Fresh Strawberry Cream Pie

The Friday night lights at high school football games. 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 75. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one.

I made tinola Sunday. The chicken-ginger soup, the body-warming dish. The body wanted 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.

I went to bed Sunday at nine. I slept for ten hours. The sleeping was the inheritance.

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 grocery store had no calamansi. I substituted lime. The substitution was acceptable. The acceptable is the working version of perfect.

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

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.

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 taught a Saturday morning Kain Na class on basic adobo proportions for new cooks. Eleven people in the kitchen. Half of them had never cooked Filipino food before. By eleven AM the kitchen smelled the way it should smell. By noon they were all eating. The eating was the lesson landing.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

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

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

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.

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.

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

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

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.

After the tinola was gone and the kitchen was scrubbed and the spice cabinet was reorganized and Lourdes had called twice and the novel was finished and the ten hours of sleep had done their work, I wanted something that asked almost nothing of me — just to hull the berries and let the cream soften and wait. This pie is that. It is the dessert you make when the week has already been the work, and all that’s left is the sweet end of it. I made it Sunday evening while the pie set in the refrigerator, and the kitchen smelled like strawberries, and that was enough.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 3 hours 30 minutes (includes chilling) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 9-inch pie crust, pre-baked and cooled (store-bought or homemade)
8 oz cream cheese, softened to room temperature
1/2 cup powdered sugar, sifted
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
1 1/4 cups heavy whipping cream, cold
2 lbs fresh strawberries, hulled (about 5 cups)
3 tbsp strawberry jam or preserves
1 tbsp fresh lime juice (or lemon juice)
Pinch of fine sea salt

Instructions

Pre-bake the crust. If using a homemade crust, blind-bake at 375°F for 12–15 minutes until golden and fully set. Let cool completely before filling. If using a store-bought pre-baked shell, proceed directly to the next step.
Make the cream filling. In a large bowl, beat the softened cream cheese with the powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and a pinch of salt using a hand mixer on medium speed until completely smooth, about 2 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.
Whip the cream. In a separate cold bowl, whip the heavy cream on medium-high until stiff peaks form, 2–3 minutes. Do not over-whip.
Fold and fill. Gently fold the whipped cream into the cream cheese mixture in two additions, using a rubber spatula, until just combined and no streaks remain. Spread the filling evenly into the cooled pie crust. Smooth the top.
Prepare the strawberries. Slice the strawberries in half lengthwise. Reserve 1/2 cup of the smaller pieces and set aside. Arrange the remaining halved strawberries cut-side down over the cream filling in a single, close-packed layer, working from the outside edge inward.
Make the glaze. In a small saucepan over low heat, warm the strawberry jam and lime juice together, stirring until smooth and pourable, about 2 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool for 3–4 minutes. Gently brush or spoon the glaze over the arranged strawberries to coat.
Chill. Refrigerate the pie uncovered for at least 3 hours, or until the filling is fully set and the glaze is firm. The pie is best served the same day it is assembled.
Slice and serve. Use a sharp knife wiped clean between cuts for clean slices. Serve cold, straight from the refrigerator.

Nutrition (per serving)

Fresh Strawberry Cream Pie — The Sweet End of a Long Week