I vote for raspberry to take the place of strawberry in all future rhubarb pies.
I’m sorry for bombarding you with pie lately, but I’ve made no fewer than four of these in under a week, and to post anything else seems dishonest. This is what I’ve been eating lately.
Lots and lots of rhubarb pie. I had to make an emergency run for ice cream. There is none here because it’s a pie I baked to bring to the office – yes, I sometimes go have meetings in offices with people I work with on the interwebs – and I didn’t want to sully it with the ice cream, which I brought along with a scoop in a plastic bag. Trust me – people are very happy to see you when you show up with a pie.
I wish I was one of those people with a crown of thick, red rhubarb the size of a VW Beetle in my back yard, but having a friend/neighbour willing to share is almost as good. I walk over and pull out armloads and it looks as if I’ve barely touched it. We’re trying to clear out our kitchen so that we can tear it out and build a new one (remember? back in March? it’s a lot more work than I thought! but I’ve read all your comments and they’re so helpful – thank you!) and I keep coming in with armloads of rhubarb. I can’t help myself.
Good local strawberries aren’t in yet, but raspberries are so much more intensely flavoured – even the frozen ones, which I used in this pie since I don’t have a raspberry thicket in my back yard either. Raspberries make an even more sweet-tart, more earnest pie with just the right amount of run. There has to be some ooze, without the bottom turning to soup – it’s easy to control by stirring a few spoonfuls of cornstarch into a cup of sugar and tossing it with the fruit.
I’m not a fancy pie-baker. I appreciate a good lattice, and get grandmotherly satisfaction out of a well-crimped edge. But these days I’ve taken to making galette-style pies, heavy on the rustic: you roll out your pastry to a rough circle, then plop it in the pie plate, without having to worry about a proper fitting or whether the edge hangs evenly all around. You dump in your fruit, which weighs it down to fit, then fold over the edges haphazardly, wherever they want to fold. It won’t cover the filling – it’s not supposed to – you’d need to cut steam vents anyway. It leaves enough room to cover with a rubble of sugar-flour-oats, making it like a pie and crumble all in one.
The best of all worlds.