Humble Pie: A Slice of History (and Ego)

Has it been A Week? It certainly feels like it. Between secret files, public blunders, and the astonishing number of people incapable of simply saying, “Yes, that was my fault,” I thought we could all use a bite of something soothing. Behold: humble pie — the original dish of “Oops, my bad,” baked into a crust.

The Origins of Eating Crow’s More British Cousin

Back in the 1600s, when deer were plentiful and egos were just as fragile as today’s, servants often dined on “umbles”—a polite word for the heart, liver, and other bits their lords weren’t fighting over. Thus was born umble pie. Tasty enough, but also a reminder of one’s place at the table.

By the Regency period, the phrase had migrated from kitchens to conversation. By 1812, American newspapers were already using “humble pie” to mock Britain’s humiliations in war. Across the pond, London’s Morning Post in 1819 gleefully reported that politician Sir Francis Burdett had been forced to “eat humble pie and play second fiddle.” That’s Regency-speak for: “he really lost the argument, bless him.”

From Offal to Idiom (with Help from Dickens)

By the 19th century, “umble” slurred into “humble,” and the phrase became immortalized in both political mockery and literature. Dickens had his villain Uriah Heep call himself “umble” in David Copperfield (1849), proving that false modesty ages about as well as leftover pie.

A Recipe for Humility

Should you wish to literally consume your pride, here’s a modern adaptation of that once-humble dish:

Ingredients:

• 1 lb beef liver (or other offal, if you’re brave)
• 1 onion, finely chopped
• 1 garlic clove, minced
• 1 tbsp butter
• 1 tsp thyme
• 1 tsp black pepper
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 cup beef broth
• 1 tbsp flour (for thickening)
• 1 pie crust (ready-made, because even shame deserves convenience)

Method:

1. Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C).
2. Chop the liver into small pieces; sauté with butter, onion, and garlic.
3. Add thyme, pepper, and salt. Stir like you’re covering your tracks.
4. Pour in beef broth; simmer for 10 minutes. Sprinkle in flour to thicken.
5. Pour filling into a crust, cover with a second, and bake 25–30 minutes.
6. Serve warm—with a tall glass of “Yes, I was wrong.”

Why We Still Serve It

While we no longer force social inferiors to eat offal pies, the phrase remains with us. Everyone, sooner or later, must choke down their pride. At least now, we can season it properly and put it in a flaky crust.

So the next time you witness someone refusing to admit they’ve messed up, just smile knowingly and think: that’s going to be one hell of a pie when it finally bakes.