Three Pounds of Sour Cherries Baked in a Pie

Nigella Lawson: I lay my obsession for sour cherries at your feet. Though I don't necessarily remember the context, or the precise recipe involved, I remain unshakably convinced that I first heard of sour cherries from you. And when I am unshakably convinced, you have no hope. I am Irish. Through and through.

Yes – I’ll go further – I swear it was when Rick and I were living in Seattle. That is when we found your show (back when it was on the Style Network) and watched and ooohed and aaahed and drooled and yearned religiously. I clearly remember that it was Seattle because I must have watched the passion fruit pavlova episode three or four times. And at the end of each viewing, I would march to Pike Place Market. I would demand passion fruit from the greengrocers at Sosio’s. When they laughed and said, “Try California,” I would search every last produce stand inside and adjacent to the market; no luck. It’s not lost upon me how funny it is that I would spend a lifetime in California not caring a whit about passion fruit, only to go to Seattle and decide to fall in love with them.

Passion fruit and sour cherries. I was slightly less obsessed about the cherries. But only slightly.

I am not generally a fan of cherry pie. I tend to imagine over-sweet bings lumped together with that dreadful, red, diabetic-coma-inducing gel, yielding a pie that is altogether too gooey and sticky to put in my mouth. Even as a dare. Even as a dare with money on the line. Ah! but sour cherries – now that sounds promising.

I have dreamt of this pie for years now. If I knew the farmers who deliver these gems to the Sunday Farmer’s Market better – hey Sosio’s, you were right; trying California worked! – I would kiss them. These cherries are leagues apart from anything I have ever seen or tasted before. They are radiant in the sunlight. And more sour than even the sourest sour patch kid. (Don’t make fun; I love them.)

Oh, and the recipe? I found it on epicurious and followed it to a T. I was worried a bit about the crust as I rolled it out. Far too gluteny for someone who is as perpetually insecure about the quality of her pie crust as I am. (My mom makes perfect pie crust, every time. I should mention that.) But it worked! The heat cast its spell over the dough and it complied nicely, coming out goldeny, buttery, and flaky. Which totally made the two and a half hours I spent pitting three pounds of cherries by hand worthwhile.

Note to self: Buy cherry pitter.

The pie, by the way, was everything it should be: tart, fruity, and perfectly complemented by a scoop of vanilla ice cream. File it away in the repertoire.