I Tried Martha Stewart’s Peach Pie, and It Tasted Like Someone Else’s Summer
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Martha Stewart Peach Pie
Leave a Comment on I Tried Martha Stewart’s Peach Pie, and It Tasted Like Someone Else’s Summer
I only make peach pie when the fruit smells like sun.
not store peaches. not cold ones.
real ones. the kind that bruise if you breathe on them.
I bought too many.
I always do.
Thought I’d slice and freeze them for later but… no.
It had to be pie.
Her Highness calls it Peach Pie.
I call it the thing I make when the peaches start leaking on the counter and I need to bake before they turn.
What the Original Looked Like
Martha’s version is all structure—
brisée dough chilled within an inch of its life.
sugar measured, not felt. cornstarch folded gently. lemon. salt. a whisper of ginger, which feels like her.
she dots the filling with butter like punctuation.
lays the top crust with elegance.
cuts steam vents like she’s afraid of making a mess.
chills again.
bakes hot then lower.
lets it sit.
she knows better than to rush a pie.
What I Did Differently
i used peaches that were a little too soft.
cut them thick because I was tired.
added more ginger than she said—on accident. maybe.
my pâte brisée came from a freezer bag I forgot to label.
i think it was from a galette that never happened.
and I didn’t chill it again before baking.
just… forgot.
or maybe I didn’t care.
the top crust didn’t crimp. it cracked.
but it held.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
the peaches made the bowl wet.
sugar soaked in. the smell hit first—
August.
bare feet on warm tile.
my grandmother’s house.
the back porch where the wasps gathered.
she used too much sugar. always.
her pies collapsed. always.
I still loved them.
i rolled out the crust on the green counter. the one with the chip from the time Mae dropped the ice cream maker.
the dough stuck.
i floured again.
didn’t roll it thin enough.
didn’t mind.
filled the dish. buttered the top.
didn’t cut enough vents.
it leaked.
baked it on a tray like Martha warned—thank god.
it bubbled over like it had something to say.
the kitchen smelled like sweetness trying to survive.
when it came out, the crust was golden in patches.
dark in others.
like freckles.
like skin that’s seen sun and stayed soft anyway.
A Few Things I Learned While It Cooled
peaches don’t wait.
neither do memories.
and ginger works even when it’s too strong.
you can burn the edges and still have something worth keeping.
What I Did With the Extras
ate a slice standing.
cold.
the next day, Mae said it tasted like “summer, but not ours.”
and I knew what she meant.
Would I Make It Again?
yes.
when the peaches are ready before I am.
That’s As Much As I Remember
the sugar stuck to the counter.
the crust flaked on the plate.
and I didn’t save the last slice.
this reminded me of the blackberry pie i ruined the week before the wedding. too much juice. too much hope.
FAQs
yes. but thaw them. drain them.
otherwise you’re baking soup in a crust.
Her Highness says yes.
I didn’t. it still flaked. sort of.
depends.
if you want warmth under the sweetness, yes.
if not, skip it.
cornstarch.
and time.
and maybe blind faith.
you don’t.
but it’ll fall apart like a bad decision if you don’t.
some days, that’s fine too.
Martha Stewart Peach Pie
Description
Warm, runny, golden where it burns—this pie tastes like goodbye and maybe a second chance.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Slice the peaches into thick wedges. let the juice run wild. toss with sugar, cornstarch, lemon juice, ginger, and salt until everything glistens and softens. let it sit while you deal with the crust.
- Roll the bottom crust on a floured surface. patch the cracks. don’t aim for perfect. just get it into the pie dish, press it down like it’s something that needs holding.
- Pour in the peaches and spread them with the back of a spoon. Dot with butter—small cold pieces, scattered like punctuation.
- Roll out the top crust and drape it gently. Trim the edges with scissors. Fold them under, crimp with fingers or fork. whatever works today.
- Cut vents in the top—don’t skip it. the pie needs somewhere to exhale.
- Chill the pie for twenty minutes if you remember. I didn’t. still came out fine.
- Whisk the egg yolk and cream in a little bowl. Brush it over the top like a secret. Sprinkle sanding sugar if you’ve got it.
- Bake at 400°F for 10 minutes. then drop to 375°F and keep going. 50 minutes? 80? it depends. It’s ready when the filling bubbles at the edges and the crust turns deep gold, maybe even dark in places.
- Cool on a rack for at least 4 hours. Do not slice early. it’ll fall apart. sometimes that’s fine. but sometimes you want it to hold.
- Eat warm.Or cold.From a plate, or not. pie doesn’t judge. and today? neither should you.