Pineapple Coconut Potatoes

I made taco soup on Monday and froze five bags of it, because taco soup is the patron saint of Larson dinners and I will not apologize for the repetition. The week was a winter week, the kind where the light through the kitchen window arrives at a particular angle and the freezer hums in a different register depending on the temperature in the garage. I made notes in my prep notebook on Sunday afternoon, the way I always do: meal name, ingredient list, cost per serving, prep time, freezer instructions. Twenty-eight bags. Two hours and eleven minutes. A little slow this week, by my standards, but Brandon was helping and the conversation was good, and I have learned, slowly and against my own grain, that the conversation is sometimes the point and the time is sometimes a courtesy I extend to my husband for being willing to chop onions on a Sunday afternoon.

Brandon golfed Saturday morning, attended his executive secretary meeting Sunday morning, and did the dishes Wednesday night, which is the rhythm of our life now. We have been married a long time. The arithmetic of it is the arithmetic of my whole life. There were years we missed each other in the same room, and there are years we find each other in the silences, and this is one of the latter, and I am old enough now to know that the latter is the achievement and the former was the cost.

The recipe of the week was my mother's funeral potatoes recipe, which I have made some specific number of times in my life and have refined to a system that I now hand to other people in printed form. The version I made this week fed eight, cost under fifteen dollars, and required twenty-six minutes of active prep, which is within my requirements and not a coincidence. Sunday prep is twenty-eight bags. I time myself. The accountant never leaves. I have stopped explaining the freezer-meal philosophy to people who already follow my work, and I have stopped apologizing for it to people who do not. The philosophy is simple: tomorrow is coming whether you are ready or not. You can either be ready or not. I pick ready.

The children are doing what they do, which is the central report of every week of my adult life. Ethan is 21, in Manila on his mission, and his last email mentioned a chicken adobo so good he is going to make me make it when he comes home. Olivia is 19, at BYU studying elementary education — the path she chose at age seven and has not deviated from once. Mason, 17, is in Brazil on his mission. His weekly emails are short and full of jokes. He does not write much about the work. He writes about the food. Lily is 15, in high school, asking the kind of questions in Sunday School that make the teachers uncomfortable, which I find difficult and also, secretly, admirable. Noah is 12, the comedian, the performer — the kid who does an impression of my disappointed face in front of company, and gets away with it. That is the family report. I do not have a system for these reports. I just listen and remember and call back when I said I would call back, which is most of the time and not all of the time, and the difference between most and all is the territory of motherhood.

I will close the laptop in a moment. I will go to bed. I will get up tomorrow. The freezer will be there. The photograph will be there. The work will be there. So will I.

This is the recipe that started as my mother’s and is now mine, and the pineapple is the part that surprises people and the part I will not remove, because my mother put it there and she was right. I made it this week within my twenty-six-minute prep window, which I hit, and I fed eight people, which I also hit, and the cost came in under fifteen dollars, which is the point. The accountant never leaves. But the coconut on top browns in the oven while you do something else entirely, and that part — the part where something finishes itself — is the part I come back to.

Prep Time: 26 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 56 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

3 lbs sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes
1 can (20 oz) crushed pineapple, drained well
1 can (13.5 oz) full-fat coconut milk
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1/3 cup packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
3/4 cup sweetened shredded coconut, for topping

Instructions

Heat the oven. Preheat oven to 350°F. Lightly grease a 9x13-inch baking dish and set aside.
Cook the potatoes. Place sweet potato cubes in a large pot and cover with cold water by one inch. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to a steady simmer and cook 12–15 minutes, until completely tender when pierced with a fork. Drain thoroughly.
Mash and season. Return the drained potatoes to the pot. Add the coconut milk, butter, brown sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. Mash until smooth and well combined, working quickly so the residual heat melts the butter evenly throughout.
Fold in the pineapple. Gently stir the drained crushed pineapple into the mashed potato mixture. Do not overmix — you want the pineapple distributed but not completely broken down.
Fill the baking dish. Spread the mixture evenly into the prepared baking dish. Smooth the top with a spatula.
Add the coconut topping. Scatter the shredded coconut in an even layer across the top of the casserole.
Bake. Bake uncovered for 28–30 minutes, until the casserole is heated through and the coconut on top is golden and fragrant. If the coconut browns before the casserole is hot, tent loosely with foil for the remaining time.
Rest and serve. Let the casserole sit for 5 minutes before serving. It holds well covered in a warm oven for up to 45 minutes, and freezes beautifully before the baking step.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pineapple Coconut Potatoes — The Recipe I’ve Refined to a System