A taste of home

South of Hamilton is the city of Cambridge. Food is a big deal to me. It looks good and it smells good then I’ll try and eat it. Picked up a tourist map when we arrived in Cambridge knowing full well from the lonely planet book that it is a popular town for English expats. Around the outside of the maps they have advertising spaces for local attractions and places of interest. I glanced around the page and what I spotted blew my mind. A simple advert plainly titled "Traditional Homemade Cornish Pasties".


My legs felt wobbly and I lost all perspective on where I was at that time. I just knew one thing - I NEED A PASTY, and more importantly IT BETTER BE BLOODY AUTHENTIC.

Most of you who read this will have probably had a pasty at some point in your life. Our more exotic readers may not have, and so for you I shall describe the experience. Hot or cold at first glance the pasty looks, for want of a better word wholesome. It looks heavy and substantial but equally golden and gastrically inviting. It fits perfectly in one hand allowing the consumer a free hand to reach out for some HP sauce. In your hand it feels strong, like a brick but much more crumbly, delicious and less aggressive. As you raise it to your mouth you think of all the pasty eaters who have gone before you, each one seeking salvation in its pastry casing. When biting down a whirlwind of textures begin to dance in your mouth. Soft buttery pastry, tender flavoursome beef and the earthy sweetness of potatoes and turnip, or the humble swede as it is more commonly known. Before you know it your half way through and it’s likely you haven't stopped for breath yet - but there’s no place for breathing here, this is not the time. This is the time for one thing and one thing only - declaring war on the hunger and defeating it with foods mightiest of weapons - THE PASTY.

All that went through my mind like a future montage of what awaited us. We hunted out the shop, hidden on Victoria Street we spotted the Cornish flag flying high and proud alongside its new ally the kiwi flag. Inside the little shop we spent a good half an hour reminiscing with the two lovely ladies (one from Redruth, the other London) about Cornwall and the UK, swapping stories and place names. I couldn’t help but get distracted by the many pasties that were surrounding us, some keeping hot in the warmer, others lay out in the middle of being put together. I was hoping time would stand still for just a second so I could smash my way through the entire stock.

We took two of the traditional pasties and headed for the car. No sooner had we shut the car door that an explosion of shredded paper bags began...and then silence. Nothing but the sound of distant traffic on the road and two happy hungry jawbones eating. Bliss. They were perfect, just as good if not better than we remember.