Those meat pies in the UK… so gross. Never understood how folks in the UK could tolerate the lameness of so much of their cooking. Heck, there was a local pizza parlor near where I lived, in Chelsea London, and after the first pizza I schmoozed the manager in to allowing me to make my own pizza’s with their stuff and ovens and when they tried my pizza I ended up trading them my knowledge of how to make pizzas (I had worked in a couple pizza places, for years, as I put myself through college) for free pizza a couple evenings a week. Soon they were making “American style pizzas” both round and deep dish round and their business went from being unbusy to having a line out the door on some of the days I stopped in to make a pie. 3 years later I was back in London with my rugby team and they were still selling “American style pizzas” and the owner still knew who I was. By that point he had managed to open a 2nd location a couple of tube stops away and was hoping to open a 3rd soon. Between that and teaching a school there how to properly play American football, I was quite proud of my time living and working in Britain.
I read it to see how the characters deal with the Betty’s in their lives.