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Boston Cream Pie — The Sweetness Waiting When You Get Back Home

Last week of June and I drove down to Evarts Saturday for the monthly visit. Three hours down, three hours back, and the mountains get greener with every mile past London. I hit Harlan County and the road narrows and the ridgelines close in and something in my chest loosens the way it only loosens when I'm heading home. Lexington is where I live. Harlan County is where I'm from. The difference matters more every year.

Betty had lunch waiting — soup beans, of course, because it was Monday when she made them and she reheated them Saturday because soup beans improve with age, like cast iron and grudges. Cornbread in the skillet. Green onions from the garden. Sliced tomatoes from a neighbor's early crop. She moved slower getting plates down from the cabinet and I almost reached up to help but caught myself because Betty doesn't need help until Betty says she needs help, and she has not said it in eighty-one years and I don't expect her to start.

I mowed the yard in the afternoon heat, which was miserable and necessary. The push mower is older than Travis and sounds like a chain saw fighting a garbage disposal, but it cuts grass and that's the job. The house needs paint. The porch rail is loose. I fixed the rail with screws I brought from Lexington because you learn to bring supplies to Evarts — the hardware store closed in 2009 and the nearest one now is in Harlan, twenty minutes away. I made a list of what else needs doing and the list is longer than the daylight, which is always the case with old houses and old mothers and the gap between what they need and what one son with a bad back can provide on a Saturday afternoon.

Drove home Sunday morning. Connie had made a blackberry cobbler with berries from the farmers market — butter crust, not too sweet, served warm with vanilla ice cream that melted into purple rivers across the bowl. I ate two servings and told her it was acceptable, which she knows is the highest compliment in my vocabulary. She said she'd have been worried if I said anything more enthusiastic. We understand each other. After thirty years, you don't need new words. You just need the old ones to still mean what they always meant.

Connie’s blackberry cobbler was exactly what it needed to be — nothing showy, just warm and right and made by someone who knew I’d need it. That’s the whole idea, isn’t it: you come back road-tired and wrung out and someone puts something sweet in front of you without being asked. She does that with Boston Cream Pie too, another one of her Sunday standards, and the logic is the same — custard and cake and chocolate, layered up the old way, no shortcuts. I asked her once why she bothers from scratch when the boxed version exists. She looked at me like I’d said something in a foreign language. After thirty years I know better than to ask twice.

Boston Cream Pie

Prep Time: 30 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 1 hr + cooling | Servings: 10

Ingredients

  • For the cake:
  • 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 cup whole milk
  • 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces
  • 3 large eggs, room temperature
  • 1 cup granulated sugar
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • For the pastry cream filling:
  • 2 cups whole milk
  • 1/2 cup granulated sugar
  • 1/4 cup cornstarch
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 4 large egg yolks
  • 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
  • 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
  • For the chocolate glaze:
  • 3/4 cup heavy cream
  • 6 ounces semisweet chocolate, finely chopped
  • 2 teaspoons light corn syrup

Instructions

  1. Make the pastry cream. In a medium saucepan, whisk together the sugar, cornstarch, and salt. Add the egg yolks and whisk until smooth, then slowly whisk in the milk. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture thickens and begins to bubble, about 8–10 minutes. Remove from heat, stir in butter and vanilla, and press plastic wrap directly onto the surface. Refrigerate until cold and set, at least 2 hours.
  2. Prepare the cake pans. Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease two 9-inch round cake pans, line the bottoms with parchment, and grease the parchment. Set aside.
  3. Mix the dry ingredients. Whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. Set aside.
  4. Warm the milk and butter. Combine the milk and butter in a small saucepan over low heat and warm until the butter just melts. Keep warm.
  5. Beat the eggs and sugar. Using a stand or hand mixer, beat the eggs and sugar on high speed until the mixture is thick, pale, and ribbony, about 5 minutes. Beat in the vanilla.
  6. Fold in flour and milk. Gently fold the flour mixture into the egg mixture in two additions, alternating with the warm milk-butter mixture. Fold just until combined — do not overmix.
  7. Bake the layers. Divide the batter evenly between the prepared pans. Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean and the tops are golden, about 20–22 minutes. Cool in pans for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack and cool completely.
  8. Make the chocolate glaze. Heat the heavy cream in a small saucepan until it just begins to simmer. Pour over the chopped chocolate in a heatproof bowl. Let sit 2 minutes, then stir until smooth. Stir in the corn syrup. Let cool until slightly thickened but still pourable, about 10 minutes.
  9. Assemble the pie. Place one cake layer on a serving plate. Spread the chilled pastry cream evenly over the top, leaving a 1/2-inch border. Set the second layer on top and press gently. Pour the chocolate glaze over the top, letting it drip naturally down the sides.
  10. Chill and serve. Refrigerate the assembled cake for at least 30 minutes before slicing to let the glaze set. Serve cold or at cool room temperature.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 430 | Protein: 8g | Fat: 20g | Carbs: 56g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 210mg

Craig Hensley
About the cook who shared this
Craig Hensley
Week 274 of Craig’s 30-year story · Lexington, Kentucky
Craig is a retired coal miner from Harlan County, Kentucky — a man who spent twenty years underground and seventeen hours trapped in a collapsed tunnel before he was twenty-four. He moved his family to Lexington when the mine closed, learned to cook his mama Betty's Appalachian recipes from memory because she never wrote them down, and now he's trying to get them on paper before they're lost. He says "reckon" and "fixing to" and means both. His bourbon-glazed ribs are, according to his wife Connie, "acceptable" — which is the highest praise she gives.

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