Thursday, October 25, 2012

Pumeggnogging Pie

It's a rare, rare day that I bake. A couple weeks ago, wanting to free up space in my freezer, I decided to use the pumpkin puree that Mom had so kindly made from scratch a few years back.
We'd been home all day, I didn't want to go out in the rain and decided to experiment. I totally feel comfortable doing this in cooking, but baking is so foreign to me. Using two lifelines, and calls to Mom, my pumpkin eggnog pudding concoction turned out pretty darned good.

The next time I make this, I'll cut the recipe in half and use a shorter pan. This one is about 3" deep and the very middle didn't set as well as I'd envisioned.

Divide as needed for smaller portions
This is what I used for my experiment.

8 cups pumpkin puree
4 eggs
½ cup flour
1 ½ cup sugar
1 tsp salt
4 cups egg nog
2 ½ tsp pumpkin pie spice
2 tsp baking powder

Oil and flour pan with coconut oil for added flavor.

Mix all ingredients cold, whipping eggs first before adding to mixture. Heat on stove for 10 minutes or so. Pour mixture into pan, cover with foil and bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes. (Watch the time, using a shorter pan it will take less time I think.)

3 cups Bisquick
1 cup eggnog

In a separate bowl, mix Bisquick and eggnog.

Remove pan from oven, drop biscuits throughout the pan. Return to oven and bake another 10 minutes or until biscuits are done.

Serve with whip cream if you like.

Monday, October 15, 2012

"Din Din"

It's not like he was a bad father. But there was a disconnect that Amy and I could never mend. Had little to do with us, and more to do with his parents.

But we could always count on a meal bridging the gap. Dad loved to eat. Food delivered pure enjoyment to his being. Mealtimes brought us together, and sharing a favorite food connected us to him.

At the height of my troubled teenage years, when Amy was out every weekend with friends, or her boyfriend, or both, Dad knew I was upset and sad wondering why I didn't have friends and a boyfriend like her. I look back now and realize that he couldn't talk about my feelings or help me with feelings because of his upbringing. But what he could try to do was bring happiness to me by saying, "Let's go get some din din."

Because food brought joy to him, and therefore, food could make his youngest happy. It would fill the pit left by teenage self doubt.

Funny how grief hits. Been almost three years since Dad passed. For the last few months, as we sit down to eat, I hear my Dad say, "It's din din time." Or when we go out for dinner, I recall how he'd walk through the kitchen door, calling up to Amy and I, "Let's go get some din din!"

All his gruffness, and grumpiness, and lecturing, and hard to talk to on the phone, and crankiness are memories pushed back as I remember the things that brought Dad happiness. A respite for a brief moment, but peace nonetheless.

Dad, I've been missing you a lot lately. I know you're having some din din. Have some for me too.