Sixty years of Harrow's chicken pot pie. Why?

When I heard that Harrow's Chicken Pies was opening a second location five minutes' drive from our house, I was intrigued.

This family-owned business has been selling their pies in Reading for 60-some years (or 50 or 70, depending on which page of their website you read), longevity that suggested quality.

On Saturday, we got a coupon in the mail for $2 off an order. As it was getting toward lunchtime, and they promised takeout pie, we decided to head over.

The store is on the intersection of Rtes 16 and 38 in Medford, next to a Dunkies and across the street from a Dunkies. It's a small space, mostly occupied by coolers filled with pies of different sizes. We opted for two individual pies with vegetables (you can also get them without).

Now maybe I'm crazy, but to me, "takeout" means "to eat immediately." That's the point; that's what distinguishes a takeout pie from a frozen pie, which is evidently meant for consumption at a later date.

However, it turns out that if you actually want a hot pie, you have to call in your order a half-hour ahead of time, which is how long it takes to heat one up.

(Note to Harrow's: there are now clever machines called "micro-waves." You might could look into them.)

So much for our plan of grabbing a quick pie for lunch. As we were already hungry, we ate something more immediate and postponed the pies until dinner.

And so, that evening, we sat down to chicken pot pie.

The first thing we noticed was the pastry: it was incredibly short and flaky and a little sweet. And about as thick as a postcard.

The second thing we noticed was the sauce: pale, thick, bland, glutinous. I'll just come out and say it: wallpaper paste.



There were several generous chunks of chicken:



And, as promised, vegetables: uniformly diced carrot and cubes of al dente potato.



It's quite possible that Harrow's is the epitome of the Boston chicken pot pie; that its success lies in an understanding of the preferences of its customer base.

(That it was voted Best in New England by the Phantom Gourmet is a clue in itself.)

But to me, chicken pot pie shouldn't be nondescript; it should be a celebration. It should begin with a mirepoix; there should be pearl onions and peas; the roux should be perfumed with rosemary and thyme.

And the pastry — either puff or pâte brisée — should be thick enough that the exterior is crisp, while the underside becomes a soft sponge that soaks up the flavors of the filling.

At some point soon, I'll show you what I mean.

Bad citizen!

You may remember that when I became a citizen, almost a whole year ago, I was particularly motivated by my desire to be able to vote. I even had dreams about it.

Well, this week I performed the act that truly cemented my new role as an American: there was an election, and I didn't go.

I know, I know. Stop yelling. Ow. Stoppit.

Let me lay out my weak excuses:

Ignorance
I didn't even know there was an election on Tuesday until the Friday before, when an oversized postcard from Michael Marks came in the mail. That was the only communication we had from any of the 19 candidates, though when I was checking through the junk mail for the unoccupied upstairs apartment, I found flyers for two others. So, you know, nice job of getting the word out, guys.

Irrelevance
Of the three candidates, two were running for School Committee; not something that will affect me unless we decide the cat needs an education. The flyer for Marks highlighted his work on the "senior swim" program and his interest in public parking. Still being a good 20 years from swim time, and having no reason to park in downtown Medford, I was in no rush to vote for the guy. (On top of which, his frame-tastic website was apparently designed in 1995 and contains a big ol' malapostrophe. Next!)

Detatchment
We live in Medford, but we don't live in Medford. We have no particular ties to the city, have no friends there, don't read the local newspaper, and rarely shop, play or eat there (apart from occasional acts of piggery, Brazilian style, at the Oasis). Our house is divorced from the rest of Medford by railroad track, Tufts buildings and warehouses, in the borderlands known as "Medford-but-really-almost-Somerville." So if something interesting happens in the city, we have no means (and little motivation) for learning about it.

Apathy
Darn. This was going to be my killer excuse: that the polling station was too far from my house. But according to Google Maps, it's only slightly further than my daily walk to and from the subway. Still, I wasn't particularly in the mood to trek a couple of miles through the back streets of Medford, over by the highway and the car dealerships, in the dark drizzle of a November night, to make an uninformed choice for a mystery candidate.

As it turns out, I wasn't the only one.

But never fear, dear fellow Americans; this won't happen again. In the course of researching this post, I found a lovely site called VoteMedford.org, which has detailed info about all candidates (with video, no less!) as well as their answers to resident-submitted questions.

So next time there's an election--and I heard a rumor that something important is happening this time next year--I'll be good 'n' ready to do my citizenly duty.

But meanwhile, I wants to know: do you think we should become more loyal Medfordites? Can anyone recommend a Medfordian activity that would help us feel more Medfordly?