Blueberry Lattice Bars

February rain on the windows. The pot on the stove. The radio low. Tuesday feeding was hard this week. We ran short on cornbread because I underestimated the crowd. I will not underestimate again. The crowd ate. Nobody left without a plate, baby.

Calvin preached Sunday on the mustard seed. The church said amen. I talked to Marcus this morning at the kitchen window with my coffee. I told him the kitchen was holding. He did not answer in words. He does not need to.

Sweet potato pie Friday. Bernice's recipe. The crust by hand. The filling by feel. The pie was the pie.

Bernice was here, baby. In the smell of the chicken. In the hum at the stove.

A young woman from the new members class came to me Sunday. She was nervous. She said, Mother Simms, my husband and I are expecting our first and I do not know how to cook. I said, baby, come to the Saturday class. She said, I'm coming. The chain extends.

I sat on the porch Saturday afternoon. The neighborhood was quiet. Mr. Henderson across the street waved. I waved back. The porches are the original social network, sugar. We have been at this since Eden.

Doris called Thursday. Three times a week, the standard. We talked about Calvin's health. We talked about Harold's health. We talked about the family. We talked about what I was cooking.

I drove to the grocery Saturday morning. Greens, three pounds. Onions, two big ones. Buttermilk, half gallon. Cornmeal, the good kind. Salt, because I always run out of salt.

I read for an hour Sunday night before bed. The Bible, then a book Doris sent me about the civil rights movement in Birmingham. The book made me think about Bernice in the church kitchen during the bombings.

Calvin Jr. called Tuesday night. He was tired. He had been at work twelve hours. I told him, baby, eat something. He said, Mama, I will. I said, what did you eat last. He said, a granola bar. I said, baby, that is not eating. He laughed.

The kitchen smelled like garlic and onion all afternoon Wednesday. Calvin came home from his Bible study and stood in the doorway and said, Loretta, what are we eating. I said, baby, you will see. He said, that is a yes from me. He has been saying that for fifty years.

A new young wife joined the Saturday cooking class. Twenty-two years old. She does not know how to make rice. I will teach her. The chain extends.

I have been thinking about heaven a lot lately. I do not know what I think. I know what Calvin preaches. I know what the AME doctrine says. I know what my Mama believed. I am at the age, sugar, where heaven is more than a Sunday school answer. I am working on it.

Sister Beulah came by Tuesday afternoon to drop off the bulletins. She stayed for coffee. We talked about the church, about her grandbaby, about the heat. The visit was the visit.

Sister Patrice's husband had heart surgery this week. I drove a meal over Tuesday — chicken and rice, cornbread, peach cobbler. She cried at the door. I told her, baby, eat the food. The food was the saying.

Sunday after service Calvin and I drove past the new sanctuary site. The choir loft windows were going in. We sat in the car and looked. He did not speak. I did not speak. The watching was the prayer.

I had a small cry Wednesday morning at the kitchen window. No reason in particular. The grief comes when it comes. I made coffee. I went on. That is how this works.

Friday’s sweet potato pie was Bernice’s — the crust by hand, the filling by feel — and it reminded me that the best things we bake, we bake from memory and love, not from a timer. These Blueberry Lattice Bars carry that same spirit: a pressed crust, a fruit filling that bubbles up honest and true, and a lattice top that asks your hands to be patient. I make them when I want something that feels like it came from somebody’s grandmother, because baby, it did. The chain extends, and it extends right here.

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 38 min | Total Time: 1 hr 3 min | Servings: 24 bars

Ingredients

2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup granulated sugar, divided
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1 cup (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
1 large egg, beaten
4 cups fresh or frozen blueberries (thawed and drained if frozen)
3 tbsp cornstarch
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1 tsp lemon zest
1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Instructions

Preheat and prepare. Heat oven to 375°F. Grease a 13x9-inch baking dish and set aside.
Make the dough. In a large bowl, whisk together flour, 1/2 cup of the sugar, baking powder, and salt. Using a pastry cutter or your fingertips, work the cold butter into the flour mixture until it resembles coarse, pea-sized crumbs. Add the beaten egg and stir until the dough just comes together — it will be crumbly. That is right. Work it by feel.
Press the base. Take about two-thirds of the dough and press it evenly into the bottom of the prepared pan, covering the surface in an even layer. Set the remaining dough aside.
Make the filling. In a separate bowl, gently toss the blueberries with the remaining 1/2 cup sugar, cornstarch, lemon juice, lemon zest, and vanilla extract until the berries are evenly coated.
Layer the filling. Spread the blueberry filling evenly over the pressed crust, taking it all the way to the edges.
Add the lattice top. Crumble the reserved dough over the blueberry filling in rough, irregular strips and clumps. It does not have to be perfect, sugar. Rustic is the point.
Bake. Place in the preheated oven and bake 35—40 minutes, until the top is golden and the filling is bubbling at the edges. Keep an eye on it after the 30-minute mark.
Cool completely. Remove from the oven and let the pan cool on a wire rack for at least 1 hour before cutting into bars. Do not rush this step — the filling needs time to set.

Nutrition (per serving)

Blueberry Lattice Bars — The Crust by Hand, the Filling by Feel