Schrödinger's pie
Humour me and I'll tell you some of the best in the city given the current climate (everyone feels skint and a bit stink).
Crust is a weekly newsletter on taste and culture from Tāmaki Makaurau.
We consider taste a lot in this newsletter, and this week it’s quite literal. Let’s look at pies shall we? A long-time obsession of these isles, enjoying mythic status and fierce passion, they also speak volumes, particularly now. And I know I’m not the only one who’s been hooning them. Speaking of appetites, you’ll also find thoughts on men’s fashion, 28 Years Later, plus some book recommendations for those hungry to read about Ancient Rome.
Tucking into pie last Friday afternoon while dodging the wind and rain I decided that this week, with the longest night behind us, was the right time to write about this singular baked good, collecting together all the documents and notes cluttering up my desk and phone (for some reason a steamy pie always inspires me to write something down) into one dispatch. At the very least, it’s some comforting reading for the end of week.
A quick note for the international readers of this newsletter (15% of you, hi!) New Zealand pies are smaller than their international counterparts, and savoury unless otherwise specified. Encased completely by pastry — with the exception of the (overrated) potato tops variants — they’re small enough to be eaten with one hand out of a paper bag as god intended. And while no cutlery is needed, a serviette doesn’t go amiss.
I’ve been eating them frequently this year (more on that below) and it seems that I’m not alone. They feel like they’re lodged in the city’s psyche even more firmly than usual, as a conversation with a friend over the weekend confirmed. Unprompted, they observed that everyone was going hard for this particular pastry. And they are. It’s a shared fervour, one born (I think) from economic pressure and general anxieties, with the pie providing a salve to both.
One of the cheaper lunches you can buy, a good pie is usually around $7 (they used to be cheaper, and friends abroad are shocked at the price rise) in Auckland which, compared to $15+ sandwiches and even more expensive bowls of whatever, feels like a fair price for something that will warm and fill you up. They’re satiating, and there’s something uniquely comforting about a pie. That’s no mystery of course. Its physical attributes include the steamy heat of the filling and buttery flakes of pastry encasing it, serving to warm and nourish via temperature and calories — particularly welcome on a long or cold day, or when you quite simply feel like shit.
Comfort also stems from familiarity, to which there’s no shortcut (sorry marketers). This egalitarian fixture of Aotearoa’s bakeries, dairies and service stations has become such a common sight and reliable source of sustenance that it has earned a status as a domestic treasure and is often included among the assortment of objects considered “Kiwiana” (a controversial taxonomy of national identity that’s often found on tea towels). Visually at least, and concerning the method of their make, pies are largely untouched by the passing of time. One bought today likely looks much like one bought in 1986 and, depending on the filling, tastes the same too. (Close your eyes and imagine that whole scene for a moment.)
Pie orthodoxy dictates shape, round or square, and pastry. As with all simple things, the stakes are high (one enterprising Kiwi has even made an app) and every year there’s a nationwide competition to crown the best in the land. 5000 entries were sent in for the last one, and I attended the judging, witnessing enough dedication and attention to detail as to make one appreciate this baked good on another level (the whole thing would make a great documentary). To qualify, a pie has to be 280g. Each entry requires two pies; the first is cut with a serrated Victorinox (chic!) knife for filling and pastry assessment, then the second — for the 10% of entries deemed worthy of the next stage — is baked, where judges, some of wholm have been doing this for two decades, consider pastry lamination and rise, and flavour. A Rangiora bakery eventually won, and this year’s winners will be unveiled on July 29. Regardless of who secures the title, our fine country’s citizens will fiercely defend their personal favourite. Everyone’s favourite pie is the best pie.
Mine is the pork belly pie from The Burleigh in Blenheim — the best in the country in my opinion — and when visiting, we time trips to “town” around their opening hours. It’s incredibly rich and moreish, and you’ll have to clear the calendar afterwards. The last time I was down there they told me it was still their most popular iteration, although other flavours enjoy waves of popularity (Jamaican lamb curry is currently on the up, helped by a change in meat supplier apparently).
