Meat Pies: Australian for Food

Photo by Flickr user Mr & Mrs Stickyfingers

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A couple of years ago, I went to a Christmas party in New York City. It wasn't a dinner party, but more of a "stand around and chat while you swirl wine in a glass and look fancy" kind of deal. I prefer sitting, preferably with my legs up and a bowl of cheese doodles in my lap. I also have neither an Armani sport jacket, nor a sweater with a big reindeer crocheted on the front of it, so I rarely fit in very well outfit-wise.

After a quick roll through the living room to confirm my lack of interest in the conversations there ("So you went with the tan leather in your Beemer then? Excellent choice." "Where are you skiing this year?") , I headed into the dining

Photo by Flickr user Sandy Austin

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"What kind of pie is that?" I asked. "Mincemeat - would you like a piece?" I told the server that I would, she served me up a chunk, and I took a bite.  Which I considered spitting back out. "There's no meat in this at all," I told her. "I know. It's great though, isn't it?" No, not so much. Because as far as I'm concerned, if you're going to get me all worked up by putting meat in the name of the food, you'd better deliver some frigging meat when I eat it. But, as it turns out, there's no meat in a mincemeat pie, no damn meat at all.

Now the Aussies, the Aussies have it right. If you go buy an Australian meat pie, it's filled with juicy meat, just like it should be. So this week, a holiday present for everyone: three variations on traditional Australian meat pies.

The Filling

It all starts with a delicious meaty filling. Toss some butter in a pan and soften a finely minced yellow onion. Add a pound or so of ground beef and brown it well. Remove excess fat, then add ¾ cup of water, a couple of teaspoons of Worcestershire sauce, one and a half beef bouillon cubes, a quarter cup of ketchup, a bit of oregano, some nutmeg, and some black pepper. Cover and boil for 15 minutes. Combine three tablespoons of flour and ¼ cup of water to make a smooth paste and add it to the meat mix. Stir well and let cool while you preheat an oven to 425.

Photo by Flickr user Sandy Austin

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Pie Style

You can do pies in two ways:  the big, round, majestic son of a bitch that looks amazing on the table but needs cutting, and the small, compact bastards that will disappear 38 seconds after they're brought out. Personally I like the portability of the latter (plus, the pastry-to-meat ratio is pretty sweet). For a big fella, grease a pie plate and line with puff pastry, making sure that the dough comes up over the edges of the plate to provide a good seal with the top. Help the dough stand up to the meat onslaught to come by making sure the meat mixture has cooled sufficiently, then spoon it into the pie plate. Brush the edges with a beaten egg, then lay puff pastry on top to make a cover, pressing the edges down with a fork to seal it to the base. Trim excess dough and glaze the top and edges with more beaten egg. Bake at 425 for 15 minutes, then reduce heat to 350 and continue baking for 20-25 minutes, or until golden brown.

For the smaller pies, use small pie pans or even cupcake pans and follow the same methodology as for the large pie. Just make sure you get a good seal between the top and bottom crusts, then bake at 425 for ten minutes, reduce heat to 350 and continue for 15-20 minutes or until you can't take watching any longer. I just made this version for my family, and my daughter took a bite of one and told me I was a god. So I've got that going for me.

Turnover Style

These can be shoveled down quickly, and without a fork; always a good thing. Instead of filling pie pans, place approximately four-inch squares of puff pastry on a lightly greased cookie sheet. Spoon a portion of the meat mixture into the center of each, then stretch and fold opposite corners up and over the meat mixture, sealing them at the top and along the seams.  Brush with beaten egg and bake at 425 for ten minutes, then reduce heat to 350 and cook until browned. The puff pastry causes these guys to open like meaty flowers while they cook, exposing the goodness within and attracting meat eaters like bees to a gigantic, sexy plant.

So now you've got three ways to keep from ruining the holidays for meat eaters, all of which are great and go well with rugby or Australian-rules football. They also go a long way towards making up for that crappy fruitcake your aunt Edna insisted on putting in the middle of the table, and almost make it worth listening to golfing stories.