Peanut Butter Custard Blast

Brianna's week. Sweater weather Wednesday. First fire of the year on the porch. Easy week at the plant. The line ran. The body held.

Pop's tireder. Sugar runs low some days. Mama monitors. Pop complains. The system holds. Sunday at Mama's. She made greens with hambone the way she has since 1985.

Whole roast chicken Sunday. Compound butter under the skin. Lemon and herbs in the cavity. Easiest impressive dinner there is.

Aiden's 11. The youth basketball league. I'm coaching. He's the best player on the team and he knows it. Zaria's 9. Helps me cook on a step stool. Has opinions about the seasoning.

I went to bed Sunday at 10. Slept eight hours. The body said thank you.

The drive home Friday was the long way around. I took Outer Drive past the lake. The water was still. I do not always notice the water. I noticed Friday.

I took a walk around the block Sunday morning. The neighborhood was quiet. The trees were the trees. The light was good. I waved at three porches. The porches waved back. Brookline holds.

Filled the propane tank Wednesday. The smoker is the only appliance I baby. Wiped it down. Checked the gaskets. Checked the temperature gauge. The smoker is mine the way Pop's torque wrench was his.

I cleaned the smoker Sunday morning. Brushed the grates. Emptied the ash. Wiped down the body. The smoker repays attention. So does most everything that matters.

Pop sat in the recliner Sunday. He fell asleep before the third quarter. We covered him with a blanket.

Aiden had practice Tuesday and Thursday. I drove. He shot threes for an hour after.

A catering inquiry came in this week — fifty-person family reunion. Booked. Saturday after next.

Plant ran clean this week. The line ran. The body held. The paycheck is the paycheck.

Drove past Jefferson North on Tuesday. The plant is still the plant. The trucks coming out. I waved at the gate guard out of habit. He waved back even though he didn't know me. The plant is its own neighborhood.

Stopped at Eastern Market Saturday. Got chicken thighs, bacon, a watermelon, and a pound of greens that I did not need but bought anyway. The vendors know me by name now. Three of them asked about the family.

A reader wrote in about the smothered pork chops. Said her late husband loved them. I wrote back. I told her about Pop. We exchanged three emails. She's in Saginaw. She's coming to the city in the spring.

Mr. Williams across the street had a heart scare. He is okay. We are all watching each other now. I took him a plate of greens and chicken Wednesday. He said, "DeShawn. You're a good neighbor." I said, "We're even, Mr. Williams. You shoveled my walk in 2024." He laughed.

The basketball court at the rec center got refurbished. New floor. Plays different. Bouncy. I shot a few from the elbow before practice Wednesday. The knee held. The shot fell short.

The Lions on TV Sunday. Lost on a missed field goal. Detroit. The neighborhood collectively groaned at the same moment. You could hear it through the windows.

The grass came in fast this week. Cut it Saturday morning before the heat. The mower had been sitting all winter. Took three pulls to start. Once it ran, it ran. Some things just need patience.

The custody calendar holds. Aiden and Zaria alternate weeks. Brianna and I co-parent without drama now. We do not always have to like each other to do this right.

Watched the Tigers Sunday afternoon. Lost in extras. Detroit reflex. I yelled at the TV the way Pop used to yell at the TV. The TV did not respond. The bullpen will probably not respond either.

The chicken was the main event Sunday — compound butter under the skin, lemon in the cavity, the whole house smelling like something worth sitting down for — but Zaria was already asking about dessert before the bird hit the table. She’s nine and she has opinions, and this week her opinion was peanut butter, which is not an argument I’m equipped to win. The Peanut Butter Custard Blast came together while Pop napped in the recliner and Aiden shot threes in the backyard, and when Zaria tasted it from the spoon and gave me the nod, I figured that was as good a review as anything I’d ever get.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes (plus 2 hours chilling) | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 cups whole milk
1/2 cup heavy cream
3/4 cup creamy peanut butter
1/2 cup granulated sugar
3 large egg yolks
3 tablespoons cornstarch
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces
Whipped cream, for serving
Crushed honey-roasted peanuts, for topping

Instructions

Warm the dairy. Combine the milk and heavy cream in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Warm until steaming and just beginning to simmer around the edges, about 4–5 minutes. Do not boil.
Whisk the egg base. In a medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolks, sugar, cornstarch, and salt until the mixture is pale and smooth, about 2 minutes.
Temper the eggs. Slowly pour about 1/2 cup of the hot milk mixture into the egg mixture, whisking constantly. Pour the tempered egg mixture back into the saucepan with the remaining milk, whisking to combine.
Cook the custard. Return the saucepan to medium heat and cook, whisking constantly, until the custard thickens and begins to bubble, about 5–7 minutes. Once bubbling, cook for 1 additional minute, then remove from heat.
Add peanut butter and butter. Whisk in the peanut butter, butter pieces, and vanilla extract until fully incorporated and smooth.
Portion and chill. Pour custard evenly into 6 serving cups or ramekins. Press a piece of plastic wrap directly onto the surface of each custard to prevent a skin from forming. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours until fully set.
Serve. Top each custard with a dollop of whipped cream and a sprinkle of crushed honey-roasted peanuts. Serve cold.

Nutrition (per serving)

Peanut Butter Custard Blast — Zaria Had Opinions, and She Was Right