Pot pie
We go to this small tavern in New Castle. Colleen adores it. Colonial pub fare and a bible of beer selections held in a large binder. Yes! Lots of choices – draft and bottle.
The Kalmar Nyckel, a Swedish ship is docked in the harbor. Geese populate the park. Picturesque! We had to wait. Our table was not ready. We whiled away our time in the brutal heat just ahead of the thunder storm about to break.
Pot pie. We toasted – me, an Arnold Palmer, Colleen, a Komes beer. And we ate the pot pies – beef and ale, and, crab.
As we left I saw a man boxing up his partly eaten Shepard’s pie. That was mashed potatoes and beef covered in gravy. The only time we ordered it was in 2018 when I goaded Jane into trying it. She took two bites and took it home in box to die in the refrigerator. We ditched the uneaten remains later. It was a big pile of leftover mashed.
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