Sugar-Free Pineapple Pie

September in Louisiana is summer pretending to be fall — the light changes before the temperature does, slanting golden in the afternoons in a way that doesn't match the ninety degrees it still feels. I submitted LSU and Tulane this week. Seven applications in total now, all sent. There's a particular exhaustion in finishing a thing you've been preparing for — not the tiredness of overwork but the tiredness of held breath finally released.

AP Chemistry is the hardest class I've taken. Not because the concepts are inaccessible but because they require a precision of thinking that doesn't allow much of what I'm good at — narrative, context, connection. It's the subject that disciplines me most, and I've decided to be grateful for that rather than resentful. Mr. Arceneaux is methodical and exacting and he once handed back my lab report with the comment "your data is excellent but your conclusions are overclaiming." I thought about that for three days. Good teachers leave marks.

Tanya and I celebrated the end of application season on Saturday with a full day of nothing useful — we walked along the levee for two hours and then made snowballs and then watched two movies and then ate whatever was in my refrigerator assembled into a somewhat random dinner. Leftover rice, some black-eyed peas Mama had made, a fried egg on top of each bowl. It was the kind of meal that has no name and doesn't need one, assembled from what's available to feed people who are tired and glad to be done with something hard.

MawMaw came over Sunday and we made sweet potato pie together. Louisiana sweet potato, not the canned kind — MawMaw has feelings about the canned kind. The potatoes roasted first, then mashed, then seasoned with butter and brown sugar and cinnamon and a little bit of bourbon that she added without comment. "For depth," she said, as if that explained everything, and it did. The pie set up smooth and spiced perfectly. This is what October should taste like, even when it still feels like September.

MawMaw and I had sweet potato pie on the brain all week, and standing in that kitchen on Sunday — roasting, mashing, seasoning, learning — reminded me how much I’ve missed just cooking with someone I love without any deadline looming over it. If you want to carry that same slow-Sunday feeling into your own kitchen but keep things a little lighter, this Sugar-Free Pineapple Pie hits every note: bright, custardy, just sweet enough, and simple enough that you can make it while catching up on everything you’ve been meaning to say to someone.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 (20 oz) can crushed pineapple in juice, undrained
1/2 cup granulated sugar substitute (such as Splenda)
3 tablespoons cornstarch
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 unbaked 9-inch deep-dish pie shell

Instructions

Preheat oven. Heat oven to 375°F. Place the unbaked pie shell on a rimmed baking sheet and set aside.
Make the filling. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine the crushed pineapple (with its juice), sugar substitute, and cornstarch. Stir constantly until the mixture thickens slightly and begins to bubble, about 5–6 minutes. Remove from heat.
Temper the eggs. Slowly whisk about 1/4 cup of the hot pineapple mixture into the beaten eggs to temper them, then pour the egg mixture back into the saucepan, stirring to combine.
Finish the filling. Stir in the melted butter, vanilla extract, and salt. Mix until smooth and uniform.
Fill and bake. Pour the filling into the unbaked pie shell. Bake at 375°F for 40–45 minutes, until the filling is set in the center and the crust is golden brown. A knife inserted near the center should come out clean.
Cool completely. Transfer to a wire rack and let cool for at least 1 hour before slicing. The filling will firm up further as it cools. Serve at room temperature or refrigerate for a chilled slice.

Nutrition (per serving)

Sugar-Free Pineapple Pie — The Sweetness of a Sunday Done Right