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The Worst Pies In London

John Liu
11 years ago

LOVETT:

It's priest. Have a little priest.

TODD:

Is it really good?

LOVETT:

Sir, it's too good, at least!

Then again, they don't commit sins of the flesh,

So it's pretty fresh.

TODD:

Awful lot of fat.

LOVETT:

Only where it sat.

TODD:

Haven't you got poet, or something like that?

LOVETT:

No, y'see, the trouble with poet is

'Ow do you know it's deceased?

Try the priest!

TODD: (spoken) Heavenly!

Not as hearty as bishop, perhaps,

but then again, not as bland as curate, either!

LOVETT:

And good for business, too -- always leaves you wantin' more!

Trouble is, we only get it on Sundays!

Last night, you would have found us in row B of our local theatre, enjoying the delights of witty lyrics, sung, and arterial blood, sprayed.

It did not take long to occur to me - oh, about minus 1/2 hour, more or less - that this musical is as much about food as about vengeance, passion, and torment.

Indeed, for an insensitive sod like me, the culinary subplot was more interesting than the whole business about Sweeney, Lucy, Joanna, and Turpin. Murder and lust, ho hum, but, aye, what's that about the cannibalism?!

Tonight, you find me in my kitchen, preparing . . . let's see, what might it be . . . and asking:

Tell me, please ma'am, what d'you know about meat pies?

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