For me, pork pie and the English countryside go together like New York and pizza. You can have one without the other, but it is just not as satisfying as when the two are united. Since the beginning of my rendezvous with the English culture, my feelings toward pork pie have transformed from those of fear and disgust to those of undying love. The hard, greasy crust, salty and fatty meat filling and transparent gelatin holding it all together have become a guilty pleasure that I savor whenever I make the trek north from London to Lincolnshire. When paired with a brisk afternoon walk through the rolling fields of local farmers, life seems simple and sweet.