Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie

May, and the spring continues without Mama — the azaleas blooming, the jasmine climbing, the garden that Robert planted and that Mama watched and that now blooms for an audience of two. The blooming is not diminished by the audience's size. The blooming is the blooming. And the blooming does not grieve.

I returned to the library full-time — five days a week, the hours that I cut back for Mama's care now restored, the restoration both practical (the library needs its regional coordinator) and therapeutic (the library is the place where I am not a grieving daughter but a professional with budgets and programs and the particular purpose that a public institution provides: the purpose of serving). The serving is the distraction. The distraction is the healing. And the healing is the serving, the way it has always been.

James called on Sunday. He said, "Mom, how are you?" and the question was the first time he asked it without Mama as the subtext, the first time the "how are you" was about me and not about Mama, and the about-me was the new reality, and the new reality is that I am the person being checked on now, not the person doing the checking. The reversal is both disorienting and touching.

I visited Joy on Saturday. I brought peach cobbler. Joy ate two servings and said, "This is Mama's." And the "is" — present tense, not past tense — was the grammatical proof of what I believe: that the food carries the woman. That the cobbler IS Mama, in the present tense, because the recipe is Mama's and the making is mine and the combination of Mama's recipe and Naomi's making produces food that is not past but present, not memory but alive, not gone but here, in the bowl, on the spoon, in Joy's mouth.

I made peach cobbler. For Joy. For Mama. For the present tense.

Joy’s two servings of cobbler, and that small, insistent present-tense — “This is Mama’s” — reminded me that the recipes carrying the most weight are the ones built from fruit and patience and someone else’s handwriting on a card. Peach cobbler was what I brought that Saturday, but Mama’s kitchen philosophy extends to every fruit filling, every buttery crust: make it with care, and the person you’re making it for will feel who taught you. This strawberry-rhubarb pie is that same act of love — tart and sweet together, the way grief and gratitude sit side by side — and I make it now the same way I made the cobbler: for Joy, for Mama, for the present tense.

Prep Time: 30 minutes | Cook Time: 55 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 25 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 pie crusts (homemade or store-bought), enough for a 9-inch double-crust pie
2 1/2 cups fresh strawberries, hulled and halved
2 1/2 cups fresh or frozen rhubarb, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar, plus 1 teaspoon for sprinkling
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon fine salt
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1 egg, beaten (for egg wash)

Instructions

Prepare the oven and crust. Preheat your oven to 400°F (200°C). Fit one pie crust into a 9-inch pie dish and refrigerate while you prepare the filling. Keep the second crust chilled.
Make the filling. In a large bowl, combine the strawberries and rhubarb. In a separate small bowl, whisk together the 1 1/4 cups sugar, flour, cornstarch, cinnamon, and salt. Pour the dry mixture over the fruit and toss gently until everything is evenly coated. Let stand for 10 minutes.
Fill the pie. Pour the fruit filling into the chilled bottom crust, spreading it evenly. Dot the top of the filling with the small pieces of butter.
Add the top crust. Place the second pie crust over the filling. Trim any overhang to about 1 inch, then fold and crimp the edges together to seal. Cut several small vents in the top crust to allow steam to escape. Brush the top crust with the beaten egg and sprinkle with the remaining 1 teaspoon of sugar.
Bake. Place the pie on a rimmed baking sheet (to catch any drips) and bake at 400°F for 20 minutes. Reduce the heat to 350°F and continue baking for 30–35 minutes, until the crust is deep golden and the filling is bubbling through the vents.
Cool before slicing. Transfer the pie to a wire rack and let it cool for at least 2 hours before slicing. The filling will set as it cools — this step is worth the patience.

Nutrition (per serving)

Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie — The Recipe That Lives in the Present Tense