Zelda rolled her eyes with the aggravating truth of this statement.

“At least I’ll get extra points for using a Ministry of Food favorite,” she muttered without enthusiasm. “Let’s open it, shall we?”

The tin took a bit of work to open, but once there, she tipped it upside down on a plate, allowing the pink, squidgy block to slither out, coated with a layer of jiggly, unsavory-looking jelly.

However, there was one, undeniable plus. The delectable smell of fresh meaty ham penetrated her nostrils, making her mouth water involuntarily. She hadn’t eaten since lunch—hadn’t had meat in over a week.

“How I loathe all this rationing. It makes me yearn to eat the most despicable things.”

“Know what you mean,” Doris chimed in. “It smells lovely but looks like a pile of something awful.”

“Shall we try it?” Zelda snapped.

Taking a knife, she carefully cut a slice, grimacing as its spongy form bounced back into shape. Inside, the flesh was processed to within an inch of its life. A ham shoulder—the worst cut—had evidently been shredded, pulped, and then molded into an oblong shape. She cut off a corner and tried it.

“It tastes all right, but that texture.” Her face crumpled with disgust. “What am I to do with it?”

Doris made an overly heavy sigh and was rewarded with a small wedge. As she chewed, she busied herself taking in Zelda’s surprising new figure. Even the long apron and bulky sweater she was wearing beneath couldn’t conceal the ominous bump. The loss of the corset had made life a lot more comfortable, but Zelda knew that troubles of a different kind lay ahead. Fortunately, the management rarely came down to the kitchen, and since she was in charge of the kitchen, none of the assistants would dare tell on her.

Would they?

    A few Spam recipe leaflets issued by the Ministry of Food sat on the table beside her, and she began to flick through them, passing instantly on Spam Fritters, Spam Hash, and Spam and Mushroom Pie.

“None of these.” She pushed them to one side. “No, it has to be something original.”

The assistant piped up, “Spam is supposed to be like pork, so why don’t you make a pork dish, only use Spam instead?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. Yet, on thought, the idea had promise.

“It’s that rubbery texture that gives it away. How can you hide it?”

“It would have to be chopped up and redone in some way. A stew, perhaps, or a pie.”

Zelda’s mind roamed over her favorite pork creations, stuffed pork loin, pork goulash, pork meatballs—no, they’d taste like bad mincemeat.

Suddenly, a light switched on in her mind, and she had a vision of it perfectly formed. “Raised cold Spam pie, for slicing with a salad,” she murmured. “It’ll have a golden hot-water pastry crust. I can add some other meat to help with the texture—they sometimes sell wood pigeons at the farm. It’ll be perfect. I’ll sear the Spam, add the wood pigeon, and…let me think. Ah, yes. I can use a few red currants from Audrey’s bushes, and I saw a jar of pickled walnuts in the pantry. They’ll go perfectly.”

“What will you make it in?”

“I’ll need one of those lovely ornate cold pie tins. I’m sure I’ve seen a few in one of the cupboards here. An oval one—it’ll be perfect. Can you find one for me?”

The girl rushed off, and Zelda was left deep in her thoughts.

“Thyme, sage, and maybe the vaguest hint of nutmeg,” she continued with glee. “I’ll serve it with a salad of lettuce, cucumber—and, yes!—beetroot. The Ministry of Food is always pushing salads—they’ll be delighted.”

    “Is this the one?” the assistant asked, clattering a metal pie dish on the table. It came in two parts, with a tightening latch on each side to squeeze the pie into shape and to make it stand firm and upright. Its sides were prettily ridged, and it curved daintily in around the middle, like a buxom shepherd girl.

“It’s perfect,” Zelda whispered. “She’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Zelda’s Raised Spam and Game Pie

Serves 8 to 10

This pie needs a flan ring or a removable-base tin 7 to 8 inches wide with a depth of at least 2 inches.

