Cheesecake Pie — The Bowl That Holds You

The light at fifteen hours. The body remembering what summer is. Pete and I worked the night shift Friday. We talked between codes about the kids — his daughter's wedding planning, my sister's pregnancy. The talking was the keeping.

Lourdes is 74. She is in the kitchen. She is luminous.

I made bibingka Sunday. The pandan leaves, the coconut, the salted egg, the cheese on top. The dessert that is also a small church.

I skipped the blog this week. Some weeks the kitchen is enough.

I sat at the kitchen table Sunday night with the bowl in front of me. The bowl was warm. The bowl was the prayer.

I drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

I checked email at the kitchen table while the rice cooked. There were one hundred and twenty unread messages. I closed the laptop. The unread can wait.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

I took inventory of the freezer Sunday. The freezer had: twelve quarts of broth, eight pounds of adobo in vacuum bags, six pounds of sinigang base, fourteen lumpia trays at fifty rolls each, three pounds of marinated beef for caldereta, and a small bag of pandan leaves Tita Nening had sent me. The inventory was the proof of preparation. The preparation was the proof of love.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

I read three chapters of the novel Saturday night before sleep. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The nurse was being undone by her work. I knew the unraveling. I had lived the unraveling. I read on. The reading was the witnessing.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

I sat on the balcony in the cold for ten minutes Sunday night with a cup of broth in my hands. The cold was the cold. The broth was the broth. The body held both.

The therapy session this month was about pacing. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The pacing is the love for the future self." I am working on the pacing. The pacing is harder than the loving.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

Lourdes called me twice this week. The first call was about a church event. The second was about a recipe variation she had remembered from her childhood. The remembering was the gift.

The bibingka I made Sunday — the pandan, the coconut, the salted egg, the cheese melting on top — was not something I could write down that week, because some recipes belong only to the moment they were made. But the feeling of it, the warm bowl, the small church of it, is something I keep trying to return to. This cheesecake pie is the closest I can bring you: smooth and yielding, a little sweet, a little rich, the kind of thing you eat slowly at the kitchen table while the unread emails wait and the broth is still warm in your hands. It is not bibingka. But it is the same prayer.

Cheesecake Pie

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 50 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min + 2 hrs chilling | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 1 unbaked 9-inch pie crust (store-bought or homemade)
• 2 (8 oz) packages cream cheese, softened to room temperature
• 2/3 cup granulated sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 1 tsp pure vanilla extract
• 1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
• 1/4 tsp fine sea salt
• 1/2 cup sour cream, for topping
• 1 tbsp powdered sugar, for topping

Instructions

1. Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 325°F (163°C). Fit the pie crust into a 9-inch pie pan, crimping the edges as desired. Place on a baking sheet and set aside.
2. Beat the filling. In a large bowl, beat the softened cream cheese with an electric mixer on medium speed until completely smooth, about 2 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl.
3. Add sugar and eggs. Add the granulated sugar and beat until incorporated. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing on low after each addition just until combined — do not overmix.
4. Season the batter. Add the vanilla extract, lemon juice, and salt. Mix on low until smooth. The batter should be creamy and pourable.
5. Fill and bake. Pour the cream cheese filling into the prepared pie crust. Bake for 45–50 minutes, until the center is just barely set with a slight jiggle. The edges will be firm and the top will be pale golden.
6. Cool slowly. Turn off the oven and crack the door open. Let the pie rest in the oven for 15 minutes, then remove to a wire rack and cool completely at room temperature, about 1 hour.
7. Make the sour cream topping. Stir together the sour cream and powdered sugar until smooth. Spread gently over the cooled pie.
8. Chill and serve. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours before slicing. Serve cold, straight from the pie pan, at the kitchen table.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 385 | Protein: 7g | Fat: 27g | Carbs: 30g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 290mg