Mango Pie —rsquo; The Sweet Finish at the End of a Long Friday

Mid-April. Sofia ran a 2:18 in the 800 on Saturday. The Stanford-bound senior who beat her in March was at the same meet and Sofia beat her by half a second. Sofia did not celebrate. Sofia, in fact, walked across the line and immediately bent over with her hands on her knees and stayed bent for about ninety seconds, which I think is the longest Sofia has ever stayed in any one position outside of reading. The senior — her name is Anya, I have learned — came over to Sofia after she had straightened up and said, "Hey. That was good. You ran me down." Sofia said, "Thanks. You set the pace I needed." Anya laughed. They have, apparently, a kind of friendship now, which is one of the unexpected things about Sofia's introduction to high school track — she has a small social circle of fellow runners that crosses school boundaries, the kind of community that her brother Diego has from football but in a quieter, less public form.

I made it to the meet. I was supposed to be at a coaching clinic that Saturday but I had told the staff at the Friday film session that I was going to leave at noon. Mike Reyes said, "Coach, go watch your daughter run." Tony Davis said, "Coach, can I come with you." I said, "Tony, you are at a coaching clinic." He said, "I have been to fifteen of these. I have not been to your daughter's 800. I want to come." So Tony came with me. Tony has two daughters of his own — eleven and eight — and he was watching Sofia the way a dad with daughters of his own watches another man's daughter run, which is with a knowing and affectionate vigilance. After the race, Tony walked over with me to congratulate Sofia. Sofia said, "Coach Davis, thanks for coming." Tony said, "Sofia, you ran a perfect race." She nodded and looked away because compliments still embarrass her, and Tony, who has been around teenage girls for twelve years, had the grace not to push it.

On the drive home from the meet, Tony said, "Coach, your kid is special." I said, "She is." He said, "Do you know what she is going to do in college." I said, "I think she could run at a D-1 program if she wanted to. I do not know if she wants to." Tony said, "What does she want to do." I said, "She wants to be a doctor." Tony said, "Of course she does." I said, "What do you mean of course." Tony said, "Carlos, you have a kid who runs four-minute miles and reads thousand-page novels. Of course she wants to be a doctor. The only surprise would be if she wanted to be anything else."

I had not thought about it that way before. I had thought of Sofia's ambitions as a sequence of separate observations — the running, the reading, the quietness, the way she sat with sick people at family gatherings, including Papá last summer when his blood sugar dropped and he needed someone to bring him a glass of orange juice and Sofia, twelve at the time, had brought him the juice and sat with him for an hour without saying a word. I had not connected the dots. Tony connected them in fifteen seconds in the car. Sofia is going to be a doctor. I had not let myself believe this all the way. Tony said it like it was the obvious next sentence.

Lent is winding down — actually, Lent ended on Easter, but the rhythm of avoiding meat on Fridays has stuck through April for me, partly out of habit and partly because I had a ten-pound bag of frozen shrimp from the Costco run that needed to be used. I made shrimp tacos. Shrimp tacos are not, again, a New Mexican dish — they are a coastal Mexican dish, Baja, Sonoran — but they are easy and the kids love them and Lisa, who works long shifts and gets home tired, will eat shrimp tacos when she will not eat much else. The recipe is simple. Shrimp in a marinade — lime, garlic, chile powder, smoked paprika, oregano. Sauté in a hot pan two minutes a side. Warm tortillas on the comal. Slaw of cabbage and cilantro and lime. A creamy sauce that is mayo, sour cream, lime juice, more chile powder. Pickled red onion if you have it.

I made twenty tacos for the five of us. Diego ate four. Marco ate three. Elena ate one and a half. Sofia ate two. Lisa, who got home from a shift at six and was running on fumes, ate three with extra slaw. I ate the rest, which was six and a half, which is too many, and which I do not regret. Diego brought his plate to the sink, kissed Lisa on the cheek, kissed me on the head, and said, "Best tacos yet." He went upstairs. Sofia followed him fifteen minutes later. The twins did dishes. Lisa sat at the table with her cup of decaf and read a magazine. The house, at eight-thirty on a Friday in April, was as warm and full as a house ever gets. The road bends. I keep noticing.

I prayed before bed. I prayed for Sofia, who is going to be a doctor. I prayed for Diego, whose senior season is four months away. I prayed for the twins, who are ten and growing too fast. I prayed for Lisa, whose back is still bothering her and who needs to see somebody about it. I prayed for Ruben, whose hands I miss. I prayed for Mamá and Papá. I prayed for myself, that I have the wisdom to keep my mouth shut about Sofia's career path until she figures it out for herself, because the worst thing a father can do is hand a kid a future and call it a gift. The kid has to find the future. The dad just has to feed her until she does. Feed your people. The game is won at the table.

I did not make dessert that Friday — there was no time, and honestly after six and a half tacos I did not need it — but if I had made anything, it would have been this mango pie. It is the kind of dessert that fits the mood of a night like that one: bright and uncomplicated, a little tropical, nothing that tries too hard. The mango picks up where the lime in the tacos left off, and the whole thing comes together fast enough that Lisa could have stayed at the table with her decaf while it cooled. Feed your people. The game is won at the table. Here is how you finish the night.

Mango Pie

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 1 9-inch pie crust, unbaked (store-bought or homemade)
• 4 cups fresh or thawed frozen mango, peeled and diced (about 3 large mangoes)
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• 3 tablespoons cornstarch
• 2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
• 1 teaspoon lime zest
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
• 1 egg, beaten (for egg wash)
• 1 tablespoon coarse sugar (optional, for topping)

Instructions

1. Preheat oven. Heat your oven to 375°F. Place a baking sheet on the lower rack to catch any drips.
2. Make the filling. In a large bowl, combine the diced mango, granulated sugar, cornstarch, lime juice, lime zest, and salt. Toss until the mango is evenly coated and the cornstarch is fully incorporated. Let sit for 10 minutes so the mango releases some of its juice.
3. Fill the crust. Pour the mango filling into the unbaked pie crust, spreading it into an even layer. Dot the top of the filling with the small pieces of butter.
4. Top and seal. If using a second crust for a full top, lay it over the filling, crimp the edges to seal, and cut 4–5 small slits to vent. For a rustic open-face pie, fold the edges of the crust up and over the outer inch of filling, pleating as you go.
5. Apply egg wash. Brush the exposed crust with the beaten egg and sprinkle with coarse sugar if using.
6. Bake. Place the pie on the preheated baking sheet and bake for 40–45 minutes, until the crust is deep golden and the filling is bubbling through the vents. If the crust edges brown too quickly, tent them loosely with foil after 25 minutes.
7. Cool before slicing. Let the pie cool on a wire rack for at least 1 hour before cutting. The filling will set as it cools. Serve at room temperature or slightly warm, with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream if you like.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 280 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 9g | Carbs: 48g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 180mg