Blog 11

Just For Her (Mom's Pie)
 

My mother recalls the weekend I came home after making “the pie” (egg custard). She smiled as she spoke of my excitement. She said “You just wanted to cook. You used up all my flour and sugar and had no idea what you were doing but you were happy so I let you mess up my stuff.” I do not know what she was remembering but I knew I was a baker when I had come home that weekend from my aunt’s house. My first three attempts to recreate my masterpiece were not so fortunate as she adamantly laughed and remembered but I did finally figure it out. I thought to myself that maybe my motivation was not the same so I changed my focus. My mom loved coconut so I figured if I made a coconut custard pie she would like it more so than the other.

She recalled me coming home from school on afternoon begging to go to the store to get stuff for “her pie” which was supposed to compel her to give me money to buy the ingredients. I always thought I was slick. I tried to entice her by appealing to her appetite. She went along and allowed me to go to the store. Of course the corner store did not have any of the ingredients I needed so I needed to go to the big supermarket which I was accustomed to doing as the only man in the house. So off to the market I went.

She was upset when I returned from the supermarket as she said I went overboard. I bought the bare essentials: regular crust, deep dish crust, premade roll-out crust, sweetened coconut, coconut milk, eggs, sugar and both lemon and vanilla flavorings. I needed everything to make this pie a success, no matter how many times I needed to try. This time I secretly called my aunt to get her help.

My mom said that I kept insisting that she stay in her room because she made me nervous while I was trying to cook even though she never once came in the kitchen. She said she heard pots banging and water splashing. She yelled occasionally due to the noise I was making but I tuned her out. I began with a huge silver bowl that I believed belonged to my grandmother. The bowl was massive. It was one of those things when you move out on your own and you take everything from your parent’s house. I took out the wire whisk, the measuring cups, measuring spoons and ladle. For the pie, I took out the brown eggs that cost extra money (I just thought the brown eggs were fancy), Carnation Evaporated Milk, Domino Granulated Sugar, Spice Classics Lemon & Vanilla Flavoring and Cinnamon and Nutmeg. I pre-measured all of my ingredients and had them set aside waiting to be mixed. My mom remembers me fighting my two younger sisters because they kept coming in the kitchen and they were “disrupting me” and making me “lose my concentration”. I got in more trouble that afternoon trying to cook than I did on any other given day but I was focused.

I mixed everything just as I remembered my aunt doing the weekend before. I was so focused on me that I had almost forgotten the coconut. I did all the tasting before I added that. Everything was mixed and now ready to bake. I wanted to be sure that it was good so against my better judgment, I tasted the batter with the coconut in it and it actually wasn’t bad. It was then that I discovered I liked coconut flavor but not the coconut texture. Now it was time to bake. I placed the empty pie shells in the preheated oven at 325 degrees and began to slowly ladle the mixture into the crusts until they were filled to the brim. I closed the oven door and then the waiting game started.

My mom said after about three hours I called her to help me put the pie in the refrigerator so it could cool off quicker so she could eat it. She said after she did that, I immediately told her to “please get out my kitchen!” She had no idea why I still needed privacy and she told me I better leave her alone because I had my time in there but I kept on pushing until she finally gave up and retreated to her room.

She said after about an hour she got up to use the restroom when she began to smell something sweet. After leaving the restroom she remembers asking what were we doing and I said yelled out nothing. She said it was way too quiet so she came into the dining room and saw my sisters sitting on the floor, eating and watching television. When she came into the kitchen, her pie was cooled, sitting atop the countertop and I was eating pie. She asked where the other pie came from and I told her it was my egg custard pie (I secretly made my pie which I planned to do all along).

She asked how were we all eating pie and she had to wait for hers to cool off and I replied, “I knew my pie was gonna be good hot but that nasty coconut needs time.” She remembered slicing her pie, tasting it and saying “My baby did well!”  I did not even notice her eating her pie because I was too busy eating mine. She said the pie was good and suggested I take some to my grandmother who lived a block over from us.

My mom ate two slices and wrapped up three slices for me to take down the street to my grandmother. I was so happy and proud of my pies. As I prepared to leave the house she recalled saying within herself that her baby was going to cook because she had never seen my face light up so, inspired in such a way as never before.