Easy Banana Pudding

The light at fifteen hours. The body remembering what summer is. Two trauma cases stayed with me through the weekend. I cooked through them.

Lourdes is 75. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one. Angela came over Saturday with the kids. We cooked. We argued about pancit proportions — she uses more soy, I use more calamansi. We are both wrong, according to Lourdes.

I made cassava cake Saturday. The grated cassava, the coconut milk, the slow bake. The cake that holds Iloilo in it.

A reader wrote me a long email this week about her grandmother's adobo, which differed from mine in every measurement. The differences were the conversation. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

Pete texted me Saturday. He retired three years ago. He still texts me Saturday. The friendship is the broth.

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.

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 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.

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.

A blog reader sent me a photograph of her grandmother's wooden mortar and pestle, used since 1962. The photograph was holy. I wrote her back. The writing back is the work.

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

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.

Auntie Norma called Sunday to ask if I had a recipe for a particular merienda from Iloilo. I did not. I said I would ask Lourdes. I asked Lourdes. Lourdes had it. The chain.

I made tea late at night. The tea was the small comfort. The comfort was the marker.

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

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

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.

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

I did not make banana pudding Saturday—I made cassava cake, and that is a different kind of holding. But Sunday, after the freezer inventory and the balcony cold and the broth in my hands, I wanted something that required almost nothing of me and still felt like care. Banana pudding is that. It is the dessert version of Pete’s Saturday texts—reliable, uncomplicated, and somehow exactly enough. I have made this version more times than I can count, usually late, usually after the unread emails are closed, usually for no one but myself.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 20 min (plus 2 hours chilling) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 (5 oz) package instant vanilla pudding mix
2 cups cold whole milk
1 (14 oz) can sweetened condensed milk
1 (8 oz) container frozen whipped topping, thawed
1 (8 oz) package cream cheese, softened
1 (11 oz) box vanilla wafer cookies
4 ripe bananas, sliced into 1/4-inch rounds
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Instructions

Make the pudding base. In a large bowl, whisk together the instant pudding mix and cold milk for about 2 minutes until it begins to thicken. Set aside.
Blend the cream layer. In a separate bowl, beat the softened cream cheese until smooth. Add the sweetened condensed milk and vanilla extract, mixing until fully incorporated and no lumps remain.
Combine. Fold the pudding mixture into the cream cheese mixture until smooth and unified. Gently fold in the thawed whipped topping until just combined—do not overmix.
Layer the dish. In a 9x13-inch baking dish or a large trifle bowl, arrange a single layer of vanilla wafers along the bottom. Top with a layer of banana slices, then spread one-third of the pudding mixture over the bananas.
Repeat. Continue layering—wafers, bananas, pudding—until all ingredients are used, finishing with a pudding layer on top.
Chill. Cover the dish with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or overnight. The wafers will soften into the pudding as it rests.
Serve. Garnish with a few whole vanilla wafers and fresh banana slices just before serving. Keep refrigerated; best consumed within 2 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Easy Banana Pudding — The Small Comfort That Holds