The Christmas pasty

Christmas dinner is blah. Year in year out, it’s the same deal. A couple of slices of meat lie limply on the plate surrounded by the usual suspects - boiled potatoes, roasties, sausages wrapped in bacon, stuffing and the ever-polarising sprouts – all waiting to be drowned in a tidal wave of gravy.

Yes it’s classic, but come on people – it’s supposed to be the greatest meal of the year, let’s shake it up a bit. It’s time for a reinvention – Madonna style.

Do they know it’s Christmas mine
Back in the day, Mrs Miner would pack her Cornish husband off to work down t’mine with a two course meal in one handy pasty – meat and veg in one side, pudding in the other. A man’s meal made ergonomic. Surely this uber-food is crying out for a Christmas conversion?

Gordon Ramsay says it’s OK to use shop-bought shortcrust pastry and we don’t need telling twice. We cut and roll a plate sized disc and lay half of it over the rolling pin to keep it out of the way for a bit.

Keeping with the British tradition, the filling will be meat and two veg. Turkey (of course), potato and swede all chopped finely and spooned onto the dough. Add a little onion and a sprinkling of flour and the pasty even makes its own gravy.

On the sweet side, we follow Gordon’s mince pie advice and combine the best darn mincemeat we can find with a glug of booze and a bit of orange zest and pile it all onto the pastry, a finger-width or so away from the savoury. Then it’s just a matter of moistening the joints and the gap between the fillings with milk and laying the rest of the pastry on top.

There’s a knack to making the distinctive pasty crimp. Needless to say neither of us have it. We roll and pinch the pastry closed and hope it holds.

Then all that’s left is to cut a hole in each section and baste with egg for a golden finish. I do this delicately so my pasty has a subtle sheen. My boyfriend piles on the egg making a right pig’s ear of it. “It looks like someone’s trying to make a little omelette,” I jest, laying my pristine pasty onto the baking tray. I’ve even etched little holly leaves onto it. Beautiful.

Our creations need 20 minutes in a hot oven, then another 40 minutes at 160°C. We pass this time watching crap telly, for full festive effect.

An hour later and there’s a lovely wholesome scent coming from the kitchen. There’s even been a Christmas miracle, as the oven has transformed my boyfriend’s egg smeared mess into a pasty that’s as pretty as a picture, whilst mine’s gone anaemic. You can’t even see the painstakingly carved holly leaves. I choke back my resentment – it is the season of goodwill after all.

Verdict: A Christmas cracker

Find more great Christmas tips and recipes in 4Food’s Christmas hub.

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