Reducing our scope to Tāmaki Makaurau (the usually-but-not-always remit of this newsletter), I’m lately obsessed with the steak, jalapeño and cheese pies sold at Le Royal Home Bakery on Park Road in Grafton, one of the few “old school” bakeries in the central(ish) city. The pastry is particularly special, flaky and generous, while inside are decadent slabs of steak, tempered by that briny kick of the chilli, cutting through the pie-y-ness and your sinuses
I’m newly converted to the combination, and this all comes after listening to years of evangelising from my husband, who has a working theory that the variety is the new “tradie pie” of Auckland. He’s onto something, and an endorsement from that demographic is significant; as one astute Reddit user noted, in response to a Brit’s attempt to understand New Zealand pie culture, “this nation is literally built by guys wearing hi viz and smashing a couple of gas station pies and a large V every day”. They’re not wrong either, nor are they solely the purview of blue-collar workers. Lurking in front of the pie warmer, considering label after label on offer and whether to try something new or default to an old favourite, is a pretty universal experience (anyone who looks down their nose at pies is a snob) and one that brings us to Schrödinger’s paradoxical theory.
While I don’t understand quantum superposition and won’t pretend to (or try), the reason I’m leaning on this relates to the unknowingness inherent to the thought experiment; you don’t know what’s inside, only the possibilities, until you do, whereby you negate the multiple coexisting truths. If we apply that to a pie, while a label might say mince and cheese, for the customer, at least, it’s purely theoretical until proven true. By their very form, which mandates encasement, pies hide what’s within. They also demand an exchange of trust between baker and customer, tested and proven only upon first bite, wherein you find out if what was promised is what’s truly warming your hand, and mouth. However occasionally, rarely, one finds oneself holding a falsehood. Documented cases of errors include a lamb pie at a Milford Sounds bakery (allegedly) mislabelled as venison (!!) and sold as such to a customer. He naturally took to Facebook to bemoan the surprise, where other rueful souls shared their own tales of “pie chute mix-ups” and cabinet confusion.
Like I said, the stakes are high, and really, really good pies enjoy mythic status. Many people are still chasing the dragon of that one incomparable experience years ago, and a transcendent impact is often a combination of both baking prowess and situational factors; a hot pie on the side of a cold highway hits way harder than a tepid brick of pastry from a sub-par piewarmer.
Fillings are a matter of personal taste, and for everyone committed to a classic mince and cheese, you’ll find a person equally devoted to atypical or inventive combinations. One can appreciate both, of course, and the motivations that drive one to choose between butter chicken and a bacon and egg are complex. Pies are also rooted in the geography of the city, and for bakeries with a cult status, there can be a territorial nature to their clientele. For some customers, there’s an element of staunchly supporting their local, while others are enlivened by a mission across the city, the effort making the end result all the more satisfying.
Intrigued by both propositions and favoured fillings, I put the question to a wildly inexact, skewed sample group (my Instagram followers), and their recommendations are as follows.
Mince and cheese from Pie2Go in Mairangi Bay
Duck and creamy mushroom from Ellerslie’s Richoux Patisserie
Steak and pepper from Pecks Pantry & Patisserie
Lamb and kawakawa from Piha General Store
Steak, Guinness and cheese pie from Top Well Bakery in Blockhouse Bay is “unreal”
Meatball potato-top pie from Bakers Cottage
Mince and cheese from the Blockhouse Bay bakery Levain, and their beef cheek jalapeno
BeaBea's butter chicken pie and mushroom pie
Hāngī pie and boilup pie from Blue Rose (the palusami and the smoked fish are meant to be good too)
Mince and cheese from Kita cafe in Morningside
Beef cheek and cheese from Saint Heliers’ Ashby Pies
Salmon and potato pie from Wild Wheat
Mince pies from Herne Bay Foodstore
Butter chicken pie from Baked, which has shops in Devonport and Milford
Breakfast egg pie from Muzza’s in Mount Albert, and their steak bacon, cheese and onion pie and smoked fish pie also received shout outs
Brisket and cheddar from Pie Rollas
Wagyu mince, cheddar and bechamel from Cazador Deli
Chicken and spinach from Mount Eden Bakery
Lamb curry pie from Morningside’s Mustard Kitchen
Blue Rose’s are among the many pies included in Charlotte Muru-Lanning’s fantastic field guide to the 50 best baked goods in Tāmaki Makaurau in the latest issue of Metro (you’ll have to pick up an issue to find out the specifics of what and where).
