No-Bake Pumpkin Pie

Sugar, Bernice's Table fed eighty people Tuesday night. Eighty. Six years ago I started with a folding card table and one pot of soup, and now I am turning out plates for eighty hungry souls every single Tuesday. I have a team of eight church women. I have a refrigerator that is a borrowed restaurant unit Calvin's deacon friend got us when he closed his place on Bessemer Road. I have a system.

The system: Saturday I plan the menu. Monday I shop with Sister Beulah. Tuesday at 2 PM the kitchen team arrives. By 4 PM the chicken is dredged and the grease is hot. By 5 PM the greens have given up their toughness and the mac and cheese is in the oven. By 6 PM the doors open. By 8 PM the last plate is served. By 9:30 PM the kitchen is clean and Sister Beulah is shooing me out the door because I want to mop and she will not let me at my age.

I am fifty-five years old, baby. My knees know it. The kitchen knows it. But the work is the work. The mouths come hungry and they leave fed and that is the whole of it. That is church. That is the only church I have ever needed.

The menu always includes fried chicken. Always. I will die on that hill, sugar. Fried chicken is a human right.

The yard cleaned up Saturday. The mums on the porch. The pumpkins on the steps.

I drove to the grocery Saturday morning early. The greens, the buttermilk, the cornmeal, the salt. The list was the list. The kitchen would feed by Sunday.

Doris called Tuesday. Three times a week, the standard. We talked about everyone. We talked about the cooking. The cooking is always the real reason she calls.

The garden in the side yard, baby. I checked the okra Saturday morning. The tomatoes are coming on. I will be canning by August. I always say I am not going to can. I always end up canning.

I read scripture before bed. The same passages I have read for forty years. They land different now than they used to. The words have not changed. The reader has.

I sat at the kitchen window Sunday night with my coffee gone cold. The kitchen was quiet. The week had been long. The body had carried it. The body would carry the next week.

Calvin asked me Friday how I was holding up. I said, baby, I'm holding. He said, that's all the Lord asks. We sat in silence the way long-married people sit in silence — full, not empty.

Sister Patrice called Saturday. She thanked me for the meal I had brought her last week. She said her husband is recovering. I told her I would bring more food this Tuesday.

Sunday after service the church family gathered in the fellowship hall. Coffee. Donuts. The hum of forty conversations all at once. The hum is church just as much as the sermon is.

Mr. Henderson across the street brought me a bag of pecans Friday. I will make pecan pie on Saturday. Half goes back to him. That is how this works.

The cast iron skillet on its hook. The kitchen waiting for tomorrow. The work tomorrow. The work always tomorrow.

I talked to Bernice at the stove. I told her the week. She listened. She always listens.

Calvin and I watched the news Wednesday. He fell asleep in the recliner. I covered him with the afghan. The afghan is older than CJ.

Bernice's Table held this week. The food was the food. The work was the work.

Sugar, after a Tuesday like that — eighty plates, a clean kitchen, and Sister Beulah shooing me out the door — I do not want to turn on the oven come Saturday morning. But I still want something sweet on the table, because Mr. Henderson brought me those pecans and kindness deserves kindness back, and the pumpkins on the front steps have been sitting there looking at me all week. This no-bake pumpkin pie is my Saturday reward: it comes together fast, it chills while I check the okra, and it reminds me that the season is turning and the harvest is good and so is this life, tired knees and all.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 4 hours 15 minutes (includes chilling) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 can (15 oz) pure pumpkin puree
1 package (8 oz) cream cheese, softened to room temperature
1 cup powdered sugar, sifted
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 tsp pumpkin pie spice
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp salt
1 container (8 oz) frozen whipped topping, thawed
1 pre-made graham cracker pie crust (9-inch)
Additional whipped topping for serving, optional

Instructions

Beat the base. In a large bowl, beat the softened cream cheese and powdered sugar together with a hand mixer on medium speed until completely smooth and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.
Add the pumpkin and spices. Add the pumpkin puree, vanilla extract, pumpkin pie spice, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt to the cream cheese mixture. Beat on medium speed until fully combined and no streaks remain, about 1 to 2 minutes.
Fold in the whipped topping. Add the thawed whipped topping to the bowl. Using a rubber spatula, gently fold it into the pumpkin mixture with slow, sweeping strokes until just combined. Do not overmix — you want to keep the filling light and airy.
Fill the crust. Spoon the filling into the pre-made graham cracker crust and spread it into an even layer with the spatula, smoothing the top.
Chill until set. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or overnight for best results. The pie needs time to firm up before slicing.
Serve. Slice into 8 portions and top each piece with an additional dollop of whipped topping if desired. Store leftovers covered in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

No-Bake Pumpkin Pie — The Sweet End of a Long Week at Bernice’s Table