Cherry Clafoutis

Art died in December. It was expected and not expected, the way these things are — Carmen had been telling me for months that things were slower, harder, that he was tired in a way that was different from last year's tired, and I had understood what she was saying without letting myself fully understand it. He died at home on a Thursday morning, Carmen beside him, in the house he'd built with his own hands forty years ago. She called me that afternoon.

I drove to their house and sat with Carmen for a long time. We didn't talk much. The house was full of the things Art had made — the cabinets in the kitchen, the shelving in every room, the porch addition he'd added in 1998 that everyone said was too ambitious and that had stood ever since. The whole house was an argument he'd made with wood and stone and time, and it was still standing.

I thought about the fire pit we'd built together, the first winter I was on the land. I thought about the thirty years of meals, the wine he brought to everything, the way he'd looked around my Thanksgiving table and called it the best thing he'd ever built. He didn't mean the table. He meant everything that happened at it. Carmen said he'd told her that again in November, after the Thanksgiving where he'd watched Wren serve her venison. He'd said it was the best thing, that it was exactly right, that he was glad he'd lived to see it get this far.

He was seventy-four years old and he knew what he'd done and he'd said so out loud. That's not a small thing. Some people never get to say it.

A few weeks after the funeral, I found myself wanting to make something that felt like Art’s kind of thing — nothing fussy or showy, just something that came out of the oven warm and smelled like fruit and butter and a kitchen that had seen a lot of winters. Cherry clafoutis is that recipe for me: old-fashioned, unhurried, the sort of dish you’d carry to a table and set down without a word, the way Art always arrived with the wine. I made it the first Sunday I was back home, ate it by the fire pit, and it felt exactly right.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 40 min | Total Time: 55 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 lb fresh or frozen cherries, pitted
3 large eggs
1/2 cup granulated sugar, plus 1 tbsp for the pan
1 cup whole milk
1/3 cup heavy cream
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 tsp fine salt
2 tbsp unsalted butter, softened
Powdered sugar, for dusting

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Heat your oven to 375°F. Rub the inside of a 10-inch cast iron skillet or ceramic baking dish generously with softened butter, then dust with 1 tablespoon of granulated sugar, tapping out any excess.
Arrange the cherries. Spread the pitted cherries in a single even layer across the bottom of the prepared pan. Set aside.
Make the batter. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and 1/2 cup sugar until pale and slightly thickened, about 1 minute. Add the milk, heavy cream, and vanilla extract and whisk to combine. Sift in the flour and salt, then whisk until the batter is smooth with no lumps remaining.
Pour and bake. Pour the batter slowly and evenly over the cherries. Transfer to the oven and bake for 38–42 minutes, until the clafoutis is puffed, set at the center, and golden at the edges. A toothpick inserted in the middle should come out clean.
Rest and serve. Allow the clafoutis to cool in the pan for at least 10 minutes before serving — it will settle and deflate slightly, which is normal. Dust generously with powdered sugar and serve warm, directly from the pan.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cherry Clafoutis — The Kind of Dessert You Make for Someone Worth Remembering