If you grew up in Nevada County, chances are you’ve eaten a pastie, or thousands of them. It was one of the few things that survived the age of the Cornish miners. I don’t know if they still serve pasties at the NU cafeteria, but in my day they were a weekly item on the menu. They were cooked in large trays and cut into squares for serving.
The one thing that disgusted me in those days was watching my fellow students drown their perfectly good pasties in ketchup. You’d think they were trying to make soup from the gallons of tomato guts they’d pour over their lunch. My wife still does it, more from the bad habit she picked as a teenager than anything to do with taste, I’ll wager.
After high school I didn’t eat many pasties. The commercial varieties available back then were not up my standards. Too many potatos, not enough meat. I was too lazy as a young single guy to bother with making the crust.
But some years back, I was delighted to find pre-made pie crusts in the dairy section of the grocery store. (And yes, I know that pre-made crusts are blasphemy to a real pastie purist. Too bad. I’m still lazy.)
For filling I still use the standard meat, potatos and onion, but now I use less meat and add carrots and frozen spinach to fool myself into thinking I’m eating healthy. The only proper condiment for the pastie is malt vinegar. Anything else is barbaric.