Steamed Cranberry-Molasses Pudding

Christmas. The first without Marc. Mama's duplex, Christmas Eve. The ham, the sides, the tree. The mug collection on Dad's shelf has a gap — the mugs from Marc, the annual joke, the running comedy special. "World's Okayest Father." "World's Greatest Grandpa." "Retired. Under New Management." Three mugs that will never get a sequel. Mama put them in a row on the mantle, above the tree, where they will stay. Marc's legacy in ceramic: three mugs, each one a love letter disguised as a joke. Nobody brought a mug this year. Nobody could. I brought the food: baked chicken, my cornbread, and banana pudding. Mama made the ham. Between us, the table was covered. The family ate. Dad ate a full plate. Keisha drank wine and told a story about Marc as a child — five years old, hiding in the kitchen cabinet because he thought if he was invisible, he would not have to eat his vegetables. The story made everyone laugh. The laughter was medicine. The laughter had Marc in it, the way the food has Marc in it, the way everything we do from now on has Marc in it. The kids opened presents on Christmas morning. Aiden: a basketball training set (cones, a dribbling aid, a workout guide). Zaria: her own cast-iron skillet, mini-sized, a real one, because she announced in November that she was "too old for the toy kitchen" and needed "real equipment." She is five. She has real equipment. The Carter kitchen has a new station. I spent Christmas afternoon alone. The kids went to Brianna's. The apartment was quiet. I stood in the kitchen and made Marc's plate: smothered pork chops, mac and cheese, greens. I set it on the table. I did not eat with it this time. I just let it sit. I let the food cool and I let the kitchen hold the silence and I let the year end the way it began — with food, with grief, with the stubborn refusal to stop cooking because cooking is how I live and living is what Marc cannot do and I owe him the living. I owe him every meal.

After I made Marc’s plate that afternoon and let the kitchen go quiet, I kept thinking about what else I could put on the table — not for anyone in particular, just to keep the stove going a little longer. Mama’s ham and my baked chicken had carried Christmas Eve, but Christmas Day needed something slow, something that would steam and fill the apartment with that dark-sugar smell while the silence did its work. This cranberry-molasses pudding is that kind of recipe: old-fashioned, unhurried, the kind of thing you make when you need the cooking to last as long as the feeling.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour 30 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 50 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1-1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 cup molasses
1/3 cup hot water
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1 large egg, beaten
1 cup fresh or frozen cranberries, roughly chopped
Butter and flour for greasing the mold

Sauce

1/2 cup unsalted butter
1 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Instructions

Prepare the mold. Generously grease a 6-cup pudding mold or heatproof bowl with butter and dust with flour, tapping out the excess.
Mix the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg.
Combine the wet ingredients. In a separate bowl, stir together the molasses, hot water, melted butter, and beaten egg until smooth.
Make the batter. Pour the wet mixture into the dry ingredients and stir until just combined. Fold in the chopped cranberries.
Fill the mold. Pour the batter into the prepared mold, filling it no more than two-thirds full. Cover tightly with a lid or a double layer of aluminum foil secured with kitchen twine.
Steam the pudding. Place the mold on a rack or trivet inside a large pot. Add enough boiling water to come halfway up the sides of the mold. Cover the pot and steam over medium-low heat for 1 hour and 30 minutes, checking the water level occasionally and adding more boiling water as needed.
Make the sauce. About 15 minutes before the pudding is done, melt 1/2 cup butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Add the sugar and cream, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook for 5 minutes, stirring frequently. Remove from heat and stir in the vanilla.
Unmold and serve. Remove the mold from the pot and let it rest for 5 minutes. Remove the cover and invert the pudding onto a serving plate. Slice and serve warm with the butter sauce spooned over each portion.

Nutrition (per serving)

Steamed Cranberry-Molasses Pudding — A Dessert for the Plates We Set and the Ones We Leave