← Back to Blog

Honey Pie — The Pie Meghan Brought

First Sunday dinner I cooked alone for the three of us in our own kitchen since. A roast chicken. Small bird, my mother's method, lemon and butter and salt, root vegetables around the pan. Took me three hours to do what should have taken ninety minutes — I kept sitting down, getting up, forgetting a step, remembering the step, going back. The chicken came out. It was fine. It was not great. It was a first-time-back chicken and I was not going to audit it harshly.

Meghan drove down Sunday afternoon with Aidan. She brought a pie. She sat at my kitchen table. She ate chicken with me. She did not say "I am proud of you." She did not say "you are doing so well." She just ate. That is what I needed. She knew.

Aidan and Liam played in Liam's room for two hours. I heard them laughing. Liam's laugh was not the full open laugh he used to have before. It was smaller. It was there. I will take smaller for now.

Nora has started asking about Daddy more. She is doing the thing kids do at this age — noticing the absence, testing the permanence. "When is Daddy coming home." "Why did Daddy have to go to heaven." "Is Daddy sick in heaven." I answer each question slowly. I do not lie. I do not embellish. I say what I can say. She returns to playing.

The brown notebook sits on my nightstand. I write in it at night. I write the things I remember. Sean at the stove. Sean holding Nora. Sean in the hospital bed. Sean laughing at 37. I am going to have the notebook for the rest of my life. I am going to add to it as things surface.

Meghan brought a pie that Sunday, and I have been thinking about it ever since — not because it was extraordinary, but because it wasn’t trying to be. It was honey pie: plain, golden, a little sweet, a little rich, the kind of thing that doesn’t make a fuss. That felt right for the day we were having. If you find yourself needing something to bring to someone’s table — or needing something to receive — this is the one I’d reach for.

Honey Pie

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 8

Ingredients

  • 1 unbaked 9-inch pie crust (store-bought or homemade)
  • 3 large eggs
  • 1/2 cup honey (mild, like clover or wildflower)
  • 1/4 cup granulated sugar
  • 1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled
  • 1/2 cup heavy cream
  • 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • 1/4 teaspoon fine salt
  • 1 teaspoon white vinegar or apple cider vinegar

Instructions

  1. Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Place the unbaked pie crust in a 9-inch pie dish and crimp the edges. Set aside on a rimmed baking sheet.
  2. Make the filling. In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, honey, and sugar until smooth and well combined. Add the melted butter, heavy cream, flour, vanilla extract, salt, and vinegar. Whisk again until the filling is uniform and slightly glossy.
  3. Fill the crust. Pour the filling into the prepared pie crust. The filling will be thin — that is correct. It sets as it bakes.
  4. Bake. Bake on the middle rack for 40—45 minutes, until the edges are set and the center has just a slight wobble, like a loose Jell-O. The top will turn a deep amber gold. If the crust edges brown too quickly, cover them loosely with foil after the first 25 minutes.
  5. Cool completely. Remove the pie from the oven and let it cool on a wire rack for at least 2 hours before slicing. The filling needs time to firm up fully. It is worth the wait.
  6. Serve. Slice and serve at room temperature or slightly warm. Good plain. Also good with a small spoonful of unsweetened whipped cream.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 375 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 42g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 185mg

Kate Donovan
About the cook who shared this
Kate Donovan
Week 392 of Kate’s 30-year story · Boston, Massachusetts
Kate is a thirty-five-year-old nurse practitioner in Boston and a widowed mother of two whose husband Sean died of brain cancer at thirty-three. She makes Irish soda bread and beef stew and shepherd's pie because the recipes are all she has left of a man who was supposed to grow old with her. She writes about cooking through grief and finding out you can still feed your children on the worst day of your life.

How Would You Spin It?

Put your own twist on this recipe — what would you add, remove, or swap?