I’ll get back to new recipes next week. Promise. Today is about honoring love, kindness and being thankful—thankful I got to spend 16 years of my life with Mikey. I get a little worried when I think about the years to come. In five more years, he’ll be gone as long as I knew him, and after that, the balance will shift to imbalance, time accruing in a way that makes my life without him longer.
I never know how I’ll feel leading up to his birthday. This past weekend was especially trying having gone 50 hours without heat or running water in the dead of winter. We got hit with an ice storm that crippled a wide swath of where I live, and it exhausted every last emotional and mental reserve I had leading up to today, what should be Mikey’s 62nd birthday.
When I woke this morning, warm thanks to power restored, and slightly better rested than the previous two nights, I felt a stillness within, a kind of calm and numb at the same time. It’s the first birthday that Isabella is away at college, and it really hit home how our children will have to figure out how to navigate these kinds of days alone. I know what that’s like, and the confusion, sadness and happiness that comes bundled together. But I suppose for them the happiness may be non-existent because they were so little when he died. Their memories are far fewer, and in many ways stand no chance to the number of years he’s been gone.
A few hours after our power was restored, I headed into the kitchen to make him a peanut butter pie for his birthday. 51 may have been the last birthday we celebrated together but I shall forever celebrate the day he was born.
The recipe below is a refresh on the original recipe I posted almost 11 years ago. I wanted to include the post which explains why I changed up the recipe a bit. The words are a time capsule of my life five years ago, and a reminder for me that sometimes the further you travel emotionally and mentally, you realize the ground covered is not a straight line—it’s a labyrinth. I don’t know that we ever really find the center but maybe that’s not the purpose. Perhaps life is meant to be a never ending exploration of ourselves. Maybe we’re supposed to get lost in some of those corridors to find clarity for the paths that follow.
—xo, jennie
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Originally posted May 18, 2017
This pie has become a symbol of love for so many, and I tend to only make it twice a year—the day he was born, and the day he passed away. Why can't I still say the word "died"? Does it speak to a bigger discussion on how we handle death in our culture? Is it something to be talked about in hushed tones? Should we be looking for the magic cure all with costly therapy bills and self-help books to muzzle the ache of our grief? Or just maybe we should give it the proverbial time, live with it, feel it, let it run its natural course until it plants roots deep inside?
I realize the latter might seem to hard to understand. Surely, I wouldn't have agreed with this theory in the days, months, and weeks after Michael's death (and yes, there was a lot of therapy, too). This summer will be six years since it happened, and it's taken almost as long to realize running from it is the wrong answer, for me at least. Grief isn't one size fits all, regardless of what anyone will have you think. There are no strategies to employ. You can write all the books you want about the experience, but the process of putting one foot in front of the other when your world seemingly falls apart is different for everyone.
There was a thick layer of tension in the house yesterday. I’m tempted to say it was a necessary cleansing, as we near the end of our first year of homeschool. These last nine months went by faster than I could’ve ever imagined, and have been mostly amazing.
I think there was more at work, though, in our home yesterday. The subject of living with grief is ever present on my mind, but even more so heightened since Sheryl Sandberg’s recent book came out. I've so many feelings about it, her book that is, but I'm hesitant to call her on any of them. She's too early in her own process to realize that it's a book she had no business writing less than a year after her own world fell apart. It's important to understand that's how soon she likely wrote that book, taking into consideration the production schedule of publishing.
Yesterday I happened upon some posts I wrote five years ago, just ten months after Michael’s passing. Some days I feel like we’ve all come so far, and others are like we've been pulled right back into the moment, that moment. I know enough now to realize we bounce back, and usually stronger than before, but that time stuck in the murky in-between is almost harder than riding the constant waves of grief back in the early days. Just when you think you’re in the clear, you’re reminded you have to carry that weight a long time, a very long time indeed.
Virginia collapsed into a pile of tears at dinner. I can’t ever say I understand what she feels. Her daddy, her super hero, her funny man, and favorite dance partner died when she was only three years old. I do know something similar, the hole she feels, and the emptiness you can’t fill, just surround with so much love that there’s something to soothe the ache it leaves within. It's days like yesterday that make parenting alone all the more challenging. I am everything rolled into one, with no one to act as a safety net at the end of the day.
