Lemon Meringue Pie: A Family Tradition of Love and Art

Lemon meringue pie was my mother’s favourite.

She made it the way she did everything, with intention. She would pile the meringue high, sculpting soft peaks with the back of a spoon, coaxing them into delicate curls. It was her piece of art for the day, the kind of creation that wasn’t just about beauty but about taste, form, texture, and precision.

Ruth was an artist at heart, not just in baking but in everything she did. If she sunbathed (which she did very often), she laid and baked in the sun with lotion and beautiful towels surrounding her. If she sewed, it was to make art on windows. She loved crafts, knitting, anything that required her hands to shape something from nothing. And if she started something, she finished it, unlike me, who often starts projects and loses interest quickly. It’s a miracle when I finish long projects that I began with such fervour. Ruth was not a woman who left things undone. If she set out to make something beautiful, she saw it through, and in our home, beauty, and art quite often took the shape of a pie. She was good at it, and probably learned from her grandmother, who she told me she adored. Pie-making, she once told me, was the one thing she could count on to turn out just right, the one thing that brought her the validation she so desperately craved.

That’s the thing about people with deep longing and regrets—they don’t just crave a beautiful future; they ache for a different past and for validation. They long to be seen, to be told they did something right, to know that something they made mattered.

Lemon meringue pie has deep North American roots, blending French meringue techniques with early American lemon custard pies. While variations existed in Europe, the pie as we know it today was refined and popularized in North America, becoming a beloved classic. It’s a dessert that balances contrasts—bright, tart lemon curd against soft, sweet meringue, all cradled in a flaky crust. That balance is what makes it unforgettable.

We were a pie family, the kind that believed a meal wasn’t complete unless there was a golden crust cooling on the counter. Apple pie in the fall, strawberry pie in the summer, pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. But lemon meringue—that was the special one my mother loved to make. It was the pie that marked moments, that appeared when guests were expected, or when the weight of winter needed something bright to cut through it.

I never liked the meringue. Always scraped it off. But the lemon curd? The curd was bright and sharp and real, the way truth is real, unapologetic, unmasked, unsoftened by anything sweet. Maybe that’s why I liked it. It wasn’t pretending to be something else.

Lemon Meringue Pie Recipe

This pie is bright, bold, and tender all at once. The lemon curd is tart and smooth, the meringue is cloud-like, and the crust—if you're using our sourdough version—is flaky with the perfect tang. It's a pie that asks you to be present and rewards you with something beautiful.

Tips & Troubleshooting

☁️ Have the meringue ready to go.
The meringue must go on while the lemon curd is still hot or it will weep. Spread the meringue all the way to the crust to seal it and prevent shrinking.

🍋 Use fresh lemon juice.
Bottled juice will work, but fresh-squeezed gives that bright, clean citrus flavour that makes this pie sing.

🧈 Cube the butter and add it one piece at a time.
Adding butter slowly helps create a silky, stable lemon curd—and gives you a quiet moment to just stir.

⏳ Let it cool at room temperature first.
Don’t rush it into the fridge. Let it rest uncovered at room temperature for at least 2 hours before chilling.