Frosty Toffee Bits Pie -- The Dessert in Excess, After the Longest Day

Summer solstice. The longest day. Twenty hours of light. Anchorage's annual orgy of midnight tennis and midnight fishing and midnight gardening. I went to the Solstice Festival downtown.

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 halo-halo Saturday. The shaved ice, the ube, the leche flan, the pinipig. The dessert in excess.

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 called Lourdes Sunday night. The call was the call. The call was always the call.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Angela texted me a photo of the kids. I texted back a heart. The exchange took thirty seconds. The thirty seconds was the keeping.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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 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.

I made halo-halo on Saturday — the shaved ice, the ube, the leche flan, the pinipig — because the solstice demanded it, because Angela and the kids were there, because Lourdes had opinions about everything we cooked and that was the whole point. The spirit of halo-halo is abundance layered on abundance, cold and unapologetic. This Frosty Toffee Bits Pie is not halo-halo, but it carries the same logic: pile the sweet things, freeze them together, serve them in excess. On the longest day of the year, with twenty hours of light and rice on the stove and a hundred and twenty unread emails I decided to ignore, this is exactly the dessert the table needed.

Frosty Toffee Bits Pie

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 4 hours 20 minutes (includes freezing) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 1 pre-made graham cracker crust (9-inch)
• 1 package (8 oz) cream cheese, softened
• 1 can (14 oz) sweetened condensed milk
• 1 container (8 oz) frozen whipped topping, thawed
• 1 cup toffee bits (such as Heath brand), divided
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 2 tablespoons caramel sauce, for drizzling

Instructions

1. Beat the base. In a large mixing bowl, beat the softened cream cheese with an electric mixer on medium speed until smooth and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.
2. Add condensed milk. Pour in the sweetened condensed milk, vanilla extract, and salt. Beat on medium until fully combined and creamy, about 1 minute.
3. Fold in whipped topping. Using a rubber spatula, gently fold the thawed whipped topping into the cream cheese mixture until no streaks remain. Take your time — the folding keeps it light.
4. Stir in toffee bits. Reserve 2 tablespoons of toffee bits for topping. Fold the remaining toffee bits into the filling until evenly distributed.
5. Fill the crust. Pour the filling into the graham cracker crust and smooth the top with the spatula.
6. Top and freeze. Scatter the reserved toffee bits over the top and drizzle with caramel sauce. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and freeze for at least 4 hours, or overnight, until firm.
7. Serve. Remove the pie from the freezer 10 minutes before slicing to allow it to soften slightly. Slice with a sharp knife and serve cold.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 480 | Protein: 6g | Fat: 24g | Carbs: 61g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 310mg