Frank's Birthday Pumpkin Pie

Yesterday was Frank's 72nd birthday. I asked him if he wanted a cake or pumpkin pie to celebrate. He chose his favorite, pumpkin pie, and he loves my recipe for it. I use Libby's canned pumpkin but alter the recipe on the back by tripling the cinnamon, doubling the ginger, and substituting 2 tsp of nutmeg for ½ tsp of cloves. I have made it so many times I can almost make it in my sleep.

 

In this time of pandemic, my grocery shopping has gone exclusively online with curbside pickup. That method is pretty good. I'd probably rate it about an A- or B+. But occasionally I do not get exactly what I requested. The grocery bag contained two cans of pumpkin pie mix instead of the 100% pumpkin only. I could not make this pie on auto pilot. I would have to think... bummer!

 

At first, I considered trying to adapt the recipe to my spice combination. I assumed that the mix already contained the spices that the recipe on the 100% pumpkin label specified to add. I reasoned that to make my recipe, I just need to reduce the spices I normally put in by that amount. Except, I could not take out the cloves. And maybe, just maybe, my assumption about those spice ratios in the mix was incorrect. Discretion being the better part of valor, I decided to give the can for the mix a try unadulterated, and follow the label directions. Then, when it called for 2 eggs instead of my customary 4 eggs, I was alerted to the fact that even though the can was the same size, the mix only made one pie while the 100% pumpkin made two pies. Hmmm. Also, as well as adding no spices, the recipe did not call for any sugar, either. Strange, but I plunged ahead, beat only two eggs, and added my usual two cans of evaporated milk. I preheated the oven to 425°F and  meanwhile  prepared my pie shell. I noticed that when I fluted the crust, the edge had not come up as high above the rim of the pie plate as I was used to. Hmmm. Maybe Pillsbury had made the crust smaller. After all, those cans of evaporated milk that used to be 13 oz. were now 12 oz. I made a mental note to stretch the crust thinner on the next pie so the fluted edge would be taller. 

After mixing up the batter, I began to pour it into the prepared crust. The level kept rising higher and higher, awfully close to the tippy-top of the crust edge. I realized transferring it into the oven would be nigh impossible without sloshing it over and making a mess. I got out a custard cup and decide to move some batter into the cup to lower the level in the pie With a big diameter pie and small diameter cup I realized I would not lower the level by much but I dutifully used several scoops of a ¼ cup to ladle out some of the volume. Then I carefully transferred the pie plate and the custard cup into the oven and set the timer for 15 minutes. After 15 minutes I lowered the heat to 350°F and set the timer for an additional 50 minutes. When the timer went off again, I opened the oven door and checked. The pie jiggled and undulated – a lot – so much so that the pie surface reminded me of the motion of a jelly fish's fragile membrane. No need to poke a knife in there to check if it would come out clean. Clearly this pie needed more time.

Then, as I was closing the oven door, I noticed that there was bubbling a bit in from the perimeter, and periodically little squirts of liquid shot up. When you walk along the wet sand of a beach, where there are clams, you can detect their location by the tiny stream of liquid spouting into the air. That is how this pie was behaving. It was alive like there were little creatures lurking beneath the surface.

I set the timer for an additional 10 minutes; after checking again, I set it for another 10 minutes. After those cumulative 20 minutes, I realized that if I cooked it any longer, the crust would be charcoal. When I inserted a knife in the custard cup contents and it came out clean, I removed the pie and custard cup. I figured if we had to eat it with a spoon, so be it. Frank and I taste-tested the contents of the custard cup and it was perfectly acceptable, smooth, definitely pumpkin flavored. It had the consistency of crème brûlée but it was deep orange color. Granted, it was so hot we had to blow on it, but it tasted good enough we devoured it all. The pie would wait until after dinner. It was not "a thing of beauty" nor "a joy forever" (from Endymion by John Keats), but it would suffice to stick a candle in – unless the candle toppled over.

I wondered what had gone wrong. Then it hit me. I had used two cans of evaporated milk instead of one. (I said I could almost make this pie in my sleep. Almost is the operative word. I must have been asleep.) It gets worse. I dug the can out of the trash to reread the label. It was supposed to be one 5 oz can. This pie could not hold a candle to my other pumpkin pies. But could it hold a candle at all? We used a broad based train candle and it did stay upright. When I served the pie, I set out both forks and spoons, not sure which utensils we would need. Frank scratched his head, trying to decide.

It took several matches to light the candle, but only one breath to blow it out. Happy Birthday, Frank!

The trend today is to take selfies of yourself at a restaurant or a photo of the gourmet-looking dish you are about to eat. I do not think this pie would make the Instagram cut for visual appeal. But it tasted fine and we did eat it with a fork after all. I have one more can of the pumpkin mix. This time I am going to make it with the 5 oz of evaporated milk it calls for instead of the 24 oz I used.

I have blogged about a previous pumpkin pie episode from a few months ago, April 2020, shortly after our pandemic lock down in March. You can laugh at that one too, in my post for 4/4/20. The fallout from this pandemic keeps on comin', eroding my cooking skills. In the mood for some alliteration? How about... Ponder: A Piece of Pandemic Pumpkin Pie? Let's hope I improve before Thanksgiving.