Sourdough Pie Crust Recipe – A Fermented Wonder

Baking runs through my family like a river, shaping each generation with its quiet lessons. My grandmother loved to bake, and that love passed to me. Now, I pass it to my daughter, to my students, to anyone who takes comfort in the rhythm of dough beneath their hands.

Every spring, when the air carried the promise of warmth, we would make the familiar drive across town to her house. I grew up in Owen Sound on the Bruce Peninsula in Ontario, where the land meets the wild, untamed beauty of Georgian Bay. From my bedroom window, I could see the bay just across the road, a vast, shifting landscape of water and sky.

This time of year, the ice would begin its slow retreat, breaking apart and moving back into Lake Huron, shifting and melting as it went. Fishing boats, absent all winter, would start to reappear on the bay, their hulls reflecting the pale light of the early season sun. The air smelled fresh and sharp, a mix of melting ice, damp earth, and the crispness that only comes with spring in the north.

The signs of the season were everywhere. Early grasses pushed through thawing ground. The first robins returned. The wind softened, carrying with it the scent of something new. But when we reached my grandmother’s house, spring was already in full bloom.

Her cherry tree stood like a cloud of pale pink blossoms in her backyard, petals dancing in the wind, covering the ground like a fleeting snowfall. They never lasted long, but for those few weeks, they smelled sweet, as if they already carried the promise of the pies to come.

She had chickens that wandered freely, scratching at the earth, their feathers ruffling in the wind. Every morning, she would gather their eggs, still warm, yolks golden and rich. Nothing ever went to waste at my grandmother's house. The eggs went into cakes, into breads, and into the glistening crusts of the pies that always seemed to be baking in her kitchen.

Even before the cherries ripened, before the season truly began, she was already at work. She would reach into the freezer, pulling out the last of the frozen cherries from the previous summer’s harvest, making space for what was coming next. There was an order to things, a rhythm she never questioned. What was left had to be used before her stores filled again with the upcoming season’s harvest. She moved with the seasons, never rushing, never wasting, always working with quiet certainty.

The scent of butter and cinnamon filled the house as pies emerged from the oven. The counters, the table, even the top of the stove—every surface held another flaky, golden crust. Cherry pie, apple pie, peach pie, each one a different shade of amber, ruby, or deep autumn brown. Some were tucked beneath delicate latticework. Others were open-faced, rustic and golden, their edges crisp and flaking at the touch of a fork.

She never measured. She didn’t need to. Her hands knew the feel of the dough, the way cold butter should break apart beneath her fingers, and the exact moment when the crust had rested enough to roll. She worked by instinct, by memory. 

Years later, I wanted to take what she taught me and make it my own. Not by changing everything but by honouring the process.

This Great Lakes Sourdough pie crust recipe is an evolution of those childhood pies. It uses live sourdough starter instead of discard , giving it a slow, quiet fermentation that deepens its flavour. It rests overnight, just like dough in the hands of an old-world baker. It is flakier, richer, more complex, a crust that holds the echoes of the past while embracing the slow food traditions I love today.

So on this Pi Day, I am not celebrating numbers. I am celebrating cycles. Seasons. The quiet, infinite beauty of baking something with intention.

Because pie, real homemade pie, is never just a dessert. It is a story. And every time we make it, we write another chapter. 

I’m not a fan of "discard" recipes. In fact, I never have any discard around. I think of "discard" as bad baker’s math. In fact, discard only exists when you’re building a new sourdough starter. What’s often labeled as "discard" in most recipes is simply unfed sourdough starter —and I prefer to ferment all my sourdough recipes, including this one.

Here’s our naturally fermented, flaky sourdough pie crust recipe using an active sourdough starter. 

Recipe Yield:

This recipe makes one 9-inch pie crust. If your recipe requires a top and bottom crust, double the ingredients.

Serving: 1 (9") crust | Calories: 1380kcal | Carbohydrates: 121g | Protein: 17g | Fat: 92g | Saturated Fat: 58g | Cholesterol: 241mg | Sodium: 1967mg | Potassium: 134mg | Fiber: 4g | Sugar: 2g | Vitamin A: 2799IU | Calcium: 46mg | Iron: 6mg