A lot of people I know have sung the praises of Pie Rollas, though I confess I still haven’t tried it (sorry, I will). Aucklander’s love food hype — a topic for another time — and it’s certainly among the city’s most viral openings in recent years, launching in August 2024 to queues down the block and hype that lasted for months. Their pies start at $10, which is on a par with Daily Bread, though the much-lauded brisket, jalapeño and “American cheese” is priced at $12. Given all that success, I wasn’t surprised to see the announcement last week that, not only were they opening four more locations around Auckland, but Pie Rollas on Karangahape Road would be taking over its sister eatery nextdoor, St Margs — originally called Margo’s, it opened in the old Thirsty Dog site in October last year — which would be converted into bigger operation for the pie business (interestingly, they’re keeping the bar). Given the economy and general vibes (everyone feels skint and a bit stink), going all in on pies is a smart move, and Lewis Mazza-Carson and Patrick Marckus know where to bet their chips.
And bakeries are booming, with Aotearoa counting 1000 non-factory bakeries last year, up from 816 in 2000. At the city’s more traditional outlets, single-digit prices remain the norm (back in 2019 they were generally $4) and cost concerns regularly make national news headlines and Reddit threads. Are pies our version of baguette socialism? Much like France, we owe a debt to migrant communities and their care and contribution to the baking industry. There are parallels too with how pricing is obsessively monitored and deemed representative of societal wellbeing. Though the French Government stopped regulating bread prices in 1978, the cost is still monitored by consumer associations, and the range of what’s acceptable is contentious and affordability is considered a social right. As far as I know, New Zealand has never regulated the price of pies, but the populace certainly keeps tabs on the cost, and so does Stats NZ. If you exclude the “gourmet” kind that sit on a plate alongside dressed rocket, pies are equalising territory. Over a pie, it’s rare to have someone talk at you about skin contact wines, speculative investments, Sabrina Carpenter, regulation, luteal phases or what’s wrong with the economy. Instead, you all agree that yeah, this is a mean pie.
And on another taste note, men’s fashion week…
Who couldn’t love the Willy Chavarria show, open casted with a rich medley of characters, all wearing a breadth of the designer’s work that speaks to how rich his references are and understanding of how social fabric underpins true style. It’s probably my favourite collection of the season, the textiles and proportions and the rhythm of the whole thing. Gorgeous.
I’m intrigued to see how the tight trackie pants and bike shorts at Prada and Dries Van Noten translate to everyday wear. It’s lean and mean, but also childlike? Confusion abounds.
Something people can’t seem to agree on is the Dior Men collection, and I’ve seen wildly differing opinions on the whole thing, and my own feelings are as mixed as the references. Jonathan Anderson gave us a time-melding debut, winding back the clock to the old logo (thank god) and back further still, getting the house’ couture workshop to create exact replicas of 18th-century garments. The effect is very Eton-era William and Harry, bratty and bunking school, and will look great on Robert Pattinson, LaKeith Stanfield, Emma Corrin and Timothée Chalamet, if Chanel lets him. Beyond celebrities, it’s also an easy one to approximate for regular folk, and I feel like it heralds a return to eclecticism that’s been brewing. (Including book bags in the collection at a time when men, generally, aren’t reading novels speaks to books as a luxury, the performative nature of reading, and the class tensions around how men are choosing to spend their time.)
Speaking of books, Kaarina Parker’s debut novel Fulvia has just hit shelves, and to mark the occasion, she’s kindly shared her favourite books about Ancient Rome for those after reading to supplement her fictional story of the very real, very powerful Fulvia.
