What a fairytale place a field of wild weeds can be, when transformed in the mind of a child.  Every black-eyed Susan encountered is an unexpected gift to be harvested.  That lone, vibrant orange tiger-lily bloom stumbled upon is, in a child’s imagination, as rare as the much sought after exotic Columbian orchid rooted where the Orinoco flows rapid.  Nevertheless amidst the beautiful distractions, the hidden treasure is ultimately discovered basking in the summer sun.  The tangled purple brambles underfoot couldn’t be missed.  A thorny reminder of the real purpose of the day’s expedition; wild blackberries.

On hot July days, Gramma would send me out to gather wild blackberries.  After a quick mist of Avon’s “Skin So Soft” to ward off the bugs, she’d encourage me on the exciting journey with a small but deep, stainless steel mixing bowl.  Like an old friend that little bowl held tight, keeping me on track and mindful of the time.  Once filled to the brim, I would know I had harvested enough berries to make a pie–a delicious blackberry pie.

The thought of that pie ensured the successful completion of the chore at hand.  I wonder if Gramma knew that.  Perhaps the reason she chose that same bowl whenever sending me out to gather wild blackberries.  I do not know. However, I do know she often marveled at my ability to soak up the details especially when in nature, while cooking or whenever listening to her stories on the back porch glider.  I do hope she knows just how much I relish the vivid memories of my childhood excursions picking blackberries.

In any case upon my return, the filled bowl heaping, we would begin to make the pie together in her tidy kitchen.    I would sit on her counter.  Or, sometimes even stand on a kitchen chair to get the job done.  Following a recipe written in her hand on a small white index card, we’d proceed. First, we’d cut the butter and flour into the size of small peas using a pastry cutter.  Next we’d carefully add, tablespoon by tablespoon, ice-cold water until the little pea-sized particles were able to bind together forming a much larger ball.  Without handling the dough too much, we’d wrap the large ball in wax paper.  It would have to wait in the fridge until later while the blackberries were deliciously prepared as detailed in cursive on her card.

With the dough chilled, we’d roll it into a perfect circle.  It had to be just the right thickness.  Only slightly larger than the pie plate it would eventually cover.  Then, all the berries which were so adventurously collected were poured down onto that spectacular crust. Tiny squares of oleo pieces were gently dotted on top of those berries, now covered in sugar.  Finally, another round crust that mirrored the first was put on top and sealed with a crimp.  Never forgetting to cut vent holes while dusting it all with a bit of sugar it was ready to pop in the hot oven.  Then we’d wait.  We’d smell.  We’d quickly sneak a peak to see how things were progressing.  We knew it was done when the crust was golden brown and the deep purple juices could be seen wildly bubbling underneath those tiny decorative vent holes.

Then it would cool.  And we would wait again.  Wait until later that evening when we shared it with someone we both loved very much; my great-grandmother, her mother, Helen.  Gathered close around the kitchen table, the three of us would enjoy that pie.  But more, we would enjoy the gift of each other.  We talked about how flakey the crust was and how juicy the blackberries were that year.  We recalled what a scorching hot day it was or how crazy dirty I got collecting those berries.  Or, we’d discuss Ida’s new recipe we heard on Gramma’s talk radio program.  One we were planning to make very soon.  Sometimes, we’d just laugh.

I miss my great-grandmother.   She was a special lady to me.  A kind and loving woman who really knew how to make lemonade when life gave you lemons.  Although gone for almost twenty-three years now, she made a lasting impression on me.  And her daughter, my Gramma, who took care of her for what seemed to be forever, showed me how to care for someone’s spirit with food and conversation.   Although uncomfortable with pain and prone to choking, my great-grandmother still looked forward to trying her daughter’s and great-grand daughter’s new recipes around that small kitchen table.  It was something she enjoyed.

Everybody needs a little blackberry in their life.  A little special something that keeps you connected to your past and makes you smile whenever you run across it.    Maybe it even motivates you to whip up a little something to share with your family to tell the story of that special someone who you know is smiling down on you.  Most certainly bragging to everyone in heaven about that fabulous Blackberry Pie you made from scratch when you were ten.

And so, you know, our little blue house is always on the look out for new ways to use blackberries.  I found the recipe below for Southern Blackberry Cobbler in the food section of our local paper last July.   It was taken from a recipe book by Joan Allers entitled, Cider Beans, Wild Greens and Dandelion Jelly:  Recipes from Southern Appalachia.  Although not my Gramma’s Blackberry Pie from my childhood, this Southern Cobbler sure fits the bill.  It is quick and easy, taking only 30 minutes to bake and about 5 minutes to throw together.   Plus, I happen to know that my sister buys frozen blackberry cobbler for her husband.  I am hoping this one makes it into her Keeper Box and she never has to thaw one out again.

You will be amazed how elegant this super easy dessert can be when served over vanilla bean ice-cream with a basil leaf garnish on top.  The crust of the cobbler is a golden, flakey delight.  The warm bubbling purple syrup and concentrated tart berries compliment the sweet creaminess of the ice-cream.  Be sure to take the extra step of brushing the top of the pastry with milk and dusting with sugar.  It gives a special rustic quality to the cobbler.  Besides, what kid won’t break into a big smile when they notice the sparkling sugar crystals that top this winning dessert?

Southern Blackberry Cobbler

Ingredients:

5 cups fresh blackberries, rinsed and drained well

¾ cup sugar  

1 tablespoon cornstarch

⅛ teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon unsalted butter, cut into bits

1 unbaked pastry for 9-inch single crust pie (I like Pillsbury Pie Crust in the Red Box)

1 tablespoon milk

1 Tablespoon sugar (White sugar is just fine, but sprinkling sugar crystals will dazzle while adding a nice texture) 

Pre-heat oven to 425 degrees.

Pour the berries into a 9-inch square baking dish. Mix together the ¾ cup sugar, cornstarch and salt in a bowl. Sprinkle the mixture over the black berries. Dot the top of berries with the butter bits. Place the pie crust over the berries. Seal the edges against glass dish. Cut several slits in the top to allow steam to escape. Brush with milk and sprinkle crust with 1 tablespoon of sugar.

Bake for 30 minutes at 425 degrees until crust is golden brown. Serve warm or at room temperature over vanilla ice-cream.  Garnish with Basil or Mint leaf, if desired. 

© suebthefoodie.com, 2011.