Holiday Pistachio Dessert — The Table That Keeps Growing

The Damiano Center crowd has shifted. Gerald is still there, the soup steady. New faces too — younger, more women, more children. The need does not decrease. The need shape-shifts. The soup does not stop. The soup is the only constant the people who come into that basement get to count on, and we keep it constant. Astrid had a fall. She is fine. The Twin Cities sister-call club is now its own small intervention. Karin and I take turns calling Astrid. Astrid resents the calls. We make them anyway. The resentment is the love filtered through Astrid's particular Scandinavian self-sufficiency. We do not mind being resented. We mind, far more, the alternative. Erik turned seventy. We had a small party at his house. He grilled. He drank one beer (his quota, a quota set by his doctor, observed religiously). He was quiet and happy. He looked like Pappa around the eyes. I had not noticed before. I notice now. The resemblance has deepened with age. Erik is becoming Pappa in the slow gentle way that men become their fathers if they live long enough. Thanksgiving is approaching. The brining starts on Tuesday. The pies start on Wednesday. The kitchen begins its annual reorganization for the bird — turkey out of the freezer to the cooler in the garage, fridge cleared for the brine cooler, the big roasting pan brought up from the basement, the carving knife sharpened, the gravy boat located (last seen on the top shelf of the pantry, where it lives all year except this one week). The kids are all coming. The house is going to be full. I am ready. I cooked Limpa bread this week. Two loaves on a Saturday in November. The smell carries down the hall. Damiano Thursday. A teenage boy came in alone. He was hungry. He did not want to make eye contact. I served him soup. I did not make small talk. He ate two bowls. He left. The not-asking was the gift. The not-asking is sometimes the right form of attention. The teenagers know. The kitchen is the reliquary. I have used this word in the blog before. I am using it again because it is the right word. A reliquary is the container that holds the bones of the saints. The kitchen holds the bones of my saints — Pappa, Lars, Mamma, Paul, Erik, the first Sven, the second Sven. The bones are not literal bones. The bones are the marble slab and the bread pans and the glasses on the shelf and the wooden spoon worn smooth by Mamma's hand. The kitchen holds them. The kitchen is what holds them. It is enough. Paul is not here. Mamma is not here. Pappa is not here. Erik is not here. They are all here in the kitchen, in the smell, in the taste, in the wooden spoon and the bread pans and the marble slab. The dead are not where the body went. The dead are in the kitchen. Sven (whichever Sven I am living with at the moment) has the daily distinction of being the most consistent presence in my life. He follows me from kitchen to porch to bedroom. He sleeps within ten feet of me at all times. He notices when I am sad and he comes to put his head on my knee and the head is heavy and warm and the heaviness is the comfort. The dog is not a person. The dog is the only creature in the house, however, and the dog does the work that another person would do if there were one. The dog is enough. It is enough.

The Limpa was still cooling on the rack when I started thinking about what to bring to Erik’s end of the table on Thanksgiving — something that required no last-minute fussing, something I could make the day before and simply carry in. This Holiday Pistachio Dessert is exactly that: cool and pale green and ready, sitting in the refrigerator while the rest of the kitchen does its loud November work. I have made it for years. It asks very little. It shows up reliably. In a week like this one, that is exactly the kind of recipe I need.

Holiday Pistachio Dessert

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 20 minutes (includes chilling) | Servings: 12

Ingredients

• 2 cups graham cracker crumbs (about 16 full crackers)
• 1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted
• 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
• 8 oz cream cheese, softened
• 1 cup powdered sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2 packages (3.4 oz each) instant pistachio pudding mix
• 3 cups cold whole milk
• 16 oz frozen whipped topping (such as Cool Whip), thawed, divided
• 1/2 cup chopped pistachios, for garnish
• Maraschino cherries, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

1. Make the crust. In a medium bowl, combine graham cracker crumbs, melted butter, and granulated sugar. Stir until evenly moistened. Press firmly into the bottom of a 9x13-inch baking dish to form an even layer. Refrigerate for 15 minutes while you prepare the filling.
2. Prepare the cream cheese layer. In a large bowl, beat softened cream cheese with powdered sugar and vanilla extract until smooth and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Fold in half of the whipped topping (about 2 cups) until well combined. Spread evenly over the chilled crust.
3. Make the pistachio pudding layer. In a separate large bowl, whisk together both packages of instant pistachio pudding mix and the cold milk for 2 minutes, until thickened. Let stand for 3 minutes. Spread the pudding layer evenly over the cream cheese layer.
4. Top and chill. Spread the remaining whipped topping evenly over the pistachio pudding layer. Cover the dish loosely with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or overnight, until fully set.
5. Garnish and serve. Just before serving, scatter chopped pistachios over the top. Add maraschino cherries if desired. Cut into squares and serve cold directly from the baking dish.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 385 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 21g | Carbs: 44g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 370mg