Eating Humble Pie

It has been A WEEK in the world, hasn't it? After all the bluster and doubling down about not-so-secret Signal chats, it's utterly unsurprising when colossal egos can't admit when they've fucked up - isn't it?

So, for those of us who might be a little sick to death of witnessing people screw up and refuse to admit it - this post is for you, along with your #freerecipe for this most humbling dish - which, as always on this blog, is best served with a side of history.

The origins of Humble Pie:

This dish might hark back to the 1600s but was very much made and enjoyed by many hungry #regencyera folks - especially those who enjoyed a good hunt. The phrase itself not only first appeared in the midst of the Regency period (1812 - see below), but is actually a pointy reference to England's imminent defeat in the revolutionary war of 1812.

For those Americans wondering which war I'm referring to, that'd be the American War of Independence. (The English called it The Revolutionary War - because at the time America was a colony, and in the process of seceding from the empire.) I'm afraid, American friends, this begs the question.

How many layers of irony in a humble pie today?

Umble pie

It's not really so funny - and we’ve all been there - swallowing our pride after a particularly embarrassing blunder. That, my friends, is what it means to “eat humble pie.”

The phrase “to eat humble pie” means to make a public apology and endure humiliation, much like today’s equivalent, “eating crow.” One of the earliest recorded instances of this phrase appeared in The Carolina Federal Republican (New Bern, North Carolina) on January 18, 1812. A political poem of the time used it to describe Britain’s anticipated defeat in war:

We’ll build a fleet and raise an army;— Create, on paper, “war and speck;” Take Nova Scotia and Quebec;— Frighten Great Britain by our tones, To fall down on her marrow bones;— Make our choice spirits of the south, To sink her fleet, by word of mouth, This is the plan we now must try To make her swallow humble pie.

Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, the phrase was also gaining traction. An 1819 issue of The Morning Post in London used it when describing the political humiliation of Sir Francis Burdett, noting that he was forced to “eat humble pie, and play second fiddle” to his rival. It was clear that by this point, the term had fully transitioned from folk tale to the lexicon of public shame. It's connection to the table is however, less direct.

From offal to idiom:

The phrase itself likely stems from umble pie — a dish made from the less desirable parts of a deer, such as the heart, liver, and entrails (i.e. offal). The word “umbles” referred to these edible animal parts, often reserved for servants and lower-class folk. In contrast, the noble and wealthy dined on the more prestigious cuts of venison. If you were eating umble pie, you weren’t just consuming a meal; you were being reminded of your social status.

The English diarist Samuel Pepys mentioned umble pie in 1663, noting it was a common dish. By 1669, Kenelm Digby’s The Closet of the Eminently Learned Sir Kenelme Digbie provided an actual recipe:

Bake Humble-Pyes without chapping them small in a Pye, seasoned with Pepper and Salt, adding a pretty deal of Parsley, a little sweet-marjoram and Savoury, and a very little Thyme.

By the 19th century, pronunciation changes blurred the line between “umble” and “humble,” and thus, the phrase was born. Charles Dickens played on this pun in David Copperfield, where the obsequious Uriah Heep famously described himself as “umble.”

If you’d like to recreate this historic dish- minus the humiliation - here’s a modern adaptation:

Ingredients:

• 1 lb beef liver (or a mix of offal, if you’re feeling adventurous)

• 1 small onion, finely chopped

• 1 clove garlic, minced

• 1 tbsp butter

• 1 tsp thyme

• 1 tsp black pepper

• 1 tsp salt

• 1 cup beef broth

• 1 tbsp flour (for thickening)

• 1 sheet of pie crust

Medieval pie-making using offal.

Method:

1. Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C).

2. Chop the liver into small pieces and sauté with butter, onion, and garlic.

3. Add thyme, pepper, and salt, stirring well.

4. Pour in the beef broth and simmer for 10 minutes. Sprinkle in the flour to thicken the mixture.

5. Pour the filling into a pie crust and cover with a second layer of dough.

6. Bake for 25–30 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown.

7. Serve warm, and with a side of humility.

While we no longer reserve offal pies for the socially inferior, the phrase “eating humble pie” lives on, reminding us that everyone, at some point, must swallow their pride - preferably with a good crust and plenty of seasoning.