For the hot-water-crust pastry

3 cups plain flour

? teaspoon salt

1 cup water

? cup lard, cut into pieces

1 small egg, beaten, or the equivalent in dried egg powder

1 tablespoon butter, softened

For the filling

2 tins Spam, sliced into 1-inch slices

1 pound game meat (boned weight, about 4 wood pigeons)

2 cups chopped mushrooms

1 onion, peeled, halved, and finely chopped

4 tablespoons chopped parsley

A few sprigs of thyme, chopped

Salt and pepper

8 pickled walnuts (optional), removed from brine and dried with kitchen paper

For the jelly

1 jar red currant jelly

2 leaves gelatin, or 1 teaspoon powdered gelatin

     To make the pastry, sift the flour and salt into a bowl and make a well in the center. Bring the water and lard to a boil in a pan, until the lard has melted. Gradually pour the boiling water and lard mixture over the flour, mixing well with a wooden spoon. Knead the dough in the bowl until smooth. Leave it covered for 15 minutes.

Prepare all the filling ingredients. Sear the Spam and set aside. Carefully take the meat from the game birds, do not cut away the fat. Chop and place it in a bowl with the mushrooms and onion. Add the parsley, thyme, salt, and pepper and carefully mix.

Lightly grease the tin. Take two-thirds of the dough and, on a lightly floured surface, roll it into a circle about ?-inch thick and 10 inches across, big enough to line the pie dish or flan ring and overlap the edge by ? inch or so. Making sure there are no holes in the pastry, place it into the flan ring or pie tin, carefully press into the corners, and allow it to just hang over the edge. Roll the remaining dough into a circle large enough for the top. Now preheat your oven to 390°F/200°C.

Fill the pastry with half the game mixture. Put in half the dried pickled walnuts, if using. Season with salt and pepper. Then cover with half the Spam slices. Repeat with the other half of the ingredients. Brush the edges of the pastry circle with water and carefully lay it on top.

Trim the edges with a knife and pinch the base and top pastry edges together to make a good join. You can decorate the top and edges using the leftover pastry. Cut a small hole in the center to allow the jelly to be poured in when cool.

Brush the top of the pie with the beaten egg and cook for 45 minutes, covering with foil if it starts to get dark brown. Take it out of the oven, remove the ring, brush the sides and top again with egg, and bake for a further 15 minutes. Remove from the oven to cool, then refrigerate for 3 to 4 hours, or overnight.

The next day, make the jelly. Soak the gelatin leaves in cold water for 2 to 3 minutes until soft, then squeeze out the excess water. Heat about a quarter of the red currant jelly in a pan, stir in the gelatin until dissolved, then stir into the rest of the jelly.

     Carefully remove the pie from the tin by using a sharp knife to run around the edges to avoid breaking the pastry. Plug any holes in the pastry with some softened butter. Slowly pour in the jelly and if it springs any leaks, plug them with more butter before pouring in more jelly. Fill to the top with jelly, then return to the fridge for a few hours.

Serve cold and sliced with a salad.

Lady Gwendoline

Late again—only this time forgiven—Chef James arrived ten days before the contest to finalize the arrangements. Once again, Lady Gwendoline awaited him in her back reception room, but this morning, she had spent a little longer than usual on her appearance. Instead of her usual formal suits and dresses, she was wearing a rather modern dress, tapered at the waist and rather low at the front. Her mascara was a little thicker than usual, and she’d used a little of her expensive Parisian perfume, too.

Chef James did not disappoint. Although his face was the same, handsome and square-jawed, today he wore a smart, tailored suit, which sat impeccably on his muscular form, and she felt compelled to exclaim, “How lovely that suit looks on you. Is it Saville Row?”

“It is.” He stepped a fraction too close as he came to take her hand. “I only wear the very best.” His hand lingered on hers.

She invited him to be seated, and he pulled his chair around the table beside hers.

“I have some plans I would like to show you.” He seemed to take a deep breath of her perfume, and then he bashfully said, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look quite marvelous today. That rose color of your dress, it’s goes beautifully with your dark hair.” He blushed, and she couldn’t help but do likewise.

    “Gosh, do you think so?” Why was she behaving like a girl?