Page 138 - United States of Pie

Indulgent cream pies and ingenious meringues are
hallmarks of the Midwest’s pie-making tradition. Long winters meant
a shortage of fresh fruit, and up until the mid-twentieth century, the
Great Lakes region boasted the highest per capita acreage of
pastureland and dairy farms in the United States. With plentiful milk
and cream available, rural farmwives created rich, delicious desserts

as the culmination to hearty dinners (it takes a lot of calories to
farm).
But when the season allows, Midwestern pies celebrate produce,
from tart rhubarb to Indiana’s native persimmons to sour cherries
plucked from the orchards that line the banks of Lake Michigan. In
fact, almost all the cherry pie that we consume in this country is

made with sour cherries. This tart cousin of the Bing cherry (the most
common eat-out-of-hand variety) is sour in a mouth-pursing, puckery
sort of way and not at all acrid. Many people eat sour cherries
straight from the tree for a jolt of cherry flavor. Sour cherries are
smaller than Bings and they don’t cling to their pits as steadfastly.
When mixed with sugar and baked in a pie, the sour cherry loses its
sour factor and takes on a commanding cherriness, bright and juicy,

that screams of summer.
If the Lower Peninsula of the state of Michigan looks like a left-
hand mitten, then Traverse City, the sour cherry capital of America,
lies between its ring and pinkie fingers. With a burgeoning local food
movement and wineries dappling its sloping hills, the greater
Traverse City area is sort of the Napa Valley of the Midwest. But

Michiganders know that it’s not wine that draws people to this region
year after year. It’s the sour cherry. There is much to be done with
this little stalwart of summer. It is dried, made into jam, baked in
cookies—and, of course, there is pie.
Baking pie with such an acidic fruit poses some problems. There is
a thickener conundrum. The usual thickeners just won’t do. Because
of the high acid content of sour cherries, cornstarch accomplishes

almost nothing. Too much flour will cloud the dazzling juice. Then
there is tapioca. This thickener will always do the trick. The pie’s
juice will be rosy and clear, but if you’re anything like me, you can
never fully adjust to those little pearls gazing back at you like a
million tiny eyeballs. One by one, I tried each thickener, but none of