Mother of Rome by Lauren A. Bear
“A gorgeous and fierce novel about the mythical life of Rhea Silva, the woman who gave birth to the twins Romulus and Remus who founded Rome. It is tragic and gripping and beautifully written.”
Messalina: The Life and Times of Rome’s Most Scandalous Empress by Honor Cargill-Martin
“Messalina is one of the most maligned and underestimated women in the Roman Empire. This thoroughly researched and beautifully written book re-examines the sources to tell the truth of an intelligent, passionate, and ruthless woman who became an empress.”
The Roman Empire in 21 Women by Emma Southon
“Emma Southon’s writing is brilliantly funny, and meticulously researched. In this book, she brings to light the lives and stories of 21 women from ancient Rome who have been rendered invisible in history.”
The Cicero Trilogy (Imperium, Lustrum, Dictator) by Robert Harris
“Okay so this is technically three books, but you really can’t read just one of them. These three novels by Robert Harris tell the story of the life and career of Cicero, a Roman statesman and orator who lived through one of the most turbulent and scandalous periods of Roman history. These books are full of political intrigue, tragic characters, and truly brilliant dialogue.”
Fulvia: The Woman Who Broke All the Rules in Ancient Rome by Dr. Jane Draycott
“Sadly this book didn’t come out until after I had finished writing mine, but Dr Draycott’s work examining the sources to build a picture of Fulvia’s life is brilliant, captivating, and thoroughly researched.”
I love Mika Waltari’s The Roman, published in 1964. We have an old family copy and I read it when I was far too young. Find more of my book recommendations this year here.
Preparing… for our Closet Sale this weekend. I’m being joined by some of the city’s most stylish people, Zoe Walker Ahwa, Vinnie Paunovic, Dan Ahwa, Rebecca Wadey, Allyssa Verner-Pula, David Feauai-Afaese and Imogen Temm, and you’ll find us at the historic Strand Arcade on Queen Street this Saturday, July 5, and Sunday, July 6, from 10am to 4pm each day. There will be designer clothes (lots of them!), vintage, free coffee (and biscuits!) and good vibes galore. What better way to spend a wet weekend?
Reading… about the landscape of New Zealand's flour distribution. (It’s fascinating, I promise).
Listening… to Molchat Doma and Groove Armada, depending on my mood.
Chatting… to Wallace Chapman about the trend for ties in Tāmaki Makaurau. He read my Ensemble deep dive — lots of you did! — and got me into the RNZ studio to talk it over (you can listen to that here). Speaking of ties, Taylor Groves called my attention to some very gorgeous ones by designers Emma Jing and Jamie from 2022.
Watching… 28 Years Later. Not to bang on about Alex Garland (again), but this is brilliant and worth seeing on the big screen. We went to the cinema at SkyWorld, which is a suitably dystopian setting for an apocalyptic film. I won’t get into plot spoilers, but I will say that what really shone was its depiction of small-scale nation-building and “defend the realm” ideology, rites of passage and their role in community, and how we actively craft both heroes and the enemy. Much of it is relevant now and, of course, as old as time immemorial. (If you do want to hear more on this movie, tell me and I will make time).
Hiding… from the weather, and the world, at Mezze, the cosiest cafe in Auckland’s CBD.
Oakleys are all over the place at the men’s shows in Paris? A rare case of Kiwis being ahead of the International fashion set.
Zinefest is on at Auckland Art Gallery this weekend? Imogen Temm and Alex Scott and so many cool clever people will be there, and it’s always a great time.
Jaffas are being discontinued? They join Chocolate Fish and Tangy Fruits in the mausoleum of Kiwi confectionery.
Boosted is raising funds for Maungarongo Te Kawa’s new project? Whakapapa Quilt Wananga aims to bring together 50 wāhine Māori to make love letters (quilted!) for the next generations.
Wegovy and Ozempic are, finally, coming to New Zealand? I wonder, will the ringfences of BMI (a flawed metric) and price (it’s unfunded and expected to cost between $450 and $600 per month) hold, or will we see the kind of liberal access and normalised use that’s been reported abroad? Gabi Lardies has a thorough, clear-eyed explainer putting these drugs in a local context.
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