Trying to negotiate the lanes of deepest Norfolk last week, I was reminded how the county's main contingency for civil defence during the war was to remove all the signposts. For all I know, an advance party of the Wehrmacht is lost there still, so confusing is the spider¹s web of unmarked roads. I half expected to bowl round a corner and slam into a Panzer, its commander still scratching his head over an opened map.

There was a further echo of war recently when rationing was reintroduced across the county. Supplies of Nell Montgomery's celebrated pork pies were running dangerously low, so she had to limit her shops to 85 per week. It was never going to be enough, especially with the Christmas rush. "People are constantly coming from far and wide for more of them," she says. "They are constantly oversubscribed ­ a real 'hot deal'."

If that sounds like a banker talking, it's because that's what Nell was until she gave up on Goldman Sachs three years ago and retreated to a smallholding with her partner and, now, eight-month-old daughter. "We populated it with sheep, cows, pigs and chickens, and they all started to reproduce, so the question was what to do with them all."

She first founded a farm shop attached to nearby Blickling Hall at Aylsham, but when the pork pies, made with her own Saddleback pigs, emerged as the star attraction, she decided to focus just on them. "Pigs are incredibly prolific. Our two sows will produce 40 piglets a year, which in turn make about 700 pies each... That's 28,000 in total."

Forget memories of sad patties at service stations. What distinguishes these from your entry-level pie is the quality of meat. Firstly, the pigs are pure-breed and hand-reared. Their welfare is all. "We feed them seasonally, so at the moment they are eating acorns and sugar beet as well as meal," she says. "And because ours spend so much time outdoors exercising, they burn off more calories. That means it takes them seven to eight months to get to the right size, instead of five or six on more commercial farms. The result is tastier meat."

Nell then accompanies the pigs to the abattoir so they are less stressed and, in a remarkable display of generosity, consigns all the choice cuts save the tenderloin to the pies — a far cry from the mechanically recovered detritus that fills many lesser versions.

This is a proper community exercise. After slaughter, the pigs go to local butcher Tavern Tasty, where Pauline works her magic with nothing more than bacon, salt, pepper, mace, and onion marmalade, "for sweetness". Then Nell and business partner Sarah Pettegree ferry them to Norman Olley of North Elmham Bakery, who lets them use his ovens before his night shift starts. Thence they go on to shops in Norwich and Reepham.

And the taste? Not without reason has Giles Coren described them as the most extraordinary pie he has ever tasted. They are dense and rich without being too solid, with light flaky pastry and a good whack of smokiness from the bacon. Truly a king among pies, and, now that they can be mail-ordered frozen and cooked at home, a treat the rest of the country can be let in on too.

Best of all though, especially to your less experienced pie-eater, is they don't have too much jelly. "Traditionally the jelly is added once the pies have cooled," says Nell, "so you end up with that casing of gelatine that puts so many people off. But we add the jelly when the pie is still warm, so it's absorbed by the meat. Perhaps that's why so many women are happy eating them."

Perfect Pork Pies cost £2.40 each plus p&p (01263 862845; www.perfectpie.co.uk)

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