Cranberry Brie Phyllo Custard Cake — Warmth on the Counter, Warmth at the Table

Elsa called from Voyageurs. She has met someone. A man named Tom. A canoe guide. She sounds different on the phone — softer, brighter, the voice of a woman who is not as alone as she used to be. Elsa has been alone in the woods for fifteen years. I have respected the aloneness. I have also worried about it. The new voice on the phone is not a worry. The new voice is a relief. Erik turned seventy. We had a small party at his house. He grilled. He drank one beer (his quota, a quota set by his doctor, observed religiously). He was quiet and happy. He looked like Pappa around the eyes. I had not noticed before. I notice now. The resemblance has deepened with age. Erik is becoming Pappa in the slow gentle way that men become their fathers if they live long enough. Astrid had a fall. She is fine. The Twin Cities sister-call club is now its own small intervention. Karin and I take turns calling Astrid. Astrid resents the calls. We make them anyway. The resentment is the love filtered through Astrid's particular Scandinavian self-sufficiency. We do not mind being resented. We mind, far more, the alternative. I cooked Cardamom bread this week. The dough is enriched with butter and milk and egg, scented with cardamom that I grind fresh from the seed. The bread rises twice — once in the bowl, once braided on the pan. Forty-five minutes at 350. The kitchen smells like Christmas-coming. The bread is best the day it is baked. The second-best is toasted with butter on the third day. Damiano. The kitchen back-room I have known for over twenty years. The pot. The ladle. The faces. Gerald. The work continues. The work is the same work it has been since 2005. The continuity is, I think, the gift the Damiano Center gives me as much as the gift I give it. We hold each other up. Erik's house is empty now. The Fifth Street house has been sold (the new owners are a young couple from Hermantown, they are kind, they have promised to take care of it; they will paint the walls and tear up the carpet and the kitchen will become someone else's kitchen and I have made my peace with this, mostly). Erik's own house in Lakeside is being cleared out. I helped on Saturday. I packed Erik's coffee mugs. I held one for a long minute. I put it in the box. It is enough. It has to be. And on a morning like this, with the lake doing what the lake does and the dog at my feet and the bread on the counter and the kitchen warm enough to live in, it is. I have been reading the Bible more lately. Not in any new way. The same passages I have known since confirmation class in 1977. The Sermon on the Mount. The 23rd Psalm. The book of Ruth. Whither thou goest, I will go. The repetition of the verses is its own form of prayer. The verses do not change. I change. The change is held by the unchanged words. I have learned, slowly, that there is a kind of competence that comes only with age. Not wisdom, exactly — wisdom is a word too grand for what I mean. Competence. The competence of having watched many things go wrong and many things go right and having developed an internal database of which is which. The competence is, perhaps, the only thing that improves with age in a body that is otherwise declining. I will take the trade. It is enough.

The cardamom bread was already cooling on the counter when I started thinking about what to bring to Erik’s house on Saturday — something that felt like a small celebration without being too much of one. This Cranberry Brie Phyllo Custard Cake is exactly that: the phyllo shatters gently, the brie melts into the custard, the cranberries cut through with just enough tartness to remind you that sweetness needs a counterweight. It is a recipe for weeks when you are packing coffee mugs into boxes and answering the phone and hearing, with relief, a voice that sounds softer than it used to.

Cranberry Brie Phyllo Custard Cake

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 9

Ingredients

• 8 sheets phyllo dough, thawed
• 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
• 8 oz Brie cheese, rind removed, cut into small pieces
• 1 cup fresh or frozen cranberries
• 2 tablespoons granulated sugar (for cranberries)
• 3 large eggs
• 1 cup heavy cream
• 1/4 cup whole milk
• 3 tablespoons granulated sugar (for custard)
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
• Powdered sugar, for dusting (optional)

Instructions

1. Preheat and prepare the pan. Heat oven to 350°F. Lightly butter an 8x8-inch baking pan. Toss cranberries with 2 tablespoons sugar in a small bowl and set aside.
2. Layer the phyllo. Lay one sheet of phyllo in the pan, letting the edges drape over the sides, and brush lightly with melted butter. Repeat with remaining sheets, rotating each slightly and brushing each layer with butter, until all 8 sheets are layered.
3. Add the brie and cranberries. Scatter the Brie pieces evenly over the phyllo base. Spoon the sugared cranberries over the Brie in an even layer.
4. Make the custard. Whisk together eggs, heavy cream, milk, 3 tablespoons sugar, vanilla extract, and salt in a medium bowl until smooth and well combined.
5. Fill and fold. Pour the custard mixture slowly and evenly over the brie and cranberry layer. Fold the overhanging phyllo edges inward over the filling, crumpling gently to create a rustic border. Brush the folded edges with remaining butter.
6. Bake. Bake for 35–40 minutes, until the custard is just set in the center with a very slight wobble and the phyllo is deep golden brown. If the edges brown too quickly, tent loosely with foil after 25 minutes.
7. Cool and serve. Allow to cool in the pan for at least 15 minutes before slicing. Dust lightly with powdered sugar if desired. Serve warm or at room temperature. Best the day it is baked.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 290 | Protein: 9g | Fat: 21g | Carbs: 16g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 310mg