Where Words in Italics Should be Read with Sarcasm

So when I say that last summer I went berry picking, I mean that I went into the woods (forest, whatever) wearing long pants and a long-sleeved shirt and dodged brambles to pick plump, juicy blackberries. And if you think that berry picking seems a little bit um, quaint, and maybe, say, provincial, when one can simply go to any grocery store (supermarket, whatever) and toss a bag of frozen berries into one's cart for $2.99 and far less work, well then, ok.

But my people (family, whatever) are country people, and they appreciate the fruits of their labor (did you catch that pun right there?) more than just about any people I've ever met. In fact, I feel rather lucky that they passed this work ethic right on down the family tree to me. And country people? They're the original environmentalists. They don't need some trendy "Go Green" movement to reduce, reuse, recycle because they live it every. single. day. If berries are growing all free and wild-like, country people believe that it's time to go berry picking. Because just leaving them there to dry up on their brambly bushes? Well, that's just a flat out sin (bad idea, whatever).

Over the past couple of years, I've really managed to embrace certain facets of the country people, seeing as how I am one. And trust me when I say that I totally get mad enjoyment out of berry picking. Especially on a chilly January day when summer seems far, far, far away. And then? Then I whip out 2 quarts (1 gallon, whatever) of Mother Nature's finest, pop them in a pot with 1/4 c. of sugar, and simmer on low heat:

And while those plump juicy berries are simmering down? It's time to whip up (buy, whatever) a crust or two. Deep dish, if you please.

Once those delicious little gems have reduced (de-juiced, whatever), it's time to strain. Notice the bowl on the left? Strained berry juice. Notice the bowl on the right? VERY IMPORTANT: 4 tbsp. of strained berry juice mixed thoroughly with corn starch. I don't know how much corn starch. I just mix this part slow & easy - a pinch of corn starch, stir, another pinch, stir, and so on. Here's how I know it's done. It's kind of syrupy and it's kind of that color there on the right.

That's when I add the bowl on the right back into the berries that are still on the pot on the stovetop on simmer. Folding, folding, folding with a rubber scraper so as not to smoosh those sweet, sweet berries. Folding complete? Dump the berries into the crust. Smooth them down (eat a few big spoonfuls of hot berries, whatever) and pop on the top crust.

Then we like to bake this beauty for an hour on 350 in a glass dish. Every 20 minutes, check to make sure the crust around the edge isn't burning. If it is? Wrap a little aluminum foil around the edge. If it isn't? Wait impatiently for the time to go by. About 40 minutes into the baking part, brush some milk (yes, milk) on top of the pie and sprinkle it with 2 tbsp. of sugar before letting it bake for those final anxiety-inducing 20 minutes.

The worst part? Waiting the 30 to 45 minutes for this thing to cool. The best part? A little bit of summer smack dab in the middle of winter. And if you ever happen to stop by my neck of the woods come July? I would love to take you berry picking.