Pumpkin Chiffon Pie

I’m not a pie lover. It drives my friends Suki and Beth nuts. They’re both exceptional bakers. Everyone loves their pies. They’d prefer if I loved their pies too. I just don’t like pie. I’d rather leave my portion for someone who will enjoy it rather than take a piece to be polite. I’d rather have a grilled cheese on rye with tomato, or a handful of pretzels, than something sweet. Salt is what I crave.

            There’s one exception though: my mom’s pumpkin chiffon pie which only comes around once a year. Her recipe is taken from Betty Crocker’s cookbook. That’s the cookbook she started her married life with, and the one she gave me when I graduated from college, along with a sewing machine I could make my own clothes with if I ever needed to. Mom’s copy of the cookbook is held together with Gaffer’s tape; mine is hardly used. The difference between her pumpkin pie and the more traditional variety is the chiffon part. Because of the whipped egg whites, Mom’s jiggles when you stick a fork in it. It’s light and fluffy, rises like a mousse rather than sinking into the crust. More like pudding than cookie dough. I like it so much that I’ll go for two pieces after Thanksgiving dinner, then another piece for breakfast the next morning if there’s any left. No need for whipped cream. Just pie with a ginger cookie crust is fine with me.

            We don’t often get home for Thanksgiving anymore. It’s too far, and often some of Brent’s family comes to our place. Traveling cross country is hard and expensive, so we stay put preferring to travel off-season to avoid the hassles. That leaves me to make the pie. No easy feat. I’ll give it my best shot on Wednesday so it’s chilled and ready to eat by Thursday.

            This morning I pulled out my copy of Betty Crocker to make sure I had all the ingredients I need. Mom’s version was right there where I left it this time last year, tucked-in next to the original on page 659. Hers includes the history of the recipe, the cookbook she took it from, the year the book was published, what page the recipe is on, how she came to own the book (given to her “on the beach in Florida in February 1960,” begging the question, by whom?), and a total re-write with tips based on what she’s learned from making the pie for over sixty years. It’s classic. She’s a scientist. She ran the Physics lab at Bryn Mawr College for years and knows how to teach someone how to run an experiment. This single piece of paper with her tiny handwriting is a treasure. Tells me more about her than she tells me herself. My parents and a bunch of siblings, in-laws, nieces, and nephews, along with a couple of babies in utero, will be having the same pie in Philadelphia on Thursday, and I’ll miss them.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.

Love,
Bar

Mom’s Version

Joy of Cooking’s version that both my mom and I consult before we start.