Grandma’s Sour Cream Raisin Pie

The real estate market is strong this week. I showed 3 properties and closed on 1. The pipeline is strong. The phone rings with the steady rhythm of a business that has taken six years to build and refuses to slow down.

Alexander called from USF this week. He is thriving and building a life with the quiet competence of a young man who watched his mother rebuild from nothing and decided that building is what Papadopouloses do. He still does not call Yia-yia enough. He never will.

I thought about Baba this week. Not the grief — the grief is always there, a familiar companion now — but the man. The way he stood at the bakery counter with his arms crossed. The way he hummed Greek songs he never knew the words to. The way he loved us in silence, which was the loudest love I have ever known.

I made shrimp saganaki — baked shrimp in bubbling tomato sauce with feta melting into creamy pockets. Served with crusty bread. I ate it on the back porch while the sun set and the air smelled like jasmine and salt air. A quiet evening. The food was good. Good is enough. Good is everything.

I visited the bakery this weekend. Mama was behind the counter, flour on her apron, her face set in the concentration of a woman who takes baking as seriously as other people take surgery. I stood next to her and rolled dough and said nothing because the silence between us is not empty — it is full of every recipe she taught me and every critique she gave me and every morning she woke at 4 AM to make phyllo that nobody else can make.

The shrimp saganaki was my Tuesday evening, but this pie — this is what I made after standing beside Mama at the bakery, rolling dough in that full silence of ours. She used to bake this sour cream raisin pie when Baba was alive, and he would eat a slice standing at the counter with his arms crossed, humming. I hadn’t made it in years, but my hands remembered before my head did, and by the time it came out of the oven the whole house smelled like her kitchen and his quiet love.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 (9-inch) unbaked pie crust
1 cup sour cream
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
3 large eggs, separated
1 cup raisins
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
6 tablespoons granulated sugar (for meringue)

Instructions

Preheat and prepare. Preheat oven to 350°F. Place the unbaked pie crust in a 9-inch pie dish. Crimp the edges and set aside.
Combine the filling base. In a medium saucepan, whisk together the sour cream, 3/4 cup sugar, flour, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves until smooth.
Add egg yolks. Beat the egg yolks lightly and stir them into the sour cream mixture. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture thickens, about 5 to 7 minutes.
Fold in raisins. Remove from heat and stir in the raisins and vanilla extract. Pour the filling into the prepared pie crust.
Make the meringue. In a clean bowl, beat the egg whites and cream of tartar with an electric mixer until soft peaks form. Gradually add 6 tablespoons sugar, beating until stiff, glossy peaks form.
Top and bake. Spread the meringue over the hot filling, sealing the edges to the crust. Bake for 12 to 15 minutes, or until the meringue is golden brown.
Cool and serve. Let the pie cool on a wire rack for at least 2 hours before slicing. Serve at room temperature or slightly chilled.

Nutrition (per serving)

Grandma’s Sour Cream Raisin Pie — The Silence That Holds Every Recipe She Ever Taught Me