“I really hope they have fruit pie.”

We met Melissa and Anders for dinner Monday (we ran so as to be on time) at a pie shop with deep orange walls and paintings by local artists and window frames for sale. The joint is an expat haunt, run by a gay South African in his 50s named  Frank. Anders insisted on taking us there because “the pies are great and the beer is cheap.”

The pies were not, to Colin’s dismay, fruit. Instead they were chicken-cheese or chicken-mushroom or steak-vegetables, etc. Cute personal-sized pies with an initial stamped on the lid with dough (so they may be told apart after cooking, I presume).

Carlsberg beer, salad, fries (chips), peach iced tea, and chicken-cheese pie. How lovely!

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