Good morning, class. Before your critical eyes judge the title alone and believe that my once-intellectual standard has diminished to the blubberings of one who's obsessed with pastry, stop. Wait. Consider the chicken bake.
Beauty cased entirely inside a perfectly square pouch. Golden flakiness springing forth from all four corners. Salty sauce-cream engulfing all senses like some sort of sexy bitch. Never before have I encountered such a marvel; such a majestic ability to, for a few minutes, remove the tortuous perils that plague us as humans through enormous sensory enlightenment.Smell! Taste! Touch! O, how I yearn for the warm filling to encase me in my own personal square pastry-land! O, the bitter disappointment when you reach Greggs at 5.55pm to find they only have cheese and onion lattices left!
'Tis here, my friends, I offer you the challenge of discovering a purer form of ecstasy (insert MDMA joke here).
I'd really like a chicken bake, if any of you got that
