You might get away with your menu
item if you qualified it as “Devonshire Squab Pie”, because you could claim it
as a traditional recipe from that particular part of the world, which is famous
for its apples (and cider). A genuine Devonshire Squab Pie is made from mutton
and apples. There were apple types specifically grown for inclusion in squab
pies, and there are many recipes in old cookbooks that would support your
claim. But how did it all come about?
The mixture of meat and fruit in
a pie goes back to mediaeval times, when there was no distinction between the
ideas of sweet and savoury dishes: the original mincemeat pie really did have
meat and suet in it, as well as fruit and sugar. This does not, however,
explain the substitution of mutton for pigeon. Why were they simply not called
mutton pies?
It is unlikely that the intention
was to deceive the consumer (pie bakers would surely never do that?) – such a
widespread deception would hardly have succeeded, and in any case, there does
not seem to have been any attempt to keep the contents a secret.
Genuine pigeon pies were food for
the rich, who could afford to keep dovecotes on their land. They were virtually
the only source of fresh meat over the winter until the development of crops
such as turnips, which allowed animals to be fed until spring. Pigeon pies
became the symbol of the rich man’s table: they were obligatory at all grand
banquets, such as on Lord Mayor’s day, and frequently appeared at the aristocrat’s
breakfast. Mutton pies were the food of the common man, if he was lucky.
Perhaps “squab pies” were the
peasants’ own inside joke, as they filled out their meagre pie filling with
apple and onion, and sometimes potato? Some explanations say that the taste of
mutton plus apples plus onions was similar to pigeon, which only seems likely
to someone who has not eaten pigeon regularly. More likely, if it was a joke,
it was directed at the peasants in the form of a snobbish slur, much like the
ethnic slur of “welsh rabbit” (which became welsh rarebit) – the implication
being that the Welsh were too stupid or too lazy to catch rabbits, so had to
make do with toasted cheese instead.
The least likely explanation, but
my personal preference, is from a small Devonshire cookbook in my possession,
which says that it comes from “Squabble Pie,” or the compromise pie when the
master is demanding meat pie and the mistress wanting apple!
Whatever the explanation, what
seems certain is that eventually the combination became one of local pride; a
local specialty was born, and Devonshire people would insist: “Mutton and
apples, onions and dough, Make the best pie that ever I know”.
Of course, there are always
regional and seasonal variations, and fluctuations in supply of ingredients to
bedevil pie-bakers, but luckily these are the most creative folk (as I am sure
readers will agree). Although the commonest ingredient for squab pies in old
cookbooks is mutton, there were others. Cheshire had its “Cheshire Pork Pie”,
which does not seem so strange: apples are a commonly accepted accompaniment to
pork, because pigs have often been turned into the orchards to feel on fallen
apples. In Shropshire, “Fitchett Pie” (so called because it was originally made
in a “fitched” or five-sided tin) was made with bacon. If there was no meat at
all, there was no problem: I have seen reference to both a fish version, and a
wartime meatless recipe, which had lentils or haricot beans and was served with
gravy made from Marmite™. The only constant ingredients in all versions are the
apples and onions.
The pie even made it to
Australia. In 1848, the young Annabella Boswell, of Lake Innes, near port
Macquarie wrote in her diary of her cooking attempts:
“I picked some fresh apples for a
squab pie … Afterward, finding that the cook was out, I carried my materials to
the marble slab and determined to make
the pie myself – but before I tell what
this famous squab pie was composed of I shall give my opinion of its merits by
saying that though it is possible I may make another, it is highly improbable
that I shall taste it, Mr. Hugh was of a different opinion, or pretended to be,
for he dined on it – and insisted on doing so, the pie is made of layers of
apple and beef steak covered with pie crust, and baked, pepper and salt of
course, but cook says I should have added an onion.”
The first Australian cookbook was
not published until 1864, well after Annabella’s attempts, but it did contain a
version of the traditional recipe:
Devonshire Squab Pie.
Lay mutton-chops, or mutton, at
the bottom of the dish; on the meat strew some onions, with pepper, salt, a
little sugar, and half a tea-cupful of water. Place on the top apples and
potatoes, in layers, cut thin; cover the sides and top of the dish with crust,
and bake well.
If you still insist on putting
real pigeon squab in your pies, it is important to remember that the fatter
they are, the better. We can learn from wiser folks in older times as to how to
ensure this. Firstly, if you happen upon a pigeon nest with very new-born
chicks in it, tie each of them down by one leg, so that they cannot escape. The
parents will continue to return to feed their slow young ones until they are
fat enough for you. Alternatively, if
you prefer to get your live squabs from a live squab supplier, you can give
them a final fattening up by following the advice in this magazine article from
1886.
“The extraordinary demand in
England for squabs has led to their importation in very large numbers from
Germany and France. These are taken by professional feeders and fattened in a
peculiar manner. I remember once witnessing the process in operation in London.
The feeder was an elderly man with flabby, sallow cheeks and protruding eyes,
long matted hair … In a tub of water was a quantity of millet and split peas.
The feeder crammed his mouth with them until his cheeks swelled out to hideous
proportions. Catching up a young bird and inserting its open beak between his
lips, the feeder injected its crop full ... The astonished bird at once assumed
a complacent look. With the greatest rapidity bird after bird was picked up and
the food thus blown into each. The feeders get about two cents for each dozen
birds thus fed, and when it is remembered that they can fill a bird with a rapidity
which excels the mechanical bottling of soda-water, it is easily seen that the
professors are enabled to earn a tolerably good living at their novel calling.
The birds are fed by this process twice a day, and in several days become fat
and very tender.”
Sounds like a catchy marketing
phrase – “Fattened on the premises”, doesn’t it?
Quotation for the Day.
When
you die, if you get a choice between going to regular heaven or pie heaven,
choose pie
heaven.
It might be a trick, but if it's not, mmmmmmmm, boy.
Jack Handy.
Jack Handy.
