Crustless Pumpkin Pie

November marching toward Thanksgiving, and the second pandemic Thanksgiving is somehow harder than the first because the first had the excuse of novelty — we didn't know, we were scared, the precautions were new — and the second has the weight of repetition, the understanding that this is not a pause, this is a condition, the pandemic is not a storm that passes but a climate that stays, and the climate says: you will eat Thanksgiving alone again, Carmen, and the table will be empty again, and the empty will be the same empty but heavier because it has been empty longer.

I am cooking anyway. The hospital Thanksgiving: four hundred and fifty plates this year, slightly up from last year because the staff has grown, the temporary nurses brought in from agencies, the contract workers who come from other states and who have no Thanksgiving here, no family, no table, just the hospital cafeteria and the food I make and the food is the only Thanksgiving they will have. I cook for them the way Abuela Consuelo cooked for the neighborhood: with abundance, with care, with the understanding that a stranger at your table is not a stranger, a stranger at your table is family you haven't met yet.

Home Thanksgiving: me, Eduardo, Sofía, and — this year — Mami. I am bringing Mami to the house. I have decided. The precautions will be extreme: masks until seated, windows open, air purifier running, and Mami will sit at the head of the table because that is where she belongs and because this may be the last Thanksgiving where she knows it is Thanksgiving and the knowing matters, the knowing is the whole meal. I told Eduardo. He said, Are you sure? I said, I am sure about nothing except that my mother will eat Thanksgiving dinner at my table. He did not argue. He went to buy the air purifier.

There is a dessert for every mood, and the mood of this Thanksgiving was: no excess, no performance, just the thing itself. The crustless pumpkin pie is the dessert I made for Mami because she can’t always manage a fork through pastry anymore, and it is the dessert I scaled for the hospital because four hundred and fifty portions need a recipe that is honest and unfussy and holds together under pressure—the way a family does, the way a kitchen does, when everything around it is uncertain. If you are feeding people who need to feel held, this is the pie that does it.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 55 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 can (15 oz) pure pumpkin puree
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 can (12 oz) evaporated milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Nonstick cooking spray
Whipped cream, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set your oven to 350°F. Lightly coat a 9-inch pie dish with nonstick cooking spray and set aside.
Mix the spiced pumpkin base. In a large bowl, whisk together the pumpkin puree, sugar, salt, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and nutmeg until fully combined and fragrant.
Add the wet ingredients. Whisk in the beaten eggs, evaporated milk, and vanilla extract until the batter is smooth and uniform. Do not overbeat.
Pour and level. Pour the filling into the prepared pie dish. Give the dish a gentle tap on the counter to release any air bubbles and even out the surface.
Bake. Place the pie dish on the center rack of the oven and bake for 50–55 minutes, until the center is just set—it should have a slight wobble when you shake the pan gently, but should not look liquid.
Cool completely. Remove from the oven and let the pie cool on a wire rack for at least 1 hour. It will continue to firm up as it cools. For cleanest slices, refrigerate for 2 hours before serving.
Serve. Slice into 8 wedges and serve with whipped cream if desired. The pie keeps, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Crustless Pumpkin Pie — The Thanksgiving That Had to Count