Homemade Eggnog Pie

January in Cascade Heights. The Christmas lights still up on the next block. Set the Table at New Birth Saturday morning. Six girls. We did baked chicken.

Daddy in his apartment in the back. I brought him his coffee and his medication this morning. He grumbled. The grumble was the love. I caught the smell of Mama's seasoning blend at the stove Tuesday morning. Just for a second. The grief comes when it comes.

A pot of collards on the stove. Turkey neck for the broth instead of fatback now. Vinegar at the end. The kitchen smelled like the kitchen Mama kept.

Marcus, 20, studying for finals at Alabama. Jasmine, 18, home from Howard for the weekend.

I sat at the kitchen table with my tea after everybody went to sleep. Just me and the quiet.

The neighbors had a Friday cookout this week. I brought my mac and cheese. They have come to expect this. I have come to expect this. The block is the block.

Derek and I had date night Friday. Same restaurant, same booth, same enchiladas for me and carne asada for him.

I made a casserole for the church potluck. The pan came back empty. That is the only review I trust.

Sunday service at New Birth this morning. The choir sang. I sang soprano in the second alto row. Pastor preached about Naomi and Ruth. The congregation said amen. I said amen.

I went to the cemetery Saturday morning. Brenda's grave is on the hill at South-View. Curtis still goes most Sundays. I left a small bouquet of magnolias.

The blood pressure check was Wednesday. The numbers were borderline. The doctor wants me to walk more. I am walking more.

Darnell sent a photo from Clarksville. The garden is producing. He grew tomatoes the size of softballs. I sent him back a photo of my sweet potato casserole. We are competitive about food now in our middle age.

Saturday morning I had Set the Table at the Cascade Heights center. Twelve young women. We did baked chicken. One of them — Imani, sixteen — was so afraid of seasoning that she barely shook the salt. I stood next to her and put my hand over hers and said, baby, you cannot be afraid of food. We seasoned the chicken. The chicken came out right. She glowed.

I drove to the Walmart on Camp Creek Saturday morning. The kind of grocery run that takes two hours because you run into three people you know. Sister Patrice caught me in the produce. We talked about her grandbaby for fifteen minutes.

The kids were home for the weekend. The house was loud the way it should be.

Andre called from LA. He told the Kevin Hart story again. Twenty-some years and that boy is still telling that story. Everyone in this family is going to hear about Kevin Hart at our funerals.

Tuesday evening I sat at the kitchen table with my composition notebook and worked on the cookbook. From Brenda's Kitchen — that's the working title. I cannot write the introduction without crying yet.

Daddy sat in his chair after dinner watching the news. He fell asleep before the third quarter. Standard.

Wednesday Bible study at the church. We read through Proverbs. The women in my row argued about whether wisdom is built or born. I said both. They agreed, sort of.

I read for an hour Sunday night before bed. Some novel about a Black woman in 1960s Alabama. Mama would have liked it.

I had a hard counseling case at school this week. A seventh-grade girl whose mama lost her job. We talked. I gave her my number. I told her she could call.

The casserole I brought to the church potluck came back empty — and honestly, that’s the only review I trust for any dish I put out into the world. When I made this eggnog pie for the first time this season, I wasn’t sure it was a January dish, but with the Christmas lights still up on the next block and Daddy dozing in his chair after dinner, it felt right — warm and a little sweet and something close to what Mama would have kept on the counter. The holidays don’t leave all at once, and neither does the cooking that goes with them.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min + 2 hrs chilling | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 9-inch pie crust, unbaked
2 cups full-fat eggnog
3 large eggs
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
3/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg, plus more for topping
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 cup heavy whipping cream, for topping
2 tablespoons powdered sugar, for topping

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Place the unbaked pie crust into a 9-inch pie dish and crimp the edges. Prick the bottom a few times with a fork. Set aside.
Pre-bake the crust. Line the crust with parchment paper, fill with pie weights or dried beans, and bake for 12 minutes. Remove weights and parchment and bake another 5 minutes until just barely golden. Remove from oven and reduce temperature to 325°F.
Make the filling. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggnog, eggs, sugar, cornstarch, vanilla extract, nutmeg, cinnamon, and salt until smooth and fully combined. Do not rush this — you want the cornstarch fully dissolved.
Fill and bake. Pour the filling into the pre-baked crust. Carefully transfer to the oven and bake at 325°F for 40 to 45 minutes, until the edges are set but the center still has a slight jiggle — like a custard.
Cool completely. Remove from the oven and let cool on a wire rack for 30 minutes, then transfer to the refrigerator to chill for at least 2 hours, or overnight, until fully set.
Whip the topping. Just before serving, beat the heavy cream and powdered sugar together with a hand mixer until soft peaks form.
Finish and serve. Slice the chilled pie and top each piece with a dollop of whipped cream and a light dusting of freshly grated nutmeg. Bring the whole thing to the potluck and carry home an empty pan.

Nutrition (per serving)

Homemade Eggnog Pie — The Pan That Came Back Empty