Flo's, est. Jan. 2017, is a recent addition to the historical narrative of traditional London foodstuffs – a new thread in the 'Pie-yeux Tapestry' if you will. As part of the Club's open-ended mission to seek out new pie forms, it prompted another out-of-London experience. A forty-minute rail trip from Cannon Street transported the pielanthropists into an urban landscape dominated by tarmac and automobile. Less than ten minutes later they were crossing a mini-oasis fed by the nutrient-rich waters of the Cray – home, one hopes, to the hardy Kentish eel.

Viewed from afar across this tranquil idyll, Flo's Pie Shop appears as a shimmering mirage to the hungry pie-chaser, though it is squarely placed at the base of a council block, next to the launderette.

Once across that final stretch of pavement and through the glass door, one is transported into an airy south-facing reflectory,which on this day enjoyed the full benefit of an early spring currant bun.

The menuboard is placed left-of-centre behind the 'phone box'. Everything you expect is on it – plus gravy. Fittingly, this is a cash-only establishment.

[Above] A chunky slice of white bread makes the ideal mop for stewed eels and liquor.

I took mine dry, spattered with something piquant.

Despite this most untraditional treatment, the chunks themselves were just right – we were off to a good start.

A well-worn fedora and paperback together signify the singular presence of Tom Leader at table. Tom's current read traces the legendary journey of England's amber nectar to the subcontinent where, in the form of IPA, it nourished and mollified the footsoldiers of colonial rule. Where would we [and India] be without it? – a sobering thought.

Ray Goldstone went straight for the pies, with a heavy splash of Flo's heavily-branded vinegar.

It was a classic serve – scrape to one side, central emerald lagoon, and not-quite-scorched outcrops of pastry emerging majestically on the other. A scene to dig for . . .

The vinny bottle had a comedy top, but by the time Ray was tucking into his seconds, we had the measure of it.

Close up over the parsley pool – it was authentic and tasty. The fluffiness of the mash made good counterpoint to a pretty hefty case of pastry. The overall taste of the pie was sort of familiar . . .

[Far right] Two old muckers pausing for a pose on the pine tops. You could call it a Pie-n-wood Production. Just a single portion of liquor was enough to propel Goldwater into pole position at this three-quarter mark in the season.

As you can see, dark green and white check dominates the bottom half of Flo's.

An open back door and serving hatch help provide much-needed ventilation to the galley.

We were well served by a trio of cheerful dinner ladies: [l to r] Natasha, Tracy and Nicky.

A canny pie man will always make an appeal to the sportspeople among his clientele. Flo's hall-of-fame comprises two boards – a well-illustrated 5-pie challenge, and a 7-pie challenge so far taken up by only three plucky pie pushers. Each photo bears no name – just a completion time. I think a match-fat Charalambous would have set fire to this lot.

The dessert course is of course for lightweights.

Me, Eddy and Mike plumped for an innocuous-looking jam roly-poly – worth a mere 2 points in the Pie and Mash League.

Opposite me, Tom Leader sampled coffee, whipped cream and sprinkles [nil points] simply because that's what his palate demanded.

There was plenty of room in the shop to celebrate a birthday, especially the first one of Lawrence, seen here making early preparations for the Crayford gyratory.

It was a privilege to snap this family scene: proprietor Nick, partner Emma and daughter Florence, the inspiration for the shop's name.

The man behind the hatch allowed me a glimpse of the galley – and an insight or two. Nick's working day typically starts at 5.30 am in an industrial kitchen over Orpington way. Once ready, the precious consignment is shipped over for a final blast in the shop oven. Another important feature is the use of eel stock in the liquor – a traditional ingredient rarely used these days.

Nick, now 36, got the taste for p-n-m as an Orpington schoolboy – often taking an extended lunchbreak at that well-known scholastic hub, Scott's at the Walnuts. I was glad he said that, because the Flo's Pie – robust, meaty and surprisingly filling – put me in mind of the distinctive Big 'O' Flavour.

We left Flo's utterly satisfied.

If, rather than driving straight through, you find yourself stopping in Crayford, leave a big space in your appetite for Flo's – an important contribution to local culture. Along with the Crayford Focuser.

Three doors down is the Penny Farthing, a shop-turned-micropub. Although it boasts a fine selection of local beers and ciders, the atmos was decidedly 'library'.

It was the last place you want to leave half your pint undrunk, but this embarrassment was suffered by your correspondent . . . the JRP had formed an impenetrable airlock.

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