I needed to make a pie. The farmer’s market was in full swing. The 4th of July was upon us. If I followed the saying “as American as apple pie,” well… I would be out of luck. You see, this is the Midwest. Apples are still tiny little hard things dangling from craggy branches. Cherries. Cherries are in season. And yes, I could go to the grocery store and find some sad apples that were trucked in from thousands of miles away, but I would rather support my local farmer, and notably cherries are red, and the word “red” is even in our national anthem. Need I say more? Why yes, yes I do. There once was a time in our history where the government actually encouraged people to grow their own food for the greater good of the whole country. Victory Gardens from WWI and WWII. Yes, of course, agribusiness was made very nervous by these, and reportedly they did actually produce as much as the commercial farms when they were in full swing, so they were nervous with good reason. But not so much today. Today agribusiness is definitely at the fore, and it’s not all bad, but I am always disturbed by the lack of variety that is presented to us. Nature is far more a cacophony of choice than the local produce section would have us believe. How many of you knew there are multiple types of strawberries? The only place I have ever seen a differentiation in strawberries is at the farmer’s market, where they are more than happy to tell me about the different varieties and flavor differences. In the produce section? Not so much. Which brings me back to cherries. American cherries, in season, from local farms. Sweet, delicious cherries, which have come into season. They sit, glistening in the sunlight, tempting you in with the promise of their succulent juices. Pale yellow Rainiers, with faint blushes hugging their curves. Deep succulent Bings, winking from their piles, coyly suggesting that you to come and spend a little time on the dark side. And then… the sour cherries. There they sit, radiant and unapologetic, the harlots of the cherry table (if their color is any indication.) If you try one, your eyes will open wide as it grabs your tongue and smacks the inside of your mouth with it. A flavor as aggressive as the stereotypical American tourist, marching loudly into a foreign country, bedecked in socks and sandals, asking in a loud, slow voice “Where are the bathrooms?” Sour cherries are something generally only found at farmer’s markets. You might be able to find them frozen in some supermarkets, or you could always find a can of those gloopy sad things labeled “cherry pie filling.” But you would be doing a disservice to the sour cherry. This definitely takes work, hard work and determination. Having made many an apple pie, I can tell you that prepping for a cherry pie definitely takes more work. But that is what makes it great. And how many of those phrases have you heard when hearing about the American spirit? So go find those sour cherries. Spend the time pitting them (although if you can, I would suggest finding multiple cherry pitters and luring a few people in to help. It should be easy, just tell them there will be pie.) Take the few extra minutes to make your own dough, which is always more delicious, and free of bizarre chemicals and preservatives, and never as terrifying as people seem to think. Add some cornmeal to it, a very American food. Assemble this glorious pie, being thankful we live in a country where there is access to such a thing as these sour cherries, and raise a fork to all the pies that have come before. Cherries Are More Patriotic Than Apples Pie The crust (based on the Michael Ruhlman ratio idea, so it is weight-based. If you do not have a kitchen scale, the cup measurements are approximated.) 10 oz. (a scant 2 1/2 c.) Unbleached all-purpose flour 2 oz. (a scant 1/2 c.) medium grind cornmeal 1 tsp. salt 1 Tbsp. sugar 8 oz. (2 sticks, you know you love it) of cold unsalted butter, cut into chunks 4 oz. ice water Combine flour, cornmeal, salt and sugar in a bowl. Add in the butter. Using two knives or a pastry blender (or your hands, but remember you need to keep this as cold as possible), cut in the butter until it is in about pea-sized chunks. I usually like to stick the bowl in the freezer for ten minutes after this to make sure the butter stays super cold. That is the key to a flaky crust. Add in almost all of the ice water, tossing with a fork. Dough can be somewhat temperamental in how much water goes in, and it’s usually based on the humidity of that particular day. When the dough holds together when you squish it in your hands, you are pretty much good to go. Form it into one mass, adding a hair more water if it’s too dry, or flour if it’s too wet, until you have a cohesive ball of dough. Do this as quickly as possible. Next comes the fun part, because you get to sound all fancy and French, because...