Maple Bourbon Sweet Potato Pie

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

True to form, Thanksgiving was three days ago, and I have millions of other things I need to do, but I really need to tell you about this recipe. So that you can make it. Right now. Especially because it’s not pumpkin pie (apparently only permissible on Thanksgiving), is actually WAY better than pumpkin pie (sacrilege!), and sweet potatoes are in season (I bought 5 lbs for $2. That’s why I had to make two pies. Sort of.)

Before I start though, I want to share some thankfulness. In no particular order (other than what I’m pretty sure are random neuron firings):

I am thankful that:

• When my cat knocked a cup of tea on my computer and I was too stupid to deal with that properly, the amazing tech office at my school fixed my computer in one day (and I didn’t even lose my hard drive. . .)
• I still get carded occasionally, even if the person looking at my driver’s license sometimes bursts out laughing when he sees it.
• Turkey tetrazzini is not actually as gross as elementary school lunch made it seem. I’d be in an awkward position with some leftovers otherwise.

And I am thankful for bourbon, and the fine people of Maker’s Mark. Because without them, I wouldn’t have been able to make this amazing pie.

I had never had sweet potato pie until I moved to Philadelphia and one of my advisees asked for it for a birthday treat. That could have ended very badly. Here’s me, trying to make my student’s favorite dessert, without having any idea what it’s supposed to taste or look like. It turns out, I actually like regular sweet potato pie better than regular pumpkin pie. Same spices, just as much fatty nonsense, but such a more interesting flavor.

This is not regular. Just read the name. I “had” to buy a bottle of Maker’s Mark to make this recipe (and believe you me, I felt a little bit like a weirdo spending ten minutes in the whiskey aisle at the liquor store trying to decide which one to get. . . On the other hand, perhaps it could be viewed as a life victory that I’ve reached this point in my life without forming strong opinions about whiskey or viewing quality time in the whiskey aisle as a suitable past-time).

(For those of you thinking of visiting, I can now offer a mostly-full bottle of Maker’s Mark as an incentive. . . if you don’t consider that to be an incentive, we may need to reconsider our friendship. How else are we going to make this pie together?)

Let’s get serious.

General rules apply about pie crust (if you know what those are). Cold butter, ice water, fast work, and gentle rolling. If you really want to know all about it, I strongly encourage you to read what this amazing cookhas to say about it. She’s an amazing baker and cook in general, and has delightful instructions. I didn’t actually use this pie crust for the recipe, but I made it three times the next day and it was amazing, so I advocate you using it for this. Or, half of the recipe she includes.

Now, for the interesting part. When I made it, I did a double recipe, which worked out perfectly. I was a little lazy about mashing the sweet potatoes, and overfilled the pre-baked crusts, but everyone survived.

Maple Bourbon Sweet Potato Pie (brought to you by the New York Times Dessert Cookbook, contributed by Karen Bonner of Magnolia Grill)

Ingredients:

2 medium or 3 small sweet potatoes (1.5 pounds)

¾ cup heavy cream

6 tablespoons maple syrup

5 tablespoons dark brown sugar (or light brown, if you forget to read the recipe for specifics ahead of time)

¼ cup bourbon

3 large eggs

1 large egg yolk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

¼ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon “freshly” grated nutmeg (mine was not so freshly)

¼ teaspoon cinnamon

1/8 teaspoon ground cloves (honestly, who is measuring at this point?)

A few grinds black pepper

 

Things you need to do early:

•    Roast the sweet potatoes for one hour in a 425 degree oven. Before putting them in, skewer them a couple times with a  fork (this is a little challenging). You know they are done when you can skewer them easily (hopefully before burning them). I would strongly urge you to do this on foil so you don’t put yourself in a very awkward pan-cleaning situation.
•    Make a single pie crust and pre-bake it. Pre-baking involves pre-heating the over to 400 degrees, covering the pie shell in foil, and putting a weight in it (either one of those fancy pie weights, a bunch of beans, or, as a last resort, a hefty metal one-cup measure). After ten minutes, take out the weight and foil, and let it cook until golden brown. Don’t overdo it or you will have a very burned pie later on. Notice the fork holes poked in the bottom of the crust, and the really mediocre job of pinching the top edge of the crust. Whoops.

Things to do later:

•  Pre-heat oven to 350.
• Once the sweet potatoes have cooled, de-skin them and mash them to pieces. If you have a potato masher or some other fancy tool, use it. Mashing them with a fork is lame, tedious, and not terribly effective. Unless your standards for mashedness are as low as mine.
• Here’s my favorite part: combine everything. Make sure the sweet potatoes are legitimately not HOT or you will end up with omelette in your pie. That’s gross. I even like omelettes now and I still think that is gross.
• Pour batter into pre-baked shell. Put it on a cookie sheet (or if your oven is small and you are making two, don’t do this, cross your fingers, and it’s your fault if you totally destroy your oven. I went with the second option).
• Bake until filling is just set. (If you jiggle, there are no waves; if you put a knife in near the edge, it comes out clean). I personally feel like there is a pretty broad window for when you can take it out and it will still taste good, so don’t obsess. Says the expert at not-obsessing.
• Feed it to your co-workers, your significant other, or anyone else you are thankful for. If you lived at my house, I would feed it to you! (Sorry Lionel, cats are not included in that offer). 

On a more serious note, I am thankful for some things:

I am thankful that:

• I have two brothers who understand why I turned out the way I did, and support and love me in spite of it, and manage to communicate that they care about me from 2,000 or 10,000 miles away. Roughly once every three months.
• My mom thinks I’m great. And worries about me. Even though she has no idea what I’m doing at this exact moment, I can promise she’s still worrying. How cute!
• My dad thinks I’m great. And that I can do anything. But never lets me settle for what I have done.
• My high school friends (I know some of your are reading this) put up with my asinine decision to live in Philadelphia (temporarily) and neglect them (regularly) and let me “make up for it” by sending them chocolate from Switzerland. And they still include me in plans when I am “home”, and are both subtle (ha!) and persistent about encouraging me to move to the correct side of the country.
•  My college and post-college friends tolerate my spastic communication style and irregular visits and seem plenty happy to see me every time. And do not make fun of me for the fact that their lives have moved beyond college and sometimes I think mine has not.
• Caitlin and Stephanie make me exercise. And put up with me when I cry. WAYYYYY too much. And put up with me being a dictator in the kitchen and absolutely crazy when driving.
• Tim and Tanya invite me to dinner, and Thanksgiving, and are wonderful neighbors and friends. And are always supportive, even if my issues are really trivial at times.
• I am one of the lucky teachers who has autonomy in the classroom, and an entire network of amazing educators who think ambitiously and never let me think that last years ideas were good enough.
• I have a cat who likes to cuddle, purr, chew on my feet, and knock glasses of tea on my laptop. Oh, wait. Maybe just the first two. But dang is he cute when he does it.
• Hannah who has a matching tattoo. Which means a lot. How many people do you know who would permanently scar their body with you? On purpose and while completely sober? 
• If I forgot you, I am also thankful for you. And the fact that you are not going to yell at me for forgetting.

And, honestly, I’m ridiculously thankful that I have lived almost 29 happy, healthy years with amazing people around me who like me just the way I am. (Right?)