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Two leeks, trimmed and sliced into pale green coins, sat on my board at Mayfield Taphouse’s farmers market stall for about eight seconds before the stallholder told me they’d come from Dungog that morning. That’s about as local as it gets for Newcastle, and it’s the kind of detail that makes me buy more than I planned to. I went home with four leeks instead of two, which is how this pie happened on a Wednesday instead of the weekend.
I’ve made a hundred versions of chicken and leek pie over the years, most of them heavier than they needed to be. Double cream, a full block of butter in the pastry, a top and bottom crust because why not. All lovely, all the kind of thing you eat once and then feel like a nap. This one keeps the parts that matter, the leek cooked down slow until it’s almost sweet, a proper white sauce with real body, and swaps the heavy stuff for something that still rolls out, still browns, still makes the kitchen smell like a pie should, but doesn’t sit like a brick afterwards.
Why the pastry is lighter without being sad
The trick isn’t some clever substitute, it’s ratio and method. I use a filo and butter hybrid for the top instead of a full shortcrust, brushing three layers of filo with a modest amount of melted butter rather than drowning a block of regular pastry in it. You still get shatter and colour. You still get that bit everyone fights over at the corner of the dish. What you don’t get is the dense, oily base you sometimes find under a double-crust pie, the one that’s more fat than flour by the time it hits the plate.
If filo feels fiddly, a single layer of good shortcrust rolled thin works too, just don’t double it up top and bottom. One layer carries the texture. Two is just extra saturated fat for no real gain in flavour, and I’d argue most bakery pies oversell the bottom crust anyway, it goes soggy under the filling nine times out of ten.
The filling does the heavy lifting
Lean chicken thigh, not breast, is non-negotiable in my kitchen for this one. Breast dries out under a filling that’s going back into a hot oven for another twenty minutes, and thigh has enough fat to stay juicy without needing cream to compensate. I poach it gently in stock with a bay leaf first, which also means I’m not dirtying a second pan and I’ve got a flavoured stock ready for the sauce.
The leek and a decent amount of sliced mushroom give the filling its bulk, so you’re not relying on chicken alone to fill the dish. More vegetable, same satisfaction, and it stretches further across a family of four or five than a meat-heavy version would. I usually throw in a handful of frozen peas right at the end too, mostly for colour, partly because why fibre matters more than most of us think is something I think about more now than I did in my twenties.
Ingredients
- 600g chicken thigh fillets, trimmed and cut into 3cm pieces
- 2 large leeks, white and pale green parts only, halved and sliced
- 200g button mushrooms, sliced
- 2 cups (500ml) salt-reduced chicken stock
- 1 bay leaf
- 40g butter, plus 2 tbsp melted extra for the filo
- 1/3 cup (50g) plain flour
- 1 cup (250ml) milk, low-fat is fine
- 1 tbsp Dijon mustard
- 1 cup (120g) frozen peas
- 2 tbsp chopped parsley
- Salt and black pepper
- 6 sheets filo pastry
Method
- Place the chicken, bay leaf and stock in a saucepan, bring to a gentle simmer and poach for 10 minutes until just cooked through. Lift the chicken out with a slotted spoon and set aside. Keep the stock, you’ll use about 2 cups of it for the sauce.
- Melt the 40g butter in a large frying pan over medium heat. Add the leek and cook, stirring often, for 8-10 minutes until soft and sweet but not browned. Add the mushrooms and cook a further 5 minutes until they’ve released their liquid and it’s mostly evaporated.
- Stir the flour through the leek and mushroom mixture and cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Gradually pour in the reserved poaching stock, stirring between additions to keep it smooth, then add the milk the same way. Bring to a simmer and cook, stirring, until the sauce thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon, around 5 minutes.
- Stir in the mustard, poached chicken, peas and parsley. Season with salt and pepper and taste, this is where the whole dish either sings or sits flat, so don’t rush it. Spoon into a 1.5-2 litre pie dish or four individual dishes.
- Preheat the oven to 200°C (180°C fan-forced). Lay one sheet of filo over the filling, brush lightly with melted butter, then repeat with the remaining sheets, scrunching and tucking the edges in as you go rather than trying to make it neat. A rustic top is half the charm.
- Bake for 20-25 minutes until the filo is deep golden and the filling is bubbling at the edges. Rest for 5 minutes before serving, it needs that pause to set slightly or it’ll be soup on the plate.
Serves 4-5. Prep 25 minutes, cook 45 minutes.
What to put alongside it
I keep the sides deliberately plain because the pie’s already doing the work. Steamed green beans, or a simple salad of shaved fennel and rocket with lemon. On a cooler night I’ll do mashed cauliflower instead of potato, which nobody’s ever complained about even though I half expect someone to. If you want something a bit more considered for the rest of the week, the warm grain bowl with roasted roots and labne covers similar comfort-food ground with less washing up.
Making it ahead and getting it through the week
The filling keeps in the fridge for up to two days before you top and bake it, which is genuinely useful if Tuesday is the night everyone has training and nobody’s home before 6.30. I’ve started making a double batch of filling on a Sunday, freezing half flat in a container, and topping the fresh half for dinner that night. The frozen portion defrosts in the fridge over a day and goes under fresh filo whenever it’s needed, usually a fortnight later when I’ve forgotten I even made it.
It also doubles well for lunchboxes the next day, just without the pastry, which goes soft in a thermos anyway. I spoon the leftover filling over rice or on toast for my own lunch most Fridays. My youngest picks the mushroom out, every single time, but eats everything else without comment, which in our house counts as a win.
A note on the chicken itself
I’ll admit I used to skip the poaching step and just pan-fry diced chicken straight into the sauce, which is faster but gives you tougher, greyer meat by the time it’s been through a second cook in the oven. Poaching gently first and using thigh rather than breast keeps everything tender, and you get that bonus stock for the sauce rather than adding a stock cube and water. It’s an extra five minutes, not an extra hour, so I’d call it worth it.
For general guidance on lean protein and vegetable balance across a week of family meals, the dietary guidelines summarised by Eat for Health are a decent sense check, and Healthdirect has straightforward information on fibre and heart health if you want the detail behind why I keep leaning on vegetables rather than extra pastry or cream.
A version for the freezer-averse
If you’d rather not freeze filling at all, this recipe halves cleanly for two, or you can bake it in individual ramekins and freeze those fully cooked, then reheat from frozen at 180°C for about 35 minutes covered in foil. It’s a decent option for the week after a big training weekend, when I coach junior netball on Saturdays and dinner that night is whatever requires the least thinking. A pie that’s already made is close to the top of that list.
If leek isn’t in good shape at your greengrocer, brown onion and a bit of extra garlic will get you most of the way there, though you’ll lose some of that gentle sweetness leek brings. For more on shopping to what’s actually good that week rather than what the recipe insists on, eating with the seasons at the supermarket, not the farmers market is worth a read, and if pie isn’t your mood that particular night, the golden coconut chicken curry uses a similar poached-chicken approach with a completely different flavour direction.
– Nicole Barnes, Golden Door Living kitchen
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