Mini Pumpkin Pies

June heat. The garden is exploding. Cherokee Purples coming in heavy — three or four a day now, so many that I'm giving them to the neighbors and to the church and to anyone who rings the doorbell looking even slightly hungry. The Sapelo peppers are turning red. The okra is reaching for the sky with the ambition of a plant that doesn't know when to stop. The watermelon is growing — softball-sized now, second generation, on track to repeat last year's triumph. The garden doesn't know about diabetes or funerals or aging knees. The garden just produces. The garden is the most honest thing in my life.

I've been thinking about the cooking classes. The ones I taught in 2022, at the community center — four weeks of Gullah-Geechee cooking, shrimp and grits and she-crab soup and Frogmore stew and peach cobbler. The class filled up in two days. I was terrified and then I was exhilarated and then I was home. Teaching is just cooking with commentary. Teaching is narrating the way I narrate for Michael, except the students are adults and the commentary is more detailed and the questions are more complicated than "bah bah bah," which is Michael's current question for everything.

The community center called this week. They want me to teach again. A new series, this fall. Six weeks instead of four. Gullah-Geechee cooking traditions with an emphasis on history — not just how to cook the food but where the food comes from, who brought it, how it survived, why it matters. The woman on the phone said, "Mrs. Henderson, we had a waiting list of forty people last time." Forty people. Forty people who want to learn how to cook the way my mother taught me to cook, the way her mother taught her, the way the Gullah women of the Lowcountry have been cooking since they brought the seeds and the knowledge across the ocean in the holds of ships.

I said yes. I said yes because the teaching is the feeding and the feeding is the teaching and the food doesn't survive unless someone teaches someone else how to make it. The food dies when the last person who knows the recipe forgets it or takes it to the grave or decides it's too much trouble. I will not take this food to the grave. I will teach it. I will teach it to forty people and they will teach it to forty more and the food will outlive me, the way the skillet will outlive me, the way the garden will outlive me, the way the recipes will outlive me. The food goes on. The food always goes on.

Made Frogmore stew tonight. Practice. The teaching starts in the fall. The practice starts now.

Now go on and feed somebody.

The Frogmore stew is already handled — that’s for the class, and that’s for later. But I had pumpkin on the counter and the fall is coming and I am in a practicing mood, so I made these Mini Pumpkin Pies too, because the class I said yes to doesn’t have to stop at the Lowcountry savory. Good teaching means knowing how the meal ends. These little pies — individual, generous, spiced the right way — are the kind of thing you hand to someone and they understand, without any words at all, that someone cared enough to do this from scratch.

Prep Time: 25 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 12 mini pies

Ingredients

1 package (14 oz) refrigerated pie crusts (2 sheets), or homemade equivalent
1 cup canned pure pumpkin puree
1/2 cup evaporated milk
1/3 cup packed light brown sugar
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
1/8 teaspoon fine salt
Whipped cream, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Preheat and prepare. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a standard 12-cup muffin tin with nonstick spray or butter.
Cut the crusts. Unroll or roll out your pie crust on a lightly floured surface. Using a 4-inch round cutter (or the rim of a wide-mouth jar), cut out 12 circles, re-rolling scraps as needed. Gently press each circle into the muffin tin cups so the crust comes up the sides slightly. Crimp or fold the edges as you like.
Mix the filling. In a medium bowl, whisk together the pumpkin puree, evaporated milk, brown sugar, egg, vanilla, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, and salt until smooth and fully combined.
Fill the shells. Spoon the pumpkin filling into each crust-lined cup, filling each about 3/4 full — roughly 2 to 2 1/2 tablespoons per pie.
Bake. Bake for 22 to 26 minutes, until the filling is set with just a slight jiggle in the center and the crust is golden at the edges. Begin checking at 22 minutes.
Cool completely. Let the pies cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then carefully transfer to a wire rack. Allow to cool fully before serving — the filling firms as it cools. Refrigerate if not serving within an hour.
Serve. Top each mini pie with a small dollop of whipped cream if desired. Serve at room temperature or slightly chilled.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mini Pumpkin Pies — Made for the Season When the Teaching Begins