Oh, carbs. Beautiful carbs; the loving hug that brings you crashing down, a poetic injustice of the grossest kind.
I’ve been eating a lot of carbs recently: bread, bread sticks, cake, cake bars, mashed potatoes, roast potatoes, that sort of thing. Sometimes I’ve eaten them in a static scenario, sometimes in a mobile one.
It is the consumption of carbs in a mobile scenario that makes a man wistful about carb experiences past, and it was the mobile eating of a crisp sandwich that made me go further and contemplate what would be this blog – a short journey into my personal carb-on-carb experiences.
I’ve been to Wigan. Twice. I’ve never actually eaten a Pie Barm – but I know what one is, you southern-biased crudité-eating self-fellating myopic fuckfaces. And I tell you what: I’m open to the idea of a whole pie within a massive bread cake.
My mate suggested it one time during one of these two visits. I was positive and brave, but we didn’t follow through, for reasons I neglect to recall. On this same visit, we did loads of poppers and danced round a Wigan lounge to Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, arm in arm.
I now urge you to look deep within yourself. Are you positive and brave enough to open your mind to the concept?
It was in Lvov, Ukraine, within the catchment of the judgemental gaze of the Carpathian Mountains, where my most formative carb-on-carb experience played out. This one I actually ate. It was a potato pie. Served as a starter.
I appreciate this may be shocking for some to even contemplate, but here are my thoughts: breathtakingly hearty, surprisingly moist, culturally awakening. There are times when I wonder if I’d have turned into the man I am today without consuming that potato pie.
Crisp sandwiches (flavour-aggregated score): 7/10
Pie Barm (conceptual score): 8/10
Ukrainian potato pie: 6/10