I’ve somehow carved out a niche at Media Isle of Man that involves ‘researching’ food venues across the island, purely in the public interest, you understand.

It’s probably also why my belly appears to increase in size every time I look in the mirror.

But with so many good options, and the newspaper depending on my average reports after trying some food, I endeavour to continue doing so (for journalism).

This week’s expedition took me somewhere that’s been in the news recently: Victory Café, perched at the 31st Milestone on the Snaefell Mountain Road.

Housed in a former Cold War Rotor radar station, it’s been a beloved pit-stop for locals, tourists and TT fans since opening in May 2021.

The absolute legends behind it, Benn and Vicky, have announced they’re calling it a day and selling up.

Like many Manxies, I’ve worked through the stages, denial, anger, a second helping of denial, depression, and, more than two weeks on, something approaching acceptance.

Not just because of the food, before you accuse me of predictable priorities.

Victory has always been more than a café.

Yes, the hearty homemade food has rightly stolen headlines (over 50,000 pies sold to date, a delicious act that’s been quietly expanding waistbands across the island), but it’s also a creative venue, event hub, motorsport hotspot and home to its own 20-seat cinema.

In their statement on Friday, August 1, Benn and Vicky explained they’re putting the place on the market as part of ‘The Quirk Plan’ with 2025 shaping up to be a pivotal year - big birthdays, a 20th wedding anniversary and major milestones for their three children.

There was a moving tribute to family, too, and the island responded with a wave of love. They’ve turned a disused spot into something properly special.

Which is why I pointed the car uphill and resolved to soak it in while I could.

Taking the only free perch, table two, the place was rammed.

I didn’t mess about. ‘Are you ready to order?’ ‘YES, PIE.’

The only dilemma: which one? I went with peppercorn and brisket, with gravy, chips and mushy peas. If you’re going to pay homage, do it properly.

It arrived piping hot, the pastry burnished and confident, the sort that flakes politely rather than detonating into your lap.

The brisket inside was pull-apart tender, swimming in a creamy peppercorn sauce that delivered warmth rather than wallop, so the meat still did the talking.

The gravy was glossy and super tasty, precisely calibrated for chip-dipping.

By the time I was finished, my plate looked like it had been through a dishwasher.

I could’ve genuinely had another, but with football pre-season in full swing I’m trying not to grow out of my Marown Combi kit before the first whistle. If they’ll have me back, that is.

Few places beat their pies, though Morgan’s on Strand Street still tempts me every time I walk past.

Close the door, Lee, I’m trying to avoid pie.

Still, if you need a nudge to get up the mountain, consider this it: go see Benn and Vicky, order a pie, grab a coffee, poke your head into the cinema, pick up something from the shop and support them while you can.

And to whoever takes over: you’ll do what you like, of course, but please, for all our sakes, keep the pies.