By time dinner was done, we'd managed to smooth things out. I glanced at the dishes piled in the sink, then at the swing bench in the backyard. The dishes could wait, for a bit, at least. Virginia and I curled up in the swing, watching the sky transform as the last lights of day melted into the darkness of night. I looked up at the tree in our yard, and noticed for the hundredth time, perhaps thousandth, the roots jutting out of the ground. What bursts above the surface is but a glimpse of the deep roots that lie beneath, as the tree stands tall, accepting whatever fate the weather bestows upon it.
We are all trees in a way, or at least we should be—our roots firmly planted, securing us to our past, regardless of what the elements of life challenge us with daily.
The heart and soul of Mikey's peanut butter pie is the same, though I do wish he could taste this new incarnation I began making. I can't really say it's a healthier version—it still has cream cheese and whipped cream, but it is nonetheless lighter, and I think surpasses the pie I created for him back in the spring of 2008. I've done away with the refined sugars completely, and used maple syrup as a sweetener. Genius move, seriously. I'll never go back to the old recipe—the thought of that pains me a little, but the ability to move forward, to keep moving forward, is one I welcome. I know it won't always be easy, and that's okay.
Creamy Peanut Butter Pie
Serves 8
14 chocolate sandwich cookies pulses into fine crumbs
4 tablespoons butter melted
1/2 cup 79 grams bittersweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup heavy cream
8 ounces cream cheese softened
6 tablespoons 96 grams creamy peanut butter
4 to 6 tablespoons pure maple syrup
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/2 cup 70 grams dark chocolate covered peanuts, chopped
Make the cookie crust: add the cookies to the bowl of a food processor and pulse into fine crumbs. Add the crumbs to a small bowl, along with the melted butter. Stir with a fork to mix well. Press the mixture into the bottom and up the sides of an 8-inch pie pan (or 10-inch tart pan).
Set up a double boiler to melt the chocolate: fill a medium pot one-third of the way up with water. Set it over high heat, cover with a metal or glass bowl that fits securely on top of the pot. Bring the water to a boil. Once the water comes to a boil, add the chocolate, and reduce the heat to a simmer. Give the chocolate a stir with a spatula once it begins to melt. Continue until the chocolate is completely melted. Pour over the bottom of cookie crust, and spread to the edges using an off-set spatula. Place pie pan in the refrigerator while you prepare the filling to allow the crust to set.
Whip the cream: pour the heavy cream into a bowl, and beat using a hand mixer or whisk until stiff peaks form. Transfer to a small bowl, and store in refrigerator until ready to use.
Make the filling: place the cream cheese and peanut butter in a deep bowl. Beat on medium speed until light and fluffy. Add the syrup, vanilla extract, and lemon juice. Increase speed to medium and beat until all the ingredients are combined and filling is smooth.
Add ⅓ of the whipped cream to the bowl with the peanut butter mixture. Gently stir to combine. Fold in the remaining whipped cream.
Spread the filling into the prepared pie crust. Sprinkle the chopped peanuts over the top. Chill in the fridge until set, at least 4 hours, or overnight.
Notes:
I’m a firm believer in Philadelphia brand cream cheese. I’ve no affiliation or sponsorship with them, just think when it comes to this pie that’s the best cream cheese in terms of flavor. Whenever I veer from them and use a different brand, I can taste the difference. Perhaps it’s more a sentimental thing on my part—I don’t know but that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. You do you if you have a favorite brand of cream cheese!
Let’s talk about the cookie crust. My recipe calls for chocolate sandwich cookies, although you can clearly see in the photo above, I’ve used other types of cookies, or even graham cracker crumbs in the past. I am generally more partial to the chocolate cookie crust but if you don’t have them on hand but do have another cookies that doesn’t require a special trip to the grocery store, then go for it.
Whipped cream—this should go without saying, but the stuff in the can won’t work here. Fresh whipped, as done in the steps is the way to go. Someone may as if you can use Cool Whip or another topping of that sorts—maybe is all I can say. I’ve never used it, but if you want to give it a try, let me know in the comments.
Maple syrup—the kind you use matters. It used to be all maple syrup tasted the same based on the grade you bought, ranging from light to dark, dark usually being preferred for baking. Nowadays there’s a lot of artisanal syrups available, some even aged in bourbon barrels. You don’t want one of those fancy, smoky syrups for this pie. Go with a clean maple flavor, and lighter is better, in my opinion.
Peanut topping. In previous years, I had a chocolate covered, toffee-coated peanut I’d chop to sprinkle over the top. Oh my gosh, how I miss those peanuts, and cannot remember where I bought them. When I can’t find those highly addictive peanuts, I just opt for candied peanuts. David Lebovitz has a very easy recipe for making them on his site—you can find it by clicking here.