My Favorite Cherry Pie in the History of Ever

First week of August. The heat has entered its final, desperate phase — 98 degrees on Thursday, humidity at 85%, the kind of day where the air is soup and you wade through it rather than walk. My route is survival now, not exercise. Two frozen water bottles. Four Gatorades. A hat that Rosetta bought me that has a built-in cooling strip, which I wear despite looking ridiculous because Rosetta bought it and looking ridiculous is the price of marital harmony.

School starts next week. DeAndre is heading into second grade, Aaliyah into kindergarten. The summer is ending the way all summers end in Memphis: slowly, reluctantly, with one more burst of unbearable heat to remind you what you survived. I've survived thirty-seven Memphis summers on the route. The body remembers each one, tallies them like rings on a tree, and the newest ring is the widest, which means this summer was the hardest, and the next one will be harder, and the question of how many more I can carry is a question I'm no longer ignoring.

Route restructuring happens next month. September. My Midtown loop will be halved, and I'll keep the eastern side and lose the western — lose the Hendersons on Felix, lose Mr. Harding and his azaleas on Barksdale, lose Mrs. Chen on Rozelle who always knows when I'm limping. Losing half a route is losing half a world, and the grief of it is small compared to the grief I've known but real, because even small griefs deserve to be felt.

I made peach cobbler this week. Rosetta brought home a basket of Georgia peaches from the farmers' market — big, ripe, the kind that bleed juice down your chin when you bite into them — and I made Mama's cobbler, the recipe that is not Vernell's recipe (Vernell's cobbler is famous; Mama's is sacred, and the distinction matters). Mama's cobbler: peeled and sliced peaches, tossed with sugar, cinnamon, and a splash of lemon juice. Batter: flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, milk, vanilla, poured into a buttered baking dish. The peaches go on top of the batter, not mixed in, because the batter rises around them during baking and creates that beautiful, irregular crust — some parts golden and crispy, some parts soft and soaked with peach juice — that is the signature of a Southern cobbler made by someone who learned it from their mother.

Baked at 350 for forty-five minutes, until the top is golden and the peach filling is bubbling through the crust like joy through grief — always finding a way through, always breaking the surface. Served warm, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, because peach cobbler without ice cream is a sentence without a period — technically complete but missing the thing that gives it closure.

Rosetta and I ate it on the porch in the August dark, and the peaches were sweet and the cobbler was warm and the ice cream was cold, and the contrasts were the point — hot and cold, sweet and tart, summer and the end of summer — and I thought: This is what I'll do when the route is gone. I'll make cobbler. I'll tend the smoker. I'll feed the people I love. The route was the path. This porch is the destination.

Mama’s peach cobbler was right for that particular August — for Georgia peaches bleeding juice and a summer that needed a proper send-off. But the thing Mama really taught me wasn’t a cobbler recipe; it was the principle behind it: take the best fruit the season offers, treat it simply, and let the heat of the oven do the honest work. This cherry pie lives by the same principle — a deep, bubbling filling tucked inside a real butter crust, served warm with a cold scoop on top, because that contrast is always the point. When the peaches are gone, the porch is still there, and so is this pie.

Prep Time: 35 min | Cook Time: 55 min | Total Time: 1 hr 30 min (plus 2 hr cooling) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

For the crust:
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tbsp granulated sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
6–8 tbsp ice water
For the filling:
5 cups fresh or frozen tart cherries, pitted (about 2 lbs fresh)
3/4 cup granulated sugar
3 tbsp cornstarch
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
1/2 tsp almond extract
1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tbsp cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
For finishing:
1 large egg beaten with 1 tbsp water (egg wash)
1 tbsp coarse sugar
Vanilla ice cream, for serving

Instructions

Make the dough. Whisk together flour, sugar, and salt in a large bowl. Add cold butter and work it in with your fingertips or a pastry cutter until the mixture resembles coarse, pea-sized crumbs — some flat, shaggy pieces are exactly right. Add ice water one tablespoon at a time, tossing with a fork, until the dough just holds together when pinched. Divide into two equal discs, wrap each in plastic, and refrigerate for at least 1 hour or up to 2 days.
Prep the filling. In a large bowl, combine cherries, sugar, cornstarch, lemon juice, almond extract, and cinnamon. Toss to coat evenly and let stand 15 minutes while you roll out the crust — the sugar will draw out juice and you want that happening in the bowl, not the oven floor.
Roll the bottom crust. On a lightly floured surface, roll one dough disc into a roughly 12-inch circle, about 1/8-inch thick. Carefully drape it over a 9-inch pie plate, easing it into the corners without stretching. Trim the overhang to about 3/4 inch.
Fill the pie. Pour the cherry filling into the crust and spread evenly. Scatter the cold butter pieces over the top of the filling.
Roll the top crust and seal. Roll the second disc to the same size and lay it over the filling. Trim, then fold the top and bottom edges together underneath and crimp firmly all around — this seal keeps the filling inside where it belongs. Cut 5 or 6 small vents in the top crust to let steam escape.
Egg wash and chill. Brush the top crust evenly with egg wash and sprinkle with coarse sugar. Place the assembled pie in the freezer for 15 minutes — this firms the butter back up and gives you a flakier, more defined crust.
Bake. Place pie on a foil-lined baking sheet (the filling will bubble over — plan for it). Bake in a preheated 375°F oven for 50–60 minutes, until the crust is deep golden brown and the filling is actively bubbling through the vents. If the edges are browning too fast after 30 minutes, tent them loosely with foil.
Cool before cutting. Let the pie cool on a wire rack for at least 2 hours. This is not optional — the cornstarch needs that time to set the filling. A pie cut too soon is a soup with a crust, and you’ve done too much work for that.
Serve. Cut into wedges and serve warm with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream. The contrast — warm, dark fruit filling against cold cream — is the whole point.

Nutrition (per serving)

My Favorite Cherry Pie in the History of Ever — When the Season Turns, the Porch Stays