Pecan Pie Without Corn Syrup

This is my four hundredth week of writing. I noticed it sitting down tonight and I want to say something about it before the Thanksgiving details take over, because four hundred weeks is eight years almost — eight years of Mondays that became writing, eight years of trying to find language for the life that the kitchen holds.

Caleb's first Thanksgiving. Fourteen people. James and Dorothy arrived Thursday morning — Dorothy is thinner than I remembered and also brighter, if that makes sense, with an alertness that illness strips from a person and recovery restores. She walked through my door and we held each other for a moment in the front hall and I felt how glad I was to see her standing. We did not say much. We did not need to.

The table was long enough for fourteen. The turkey was right. The dressing had the right amount of sage and I have stopped apologizing for this. Shanice's oxtails were there again. Carolyn's sweet potato casserole. Dorothy's sweet potato pound cake at the dessert end of the table, which I told her was the headliner and which she pretended to protest. Caleb was in the carrier on CJ's chest for the grace and then was passed from person to person around the table during the meal, held by each one in turn, received by each set of hands. By the time he got to Dorothy she had not held a baby in twenty years and she held him the way you hold something you have been given that you did not expect.

I said grace. I said all fourteen names. I said Caleb Marcus Simms last, and when I said his name I felt the room hold its breath for a moment and then release, the way rooms do when something has been recognized that was always true but has just been named. Four hundred weeks. Eight years. Caleb at the table. The pork chops on the stove. The table long enough for all of us. This is the whole thing. This is what all of it was for.

Dorothy’s sweet potato pound cake was the headliner, and I meant every word of that — but a table with fourteen people and one long Thanksgiving deserves a full dessert end, and this pecan pie has earned its place there year after year. I started making it without corn syrup a few seasons ago and I have never gone back; the filling is cleaner, deeper somehow, and it holds together the way things do when you strip out what was never necessary in the first place. It felt right this year, of all years, to put something at that table that was made simply and with intention.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 55 min | Total Time: 1 hr 15 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 unbaked 9-inch pie crust (homemade or store-bought)
3 large eggs
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
1/2 cup pure maple syrup
1/4 cup unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 3/4 cups pecan halves

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set your oven to 350°F. Place the unbaked pie crust into a 9-inch pie dish, crimp the edges, and refrigerate while you prepare the filling.
Mix the filling. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, dark brown sugar, maple syrup, melted butter, flour, vanilla extract, and salt until smooth and well combined.
Add the pecans. Stir in 1 1/4 cups of the pecan halves, reserving the remaining 1/2 cup for topping.
Fill the crust. Remove the chilled pie crust from the refrigerator and pour the filling evenly into the shell. Arrange the reserved pecan halves decoratively over the top.
Bake. Place the pie on the center rack and bake for 50 to 55 minutes, until the edges are set and the center has just a slight jiggle. If the crust edges begin to over-brown, tent them with strips of aluminum foil after 30 minutes.
Cool completely. Transfer the pie to a wire rack and allow it to cool for at least 2 hours before slicing. The filling will firm up as it cools.
Serve. Slice and serve at room temperature or with a small scoop of vanilla ice cream or a dollop of whipped cream alongside.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pecan Pie Without Corn Syrup — The Dessert End of the Table