This is what my eldest son said after he and I had had a celebratory posh meal together a few weeks ago. And I thought of these wise words yesterday.
Yesterday, we joined relatives for another posh meal. I've posted about this Fine Dining thing before, but it bears repeating. It was a lovely occasion; great company, beautiful weather, glorious surroundings etc. but the food was of the garden-on-a-dinner-plate variety: small portions of tiny little unidentifiable things which have to be explained. Like this:
Waiter (putting your plate in front of you. Here you have to imagine charming French accent): you have here a pâté of wild hare's trotters pickled in cognac, a purée of wild garlic and cucumber, a peanut soufflé with rose petals, a stuffed claw of pickled lobster, and a beetle nut jus.
Then you have to remember it all when he's gone, because he took away the menu an hour ago, and you can't remember what you ordered.
As for jus, what's that all about? And whatever happened to gravy? Good, old-fashioned English gravy. In a jug.
So, back to my son. He's right. What you want is pie. Straightforward, no-explanations-needed pie. And lots of gravy.