Bourbon-Chocolate Chess Pie

Christmas. I made the stack cake and it was good. Not Betty's good — her stack cake has sixty years of practice behind it and mine has two attempts — but good enough that Connie said "This is really close" and Amber said "This tastes like PawPaw's house" again and Clay ate two slices without comment, which from Clay is a positive review equivalent to a standing ovation.

Christmas morning in the Hensley house: Connie was up first, because Connie is always up first. She made coffee and turned on the tree lights and sat in the living room in her bathrobe, which is a flannel thing that's older than our marriage and softer than anything money can buy. I came down at six-thirty. Clay was up by eight, which for a teenager on Christmas is basically dawn. Amber was here from break. Travis and Jolene arrived by ten.

The presents were practical, because Hensleys are practical people. Travis got his Home Depot card and a new thermos for work. Amber got cash and a stethoscope case — leather, nice, engraved with her name, which I may have spent too much on but when your daughter becomes a nurse you buy her a proper stethoscope case. Clay got the cleats. He held them like they were made of glass, turned them over, examined the studs, tried them on right there in the living room on the carpet, and said "These are perfect." Perfect. From Clay. I looked at Connie and Connie looked at me and we both knew: money well spent.

Connie got a new cast iron skillet. Now, I know — giving your wife a skillet for Christmas is a minefield. But this wasn't any skillet. This was a Finex, octagonal, from Portland, Oregon, hand-poured, seasoned, beautiful. The kind of skillet that makes you want to cook. The kind that tells your wife "I see you in the kitchen and I want you to have the best tools." Connie held it, felt the weight, ran her fingers along the edge, and said "Oh." Just "Oh." That "Oh" was worth every penny.

Jolene gave me a jar of her grandmother's chow-chow, which is a pickled relish made from green tomatoes, onions, peppers, and cabbage. I'd never had Jolene's grandmother's chow-chow but I'd had Betty's and it's the same thing, more or less, because chow-chow is a regional recipe that varies by family but stays within the same constellation. I ate some on leftover turkey and told Jolene it was excellent, which it was, and she smiled the kind of smile that said she'd been nervous about giving it to me. She shouldn't have been. Food is always the right gift. Food says "I made something for you with my hands and my time" and there is no better message than that.

We ate Christmas dinner at two: the stack cake, plus ham (spiral-cut, Connie's domain), mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls, and three kinds of pie because Amber brought a pumpkin pie, Connie made a pecan pie, and I made a bourbon-chocolate chess pie that I've been tinkering with. Six people, enough food for twelve, and the kitchen was warm and loud and exactly right. Betty FaceTimed again. She showed us her tin of candy and her small tree and the afghan she was crocheting for Amber. She looked small on the screen. Small and far away. I'm going down next week to see her.

That bourbon-chocolate chess pie I mentioned—the one I’ve been tinkering with—felt like the right thing to bring to a table that was already full of things people had made with their hands. There’s something about chess pie that suits a loud, warm kitchen: it’s simple enough that you can make it without a fuss, and rich enough that it holds its own next to pecan and pumpkin and a stack cake that traveled through three generations to get there. Here’s where I landed after a few rounds of tinkering.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 unbaked 9-inch pie shell (store-bought or homemade)
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
3 oz bittersweet chocolate (70% cacao), roughly chopped
1 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
3 large eggs, room temperature
2 tablespoons fine yellow cornmeal
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 cup whole milk
3 tablespoons good-quality bourbon
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Flaky sea salt, for finishing

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Heat your oven to 325°F. Fit the pie shell into a 9-inch pie dish, crimp the edges, and refrigerate while you make the filling. You do not need to blind-bake it.
Melt butter and chocolate. In a small saucepan over low heat, melt the butter and chopped chocolate together, stirring frequently, until smooth. Remove from heat and let cool for 5 minutes — you want it warm, not hot.
Make the filling. In a large bowl, whisk together the granulated sugar and brown sugar. Add the eggs one at a time, whisking well after each. Stir in the cornmeal, flour, and kosher salt. Pour in the chocolate-butter mixture and stir to combine. Add the milk, bourbon, and vanilla, and whisk until the filling is smooth and uniform.
Fill and bake. Pour the filling into the chilled pie shell. Bake on the center rack for 40 to 45 minutes, until the edges are set and the center has just a slight wobble — it will firm up as it cools. If the crust edge browns too quickly, tent it loosely with foil after 25 minutes.
Cool completely. Transfer to a wire rack and let the pie cool for at least 2 hours before slicing. The filling needs time to set; cutting it too soon gives you more of a pudding situation, which is not the worst thing but is not what you’re after.
Finish and serve. Before serving, scatter a pinch of flaky sea salt over the top. Serve at room temperature, with unsweetened whipped cream if you want to cut the richness.

Nutrition (per serving)

Bourbon-Chocolate Chess Pie — The One Craig’s Still Tinkering With