a full-blown debate involving wooden spoons gesticulating like majorettes. This year, we decided to settle it properly — with a taste test, a scorecard, and a rule that nobody leaves until a verdict is reached.

Round One: Full Crust or Pastry Lid?

The first row is the big one. A proper pie, says our head chef, must be encased — pastry underneath, pastry on top, no negotiation. A casserole wearing a hat, he argues, is not a pie but "a stew with ambitions".

Our sous chef disagrees, and not quietly. A full crust, she says, is all very well in a pie shop window, but in a pub kitchen at seven on a Saturday, the underside goes soggy and the whole enterprise collapses. A good shortcrust lid, golden and sturdy, does the same job with half the risk.

The taste test was instructive. We baked two steak-and-ale pies side by side: one full crust, one lidded. The full crust won on drama — there's real theatre in cracking through the top — but the lidded pie held its filling better and, crucially, stayed crisp to the last bite. Verdict: lidded for service, full crust for occasions. We're taking it to a reader vote before we commit.

Round Two: Gravy or Liquor?

Down South, and we say this with affection, they pour something called liquor over pie mash — a pale green-tinged parsley sauce that our kitchen viewed the way a cricketer views underarm bowling. But we were raised to be fair, so we made a proper version: parsley, a little eel-stock richness swapped for fish stock, plenty of white pepper.

Against our own dark, slow-cooked beef gravy, it was a genuine contest. The liquor is lighter, brighter, and lets the pastry speak. Our gravy is comfort itself — the kind of thing you'd happily drink from the jug when nobody's watching. On the night, gravy won six votes to two. But two of the brigade have started requesting liquor with their lunch, so we may have created a monster.

Round Three: The Peas Question

Mushy peas: essential accompaniment or plate-filler? Our position has always been that a pie without peas is a pie eaten standing up — fine in an emergency, but not the done thing. The mint-vinegar splash is non-negotiable, and garden peas, frankly, are a garnish pretending to be a vegetable.

One dissenting voice argued for buttered mash alone, claiming peas "interfere with the gravy geometry". He was overruled, but we've printed his objection here in the spirit of openness.

The Final Verdict

After two hours, three pies, and one chef quietly making himself a sandwich, the house position is this: a lidded steak-and-ale pie, shortcrust, with proper gravy, mushy peas and a splash of mint vinegar — and if you want liquor instead, we won't judge. Much.

But here's the thing: this is our verdict, not yours. British Pie Week is your chance to settle it. Come in, order the contenders, and cast your vote at the bar — champion pies will be flying the flag all week, and the people's favourite earns a permanent spot on the specials board. Democracy, served hot, with peas.