"We have Bings," they’d say. "Big, sweet, dark red Bings."
"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. where can i buy tart cherries
"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. "We have Bings," they’d say
Elias walked to the shelf. There they were. Not the bloated, purple-black cherries of the supermarket, but bright, fire-engine red globes suspended in clear nectar. Keeps that zing better than anything
Elias froze. "Tart cherries. Fresh, if you have them. Frozen or jarred if you don't."
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.