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The Arbuturian
I selected the shepherd’s pie... I wondered how they would tackle this. I imagined finely-piped potato, something added to it for a touch of flair (horseradish, maybe?), or perhaps the meat will have been marinated for hours beforehand. Was it all in the presentation? But what arrived was an assuming portion of, well, shepherd’s pie. No frills. No fanciness. Other than some greenery we’d ordered as a side dish there was merely a little jug of gravy, should I desire it. I took a forkful.
And my mouth nearly fell open.
It suddenly made me realise that everything about every shepherd’s pie I’d had in England (including my own) was bland, lacklustre and lacking. Here was a richness in texture and flavour I’d never thought possible. Yet, within there seemed nothing more than mince. I dissected it searching for a secret ingredient but it hadn’t seemed dressed with anything alluring, there were no carrots or peas added and the onion seemed non-existent. Sometime ago, Heston Blumenthal ran a series on television where he tried to create the definitive British classics. I can see why he never attempted shepherd’s pie, he probably came here and realised he couldn’t compete. I can’t wait to see what they’d do with Toad in the Hole.
