There was a proper party atmosphere on Merseyside for Derby Day in the Women’s Super League. Families and fans of all ages, clad in red and blue, travelled to one of the most revered patches of grass in English football.

On arrival at Anfield, drums were being bashed as a fantastically familiar smell of fried food wafted through the atmosphere. It’s incredible what a simple burger stand can do for the soul, and at said stall the Legends Burger caught my attention with its bold and brash title. Its contents included three beefburger patties with bacon, cheese and onions, or “the works” according to the server.

It’s food like this that takes several days off your life, but I’m willing to sacrifice those days for a pile of processed meat between two bits of bun. While not-so-crispy bacon and anaemic onions have no place in day-to-day society, at the football they’re more than tolerated. If anything, I crave them.

Soon a situation arose involving substantial amounts of mustard and mayonnaise around my chops, up my nose and smeared across my stubble so I ran back to the mothership for any kind of wiping apparatus. “I’m on to you lad!” exclaimed a lovely Liverpudlian as he greeted me with a handful of napkins. He’d seen it all before – the sauce spread across the chins and cheeks of those who have played victim to the Legends Burgers of past match days.

At half-time inside the Anfield arena, look no further than a substantial slab of Clayton Park Bakery Scouse Pie. It was served alongside a rather sad looking pint of Carlsberg, the beer being sloshed back swiftly so I could scarper back to The Kop and stuff my face with the pastry, currently teasing me from within its puffed-up pillow-like cellophane casing.

Liverpool’s national dish, Scouse is a lumpy chunky stew – and sounds like pure pornography when stashed beneath a pastry top. However, after my first forkful, I was disappointed. Perhaps there was a mix-up on the production line? Where were the meaty chunks? Where was the stewed slop I salivated for?

And where was the Bovril? I’d proper messed up, forgetting a sacred cup of the murky cow juice. But, back in my seat with the second half under way, there was no turning back. Meanwhile, the pie was peppery and hot, nice enough for sure, but definitely had more of a shepherd’s pie vibe than a Scouse flavour. A simple cup of Bovril would have papered over the beef-craving cracks, but we live and we learn: never be without a meaty drink on match day.

FINAL SCORE: Liverpool 0 Everton 1

Words and photos by Henry Liston