Pineapple Fluff Pie

Father's Day. Reynaldo Father's Day. I made salmon sinigang — the recipe he invented. The ritual since 2009 — the first one after his death — when I was twenty and could barely cook and made the soup wrong and ate it anyway. I made it correctly this year. The extra squeeze of tamarind. I called Mark and Joseph. The Reynaldo was in the conversation without being named. The naming would have been too much.

Lourdes is 75. She is slower. She still cooks. She still tells me to find a husband even though I have one.

I grilled fish Saturday. Salmon, marinated in calamansi and soy. The light at nine PM was still strong.

I wrote the blog post Friday night at the kitchen table while Reyna napped on the couch. The post was short. The post was honest.

I sat at the kitchen table Sunday night with the bowl in front of me. The bowl was warm. The bowl was the prayer.

I taught a Saturday morning Kain Na class on basic adobo proportions for new cooks. Eleven people in the kitchen. Half of them had never cooked Filipino food before. By eleven AM the kitchen smelled the way it should smell. By noon they were all eating. The eating was the lesson landing.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

I had a long phone call with Dr. Reeves on Wednesday. We talked about pacing and rest and the way the body keeps a log of what it has carried. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The body remembers. The mind forgets. The cooking is the bridge." I wrote the line down. The line is now on a sticky note above the kitchen sink.

A reader from New Jersey wrote in about her grandmother's adobo, which used pineapple. I had never heard of pineapple in adobo. I tried it. It was strange. It was also good. The strange and the good are not opposites.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

I drove home Tuesday evening and the sun set at three forty-five and the highway was already iced at the bridges and the radio was on a station I did not recognize and I did not change it.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

The salmon in the freezer is from August. Joseph's catch. The bag is labeled in his handwriting — "for Grace." I will use it next week.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. I wiped the stove. I scrubbed the sink. I reorganized the spice cabinet. The cleaning was the small reset. The reset was the marker. The marker said: the week is over, the next week begins, the kitchen is ready.

It was the reader from New Jersey who started it — her grandmother’s adobo with pineapple, which I had never heard of and then tried and could not stop thinking about. The strange and the good are not opposites. So when I was wiping down the stove Sunday and the week was finally closing behind me — the sinigang, the grilled salmon, the lumpia, the caribou stew, the eleven people learning adobo in my kitchen — I wanted something I hadn’t made before, something light and a little surprising, something that didn’t carry any ritual weight. This Pineapple Fluff Pie was exactly that: no fire required, no history attached, just cold and sweet and a little strange in the best way.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes + 2 hours chilling | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 pre-made graham cracker crust (9-inch)
1 can (20 oz) crushed pineapple, undrained
1 package (3.4 oz) instant vanilla pudding mix
1 container (8 oz) frozen whipped topping, thawed
1/2 cup sour cream
1/4 cup powdered sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
Toasted coconut flakes, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Combine base. In a large mixing bowl, stir together the crushed pineapple (with its juice) and the instant vanilla pudding mix until fully combined. Let it sit for 2—3 minutes to begin to thicken.
Add creaminess. Fold in the sour cream, powdered sugar, and vanilla extract until smooth and evenly mixed.
Fold in whipped topping. Gently fold in the thawed whipped topping using a rubber spatula, being careful not to deflate it. The mixture should be light and fluffy.
Fill the crust. Spoon the filling into the graham cracker crust and spread it evenly to the edges.
Chill. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or until the filling is set and cold throughout.
Garnish and serve. Before serving, sprinkle toasted coconut flakes over the top if desired. Slice into 8 pieces and serve cold.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pineapple Fluff Pie — Strange and Good, Like the Week Itself