So I bought this pie. It was chicken pie, but that's not important to the story. I baked it in the oven, placed it on the table and stuck a fork into it.
The top was dry as a cracker and the fork met with no resistance all the way to the bottom. I twisted the fork and steam came billowing out of the hollow space within.
That's right, ladies and gentlemen. Hollow.
My mind raced. What the fuck, I demanded to know. Where the fuck is the filling? My filling, that I paid for with cash.
Tearing open the pie, I was confronted with a thin layer of chicken pieces in sauce, spread over the base of the pie as if by a knife over a slice of bread. The top 3/4 of the pie's depth was nothing but air. The alleged 150g pie contained two tablespoons of filling. Count them: two.
This is worse than communism. Under communism, pies had a filling.
I don't know. Country is going to the dogs. This Labour government. Tsk tsk.






