"...a beakerful of the warm south",,,or chicken pie

“I believe for every drop of rain that falls….” crooned Frank. The proliferation of wild flowers in the hedgerows, as well as in jugs and vases throughout the house, bears witness to the accuracy of Ole Blue Eyes’ musical weather forecast. The endless drops of rain continue to fall and, for every drop, the flowers continue to be born in the manner that he so accurately predicted, which manifestation is beginning to make  me see the weakness in the cliché that suggests that one can’t have too much of a good thing.  I have had too much of this good thing, this good thing being rain in place of summer. There are many others on the planet more needy than I of this good thing so the good thing needs to be redirected towards them in order that they may share in the pleasure of not being able to have too much of it. What I need is a “…beakerful of the warm south” which, for lack of sun, is going to be provided by good food. The warm south is waiting for me in the kitchen in the form of fat red peppers, purple aubergines, firm  green courgettes and all the herbs and seasoning that would take me away from the cold, but whimsically my heart is now set on chicken pie. Buttery, short, egg glazed pastry covering a comforting mixture of onion softened in butter and oil, lean chicken dusted in seasoned flour and flat leaf parsley all bound together in a flavoursome velouté thickened with cream and made piquant with a few drops of lemon juice.  Some sesame seeds scattered on the pastry lid wouldn’t go amiss but it may well entail emptying several cupboards before I admit to not having any sesame seeds which fact I already know but haven’t told myself as it’s definitely the sort of stuff that I should have. The pie is looking good in my mind’s eye, all I need to do is make it

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