Pub Life: Pork Pie

Illustration: pork pie.

At 5:45 the crowd is getting restless – where is the pork pie? Where are the cubes of cheese? The nibbles and snacks?

Of course they’re a cour­tesy, not a right, so nobody can com­plain, even if they do it jok­ing­ly. But, still, when you’ve come to expect it and it isn’t there, you get rest­less, and start think­ing about buy­ing a bag of crisps or, worse, going home for tea.

There is a stir. The her­ald first, mus­tard and servi­ettes, then the thing itself, gold­en and stout, cut into eighths on a plate.

It has to go down in front of some­body and the some­bod­ies it goes down in front of feign dis­in­ter­est. A reg­u­lar heck­les, “Alright for some.” Temp­ta­tion is too much: after about five sec­onds, some­one shrugs and, takes a slice, might as well, then a sec­ond to pass to a friend.

The pie is already look­ing rav­aged, crust crum­bling and jel­ly spilling.

Pan­ic sets in and chairs scrape, every­one rush­ing but try­ing to look as if they’re not.

Tak­ing three slices, one reg­u­lar offers a nar­ra­tion to explain his motives: “Best get in before it’s all gone, one for each of us.”

The entire pie has dis­ap­peared before the first bowl of cheese has appeared.

The pub itself seems to sigh with con­tent­ment. No need to rush away, stay for anoth­er, maybe two. Sun­day night saved.

3 thoughts on “Pub Life: Pork Pie”

  1. Oh the heady days of snacks on the bar, roast pota­toes (well salt­ed!) of a Sun­day lunch, free snacks to groups of reg­u­lar busi­ness­men on a Fri­day lunchtime. All gone now in Lon­don.
    Its not the cost, nor the extra few pints that may go across the jump, but the build­ing of a rep­u­ta­tion and keep­ing your reg­u­lars. When every­thing has to be paid for why is your pub any dif­fer­ent to the oth­ers?

  2. Pork Pie, Mus­tard, Servi­ettes? Sure­ly not, at least not in the same sen­tence and nev­er in a pub in GOC. A prop­er growler needs no mus­tard. Servi­ettes? FFS.

    1. Wot? We’ve been offered mus­tard and either plates or paper servi­ettes in every pub we’ve had a pork pie in the last… Ten years? You’ve got your alarms set too sen­si­tive.

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