Gingersnap Crumb Pear Pie

Tom approved the foreword on Tuesday after I sent him a draft. He read it twice and called and said: That's the book I wrote. Which is the highest compliment he could have paid — not that the foreword was good, but that it described the book accurately. He said one sentence needed cutting and he was right. I cut it. The whole thing is two pages and I think it's some of the best writing I've done. The constraint of the length forces precision.

Linda wrote this week about the photograph I'd sent her in January — Derek and me at nineteen, before everything, laughing at something outside the frame. She said she'd had it framed and put it next to her grandmother's photograph on the shelf. She said: You look happy there. I hope you're happy again, or close to it. I sat with that for a day before I wrote back. I told her I was getting closer. That's the honest answer and I think she'd want the honest one.

I sent her the foreword as an attachment, just to share. It's about Tom's life but the ideas in it are ones that belong to the general territory we've been writing through — what it means to stay in a place, to pay attention, to build something through repetition that can't be undone. She wrote back two days later and said: This is about more than horses. I said I knew.

Made rhubarb crisp this week from the first stalks of the season — bright, tart, nothing sweet about it until the oat and brown sugar topping. Colleen's garden plants, her mother's plants, three generations of rhubarb. We ate it warm with cream. May is starting. The year is moving forward the way it should.

The rhubarb crisp I mentioned in the story — tart and bright under that oat and brown sugar crust — got me thinking about all the fruit desserts that feel more like ritual than recipe, the ones you make because the season says it’s time. This Gingersnap Crumb Pear Pie works the same way: warm fruit, something spiced and crumbly on top, the kind of thing you eat with cream and don’t overthink. When Linda said she hoped I was happy again, or close to it, I thought about the particular comfort of a dessert like this — not complicated, not trying to be more than it is, just good.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 unbaked 9-inch pie shell
5 cups peeled, cored, and sliced ripe pears (about 5 medium pears)
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1 cup finely crushed gingersnap cookies (about 18 cookies)
1/3 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup rolled oats
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
5 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

Instructions

Preheat oven. Heat your oven to 375°F. Place the unbaked pie shell in a 9-inch pie plate and crimp the edges. Set aside.
Make the pear filling. In a large bowl, toss the sliced pears with the granulated sugar, cornstarch, lemon juice, cinnamon, and ground ginger until evenly coated. Let rest for 5 minutes.
Fill the shell. Spoon the pear mixture into the prepared pie shell, spreading it into an even layer.
Make the gingersnap crumb topping. In a medium bowl, stir together the crushed gingersnaps, brown sugar, flour, oats, and nutmeg. Add the cold butter pieces and work the mixture with your fingertips until it resembles coarse, clumpy crumbs with some pea-sized bits remaining.
Top the pie. Sprinkle the crumb topping evenly over the pear filling, pressing it gently so it adheres slightly at the edges.
Bake. Place the pie on a rimmed baking sheet (to catch any drips) and bake for 40–45 minutes, until the topping is deep golden brown and the filling is bubbling around the edges. If the topping browns too quickly, tent loosely with foil after 30 minutes.
Cool and serve. Let the pie cool on a wire rack for at least 20 minutes before slicing. Serve warm with heavy cream or vanilla ice cream.

Nutrition (per serving)

Gingersnap Crumb Pear Pie — A Crumb Topping for the Season That’s Moving Forward