Individual Crustless Pumpkin Pie Cupcakes

Christmas week. Third round of AC chemo was supposed to be this week, but Dr. Reyes pushed it to the 27th because she didn't want me sick on Christmas. I could have kissed her. Instead, I thanked her professionally and then cried in my car, because the gift of one good Christmas — one Christmas where I can taste the food and stay awake past the kids' bedtime — is worth more than anything under any tree.

I cooked. For the first time in weeks, I really cooked. I made cinnamon rolls on Christmas Eve morning — Mom's recipe, from the card in the Ziploc bag, measured and kneaded and rolled with my own hands. My hands are weaker than they were. The kneading took longer. But I did it, and the dough rose, and I rolled it out and spread the butter and the brown sugar and the cinnamon, and I rolled it up and cut it into rounds and placed them in the pan and let them rise again, and the kitchen smelled like home, like the ranch, like Diane's kitchen at 6 AM on a Saturday, and I was crying while I measured the flour because cooking is the thing that makes me feel alive and cancer tried to take it from me and today it didn't win.

Mason and Lily woke up Christmas morning at 5:47 AM. Mason shook me awake — "Mama, Mama, Santa came!" — and Lily was already in the living room, standing in front of the tree in her pajamas, hands clasped, staring at the presents like they were holy artifacts. Scott was up. He'd put out the presents the night before (we'd stayed up until midnight, the latest we'd been awake together in months, wrapping gifts in silence, not fighting, just wrapping). The kids tore into the paper with the frenzied joy that makes Christmas morning the best morning of the year, every year, no exceptions.

Mason got books (his favorite), a Lego set, and a rock-polishing kit that will probably create more mess than joy but that he specifically asked for. Lily got a toy horse (she screamed), a play kitchen set, and a tutu that she put on immediately and wore for the rest of the day over her pajamas. I got a card from each of them — Mason's said "Merry Christmas Mama I love you forever" in his careful kindergarten handwriting, and Lily's was a handprint in red paint from daycare with "I love you" written by Rosa. These cards. These two cards. They are worth more than anything in any store in any city in the world.

We drove to Twin Falls for Christmas dinner. The whole family — Mom, Dad, Brett, us. Kyle called from Germany at what was 2 AM his time, and we passed the phone around like a communion cup. Dad sat in his recliner and looked at his family and said very little, which from Gary means everything. Mom made the Christmas dinner: ham, scalloped potatoes, green bean casserole, rolls, and three kinds of pie. I ate a full plate. A FULL PLATE. For the first time in six weeks, I ate a full meal and tasted every bite, and each bite was a victory, and the ham was salty and the potatoes were creamy and the pie was sweet and I was alive, I was here, I was eating my mother's cooking on Christmas Day, and my children were rolling on the living room floor with wrapping paper, and my brother was laughing, and my father was quiet and content, and it was enough. It was more than enough. It was everything.

Mom’s Christmas dinner had three kinds of pie, and I ate every bite I could reach — because after six weeks of tasting nothing, sweetness felt like proof I was still here. In the weeks since, I’ve been thinking about pie in a simpler form, something I can make on a good-energy day without rolling crusts or worrying about soggy bottoms. These individual crustless pumpkin pie cupcakes are exactly that: all the warm, spiced comfort of the holiday table, portioned out in a muffin tin so every single one feels like its own small gift. They’re what I’ll be making the next time I get a good day in the kitchen — and I’ll be crying a little while I measure the cinnamon, and that’s okay.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 12

Ingredients

1 can (15 oz) pure pumpkin puree
2 large eggs
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon fine salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 cup evaporated milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
Whipped cream or whipped topping, for serving

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C). Line a standard 12-cup muffin tin with paper or foil liners and lightly coat them with nonstick spray.
Mix the filling. In a large bowl, whisk together the pumpkin puree, eggs, sugar, salt, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and nutmeg until smooth and fully combined.
Add the milk. Pour in the evaporated milk and vanilla extract and whisk until the batter is silky and uniform with no streaks.
Fill the cups. Ladle or pour the batter evenly into the prepared muffin cups, filling each about 3/4 full.
Bake. Bake for 28—32 minutes, until the centers are just set and a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean. The tops may crack slightly — that’s normal.
Cool completely. Let the cupcakes cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool fully. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving for best texture.
Serve. Top each with a dollop of whipped cream just before serving. Store leftovers covered in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Individual Crustless Pumpkin Pie Cupcakes — The Pie That Tasted Like Coming Back to Life