"If you're ever in a real pinch," Marty called out as Elias brought two jars to the counter, "check the freezer aisle at the big co-ops. They flash-freeze them right off the tree. Keeps that zing better than anything." Elias tapped the glass. "These will do just fine." "Making a pie?" Marty asked, ringing him up.
The neon sign outside "Marty’s Produce" flickered, casting a buzzing red glow over Elias’s boots. He had been to four grocery stores already. Each time, he asked the same question. Each time, he got the same shrug. where can i buy tart cherries
Marty, a man who looked like he was carved out of an old apple tree, stepped into the light. "Fresh season is blink-and-you-miss-it, kid. Usually July, mostly up in Michigan or Utah. You're a few months off for the orchards." Elias deflated. "I need them for tonight." "If you're ever in a real pinch," Marty
"Not the same," Elias would mutter, adjusted his glasses. He wasn't looking for a snack. He was looking for the sharp, electric tang of a Montmorency—the true tart cherry. His grandmother’s pie recipe didn't ask for "sweet." It demanded a flavor that made your jaw hinge ache. "These will do just fine
"If you're ever in a real pinch," Marty called out as Elias brought two jars to the counter, "check the freezer aisle at the big co-ops. They flash-freeze them right off the tree. Keeps that zing better than anything." Elias tapped the glass. "These will do just fine." "Making a pie?" Marty asked, ringing him up.
The neon sign outside "Marty’s Produce" flickered, casting a buzzing red glow over Elias’s boots. He had been to four grocery stores already. Each time, he asked the same question. Each time, he got the same shrug.
Marty, a man who looked like he was carved out of an old apple tree, stepped into the light. "Fresh season is blink-and-you-miss-it, kid. Usually July, mostly up in Michigan or Utah. You're a few months off for the orchards." Elias deflated. "I need them for tonight."
"Not the same," Elias would mutter, adjusted his glasses. He wasn't looking for a snack. He was looking for the sharp, electric tang of a Montmorency—the true tart cherry. His grandmother’s pie recipe didn't ask for "sweet." It demanded a flavor that made your jaw hinge ache.