Page 173 - United States of Pie

olallieberries in a year just to bake those luscious pies. When Emma
Duarte first started making the pies, all the berries were grown by
Kathy and Tim’s grandfather in a garden behind the restaurant. Now

they purchase anywhere from three to four thousand pounds of the
fruit from a local Pescadero farm and contract with a farm just a few
hours away in Watsonville for the rest.
Piled in a restaurant pan in the kitchen was a mass of
olallieberries—at least enough for a half dozen pies—soaking in a
pool of their own juice. The baker slid the pan into a warm oven to
thaw the berries, which yielded a sort of berry stew. She then
strained the berries of their juice (which the kitchen reserves for

sauce or vinaigrette) and scooped the berries into a bowl. She
spooned out a cup of sugar, took a large handful of flour, and added
both to the bowl, mixing quickly. The berries got a thorough bashing
with her metal spoon before she poured them into the pie shell. She
rolled out a round of dough to top the pie. There was no crimping, no

fluting; she simply folded the remnants of dough underneath itself.
Lastly, she vented the pie with a skewer and popped it in the oven.
And that was it—no butter cubed and placed under the final crust, no
lemon zest mingling with the olallieberries, no spoonful of cinnamon,
no splash of vanilla extract.
At the end of my kitchen tour, I took a seat at one of the
unembellished tables in the dining room and ordered—what else—a

slice of olallieberry pie. Before digging in, I paused for a moment,
fork poised in midair. The slice in front of me was unadorned and
rough-hewn, clearly handmade. I plunged my fork in. The crust was
flaky and resilient. Deeply pigmented juice flooded my plate. I took a
bite. The flavor was intense—snappy fruit tempered by just the right
amount of sugar. My mouth crackled with berry seeds. As I took

another bite, I seemed to be communing with a little piece of a
Northern California coastal summer day. The cool sea fog there
burns off by afternoon, giving way to the California sun, and this
rustic pie, unmarred by extraneous flavors, captured it all: its
simplicity, its ease, its pleasure. If you are ever craving a taste of
California summer, don’t forget: Duarte’s has a slice of olallieberry
pie waiting. Or you could make your own.