Great Grandma’s Perfect Pumpkin Pie

I think all cooks have “labor of love” recipes. These are the recipes that could include “a little bit of love” in the ingredient list, the recipes that take hours (or even days) preparing, the recipes that take so much effort “take a nap” is listed as the last step. The chef shows up at a party carrying the tasty creation, antsy with the anticipation of hearing everyone gush over how much they appreciate the hard work and dedication that was put into this tasty tidbit, only to be completely crushed by the one clueless person who asks; “what brand of box mix did you use for this?”.

My “labor of love” recipe is pumpkin pie. At first a pumpkin pie seems to be the most basic of pies to make. Take a Pillsbury pie crust, lay it out all pretty in a nice pie pan, mix up some pumpkin and stuff, pour and bake. Voila – Thanksgiving in a pan! And don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with this pie – it is still one of my all time favorites (especially with a layer of apple pie filling between the pumpkin and the crust). But it just isn’t Great Grandma Penn’s pie.

My Great Grandmother was an interesting woman, she didn’t fit into the traditional grandmotherly stereotype and baking was not the first thing that came to mind when anyone thought about her. She was loud, demanding, and had a tendency to bark orders at everyone from the comfort of her lounge chair. The one exception to this rule was pumpkin pie; pie was something she got out of her chair for. Every fall my brother, sister and I would go to the pumpkin patch with Grandma and my mother to get our Halloween pumpkins and to grab milk pumpkins for the pies. Grandma would point her cane to a particular pumpkin, and one of us kids would rush to bring it to her to see if it was up to her standards. I often wondered if she pointed to bad pumpkins just to watch us run. As frustrating as this process got to be, we all loved the challenge of trying to find Grandma’s perfect pumpkin.

Grandma and I didn’t have much in common, but we did share the ability to find the hardest way possible to get something done. When she died I choose to find her most mysterious and difficult traditions to continue, I was going to recreate her pumpkin pie. I didn’t know how to bake, and wasn’t particularly fond of pumpkin. I can honestly say I don’t remember actually tasting one of Grandma’s pies, I don’t even remember her baking one. For all I know, her pie came from the local bakery. I do remember the field trips to the pumpkin patch, and I do remember her bragging about how hard she worked to bake her perfect pie. This is the spirit I wanted to honor. So I bake pies from real pumpkins, and I brag about how hard I work to do it.

Grandma was very secretive about her recipe, and since I don’t remember the taste of the pie, I had to start with what I did know and rely on my aunts to give me feedback and fill in the blanks. I would bake a pie, and watch the aunts eat it. They are too nice to say anything bad about anything I do so I need to ask careful questions and read between the lines to get the constructive criticism I needed to perfect my recipe.

After so many years of finding the perfect pumpkin, I knew exactly what to look for. I bring my daughters to the farm where they help me find medium sized milk pumpkins (I leave out the cane shaking ritual). I have to use a milk pumpkin because Grandma said they taste more like…well….pumpkin. I roast the pumpkin once we get home, and make my puree.

I follow a traditional pumpkin pie recipe (the one on the back of the Libby’s canned pumpkin) with a few special touches – I use egg nog instead of evaporated milk and I add my own blend of cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg. These substitution gives the pie a little more flavor and richness (it’s a holiday pie – we won’t worry about the added calories). I decided to bring in a little bit of my husband’s family’s tradition into my pie by using his Nana’s short bread recipe to make a crust. The shortbread is rich and buttery, a perfect balance to the fresh taste of pumpkin.

It has taken me 16 years, but I believe I have finally come up with a pie my family claims reminds them of Grandma’s. Every year I have to make sure there are two pies to serve on Thanksgiving and extras for my aunts to steal for later. I would like to think they are so anxious to fight over the pie because it is so good; in reality I know it is because they appreciate how much effort I put into trying to keep one of Grandma’s traditions alive. For years my mother-in-law would tell me I could save myself a lot of time and aggravation because no one would know the difference between fresh and canned pumpkin. I have to admit I agree; no one would taste the difference. But this pie is about more than taste, it’s about tradition. And bragging rights.