Strawberry Pie

Fruit in season knows what it wants to become

Awhile back I was searching for the perfect Strawberry Pie recipe and coming up empty handed.

Apparently the most popular version uses Jell-O. Even the old church cookbooks are heavy on the gelatin versions. I grew up in the 70’s and 80’s so I am very familiar with them—because Jell-O was king in that era.

But that’s not what I was looking for. I didn’t want to pour sprite over my berries, make them into a jam or stir in yogurt. While America had decided Strawberry Pie needed gelatin, I didn’t.

I simply wanted an heirloom pie. Fruit wrapped in good crust. Sugared, baked. Just thick enough but still juicy. Pie perfection.

The type of Strawberry Pie you take outside to the picnic table and eat alongside sticky BBQ chicken and eggy potato salad loaded with fresh dill and chives. Paired with a tall glass of sun tea studded with fresh mint.

That kind of Strawberry Pie.

Most people who know me know that I owned a bakery. I took up pastry classes as a hobby and it turned into a passion-filled journey of bringing a cake and pie shop to my little town. I was the pie girl who fell in and out of love with cake. It’s such a tangled web. But pie has always been the constant.

Recently I told my favorite farmer—who is also a chef—that I sometimes dream of opening a pie shop again. He told me to let him know when I’m ready. I laughed, because bakery life is beautiful and brutal in equal measure. I’m not sure I have that in me again. But, I still dream of gatherings where dessert lingers and no one is in a hurry. Of long tables filled with pie.

You can read it here:

Anyway, back to the strawberries.

I don’t make berry pie in winter because I bake in rhythm with the seasons. Fruit in season is already halfway to pie. In winter, its asks too much sugar to become something it isn’t. It’s like my favorite farmer told me—he eats asparagus every night in season and when it’s gone he doesn’t eat it again until next year. This is the eating in rhythm I am learning to live as well.

Right now the strawberries are incredible. They’re begging to be enveloped in pastry crust and baked until the juices are thick and dripping over the edge. The thing about fruit is that if you wouldn’t eat it on its own, it probably isn’t a good idea to make it into pie.

When I found the right berries, I knew that all they needed was a little sweetener and thickener to make a perfect pie. I was right—my family devoured it.

This Strawberry Pie is picnic-worthy. You won’t miss the gelatin or Cool Whip bottom. But, if you’d like, it will pair perfectly with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream.

I’ll definitely be carrying one of these out to the picnic table this weekend. Let me know if you do too.

Strawberry Pie

Ingredients

• 5 C cut strawberries

• 1 C granulated sugar

• 1 T brown sugar

• 1/4 C cornstarch

• 2 T granulated tapioca

• 1/4 t cinnamon

• 1/2 lemon, juiced

• 1 double crust pie dough

• 1 egg mixed with a little water for egg wash

Directions

1. Mix dry ingredients together. Place strawberries in bowl. Squeeze lemon over top and stir. Stir in dry ingredients and let sit while you roll the dough. Juices will begin to accumulate below the fruit, which is what you want to happen.

2. Divide the dough in half. Roll the bottom crust and place in pie plate.

3. Place berry mixture plus its juices into bottom crust.

4. Roll the second half of the pie dough to form the top crust. At this point you can do a lattice crust (like the picture) or just leave it whole. Flute the edges and brush the top with egg wash.

5. Bake 350 degrees for one hour.

**Chef note: don’t slice the strawberries too thin—it’s better to leave them in thick chunks by merely cutting the strawberries in half.

My favorite pie crust is on my page here:

Michelle Adams writes Marygold Journal, a Midwestern field guide to aliveness in the modern world through philosophy, reflection, food and soil. After decades spent in high-pressure work and entrepreneurship, her writing explores what it means to leave survival mode and work on finding yourself again—through small rituals, careful observation, and a return to what has always been within reach. If you’ve ever wondered whether there’s another way to live—one that is slower, steadier and deeply your own—you’re in the right place.