Several years ago, Carr came home with what must have been half the farm’s blueberry harvest—pints and pints of them stacked on the counter. For the first few days, we were thrilled, blueberry pancakes, blueberry ice cream, blueberry yogurt parfaits. But by Thursday, we were running out of ideas and fridge space. That’s when I spotted our new cast iron skillet sitting on the stove, still shiny from its first seasoning. “What about a blueberry Dutch baby?” I said. Carr’s face lit up like I’d just handed him dessert (which, technically, I had). We whisked eggs and milk, poured the batter into the sizzling pan, and scattered the last handful of berries across the top. The smell of butter and sugar filled the kitchen as it puffed up in the oven, golden and dramatic. When it came out, we dusted it with powdered sugar and sat at the counter, forks in hand, splitting it straight from the skillet. Sweet, warm, a little tart. Now, it’s become one of our favorite desserts to bake and take to friends.