In mid-October friends of the Club came together whilst Covid restrictions in London were still semi-relaxed. At the north end of Portobello, in the bustling Golbourne quarter, Cockney’s Pie and Mash was continuing its plucky trade in the face of egregious trading conditions and all manner of street ‘improvements’. This rather drab scene was enlivened by the presence of Union flags, and seeing the motley physogs opposite makes me wonder if a Union mask might be the order of the day in these most hygienic times.

It was a decidedly stodgy all-male company which took to the tables of Cockney’s stark, yet oddly cosy, dining room wherein – masks off – proceedings took on a more familiar flavour. Zing was provided by newcomer Guy Chollerton, former Coldstream Guard now at large on civvy street, and maintaining a certain military dash with his curlicued moustache. He was after grub plain and simple, and the well-disciplined face fuzz proved no impediment to his lusty enjoyment of the savouries before him.

The impressive bulk of Nick Everton is a familiar sight in recent pages of this journal – somewhat irregular in the ‘unprecedented’ era. Let us not forget that Pie and Mash Shops survived the Great and Deadly Pandemic of 1919 and flourished magnificently thereafter. 

Doug Benford cycled over from Brentford for a basinful of the green-smothered goods. He’s seen here improvising freely with a bottle of non-brewed condiment.

Up front in the window seat, tastefully shielded from the eyes of the street by green and white check half-curtains, Paul Gale and another new face Ruben Diaz sat brotherly together on a formica-top made for two. Paul had a 9-day stint in the Royal Cornwall Hospital after heart failure back in March, but his committed return to full health has been supplemented by nourishing trips to Hughes’s of Ruislip and Goddard’s of Greenwich, whereby he has inducted the fresh-faced Mr Diaz into the fraternity of Pie and Mash. (Lapis Magnes to follow once restrictions are lifted.)

The menu remains refreshingly simple and inexpensive. You can get pie, mash, peas and gravy for £4.00, but only on Fridays and Saturdays. Plus a side order of ‘pea’s’ for only 40p. Eels have been absent from that board for quite some time.

Ruth Phillips is the legendary lady-dynamo powering this beacon of hope in West London. Lucky was I to catch her in mid-serve, for she is not one for a photo-opportunity. Her son Billy continues to chef manfully behind the scenes.

The new slimline Gale – looking all the better for it. He makes a one and one stretch a long way these days. Socially distanced conversation wasn’t always easy amid the clatter of cutlery ’pon crockery, and Doug seized the opportunity to micro-nap.

The shop record of 6 pies and 6 mash sounds quite humble, but Cockney's comestibles pack a hefty punch below the ribs. 

We did see people eating on those pavement tables. One day it’ll look Parisian. Or at least pie-risian.

I was just about to push off when Everton and Chollerton suggested a stroll down to Portobello’s ‘gin quarter’.

I was dubious as we settled on an outside table of the ‘Ginstitute’ at Talbot Road, but the dry refreshment and repartee on offer were perfect for pushing all that starch down the food pipe.

There is one more combatant to account for. Here he is, not missing-in-Acton, but behind the lines on the edge of nowhere [aka Edgware]. Private Mike Goldwater, last seen in the field in early ’20, has been making the most of his bunker-time, thanks to a ready supply of spuds, flour, parsley, mince and elbow grease. He’s been achieving some handsome home-made results, so we’re including him in on the roster as he joined us remotely on the day. Reach for the pie!