How to Make a Peanut Butter Pie
By Jessica Andrew
Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Coat 9-inch pie plate with no-stick cooking spray.
While waiting for the oven to preheat, go find your mom. She’s in the bathroom, doing her hair. Watch her as she places her hair in the curling iron. Feel the warmth of the iron on your face. You’re studying her, trying to figure out how she does it.
The oven beeps. She leaves, but you stay. You reach for the curling iron and try to copy her technique. Ignore the way you’re curling your hair in the wrong direction. Don’t mind the clamp marks all over your hair. She does it effortlessly, so you will too someday.
Combine muffin mix, butter and peanuts in large bowl. Blend with fork just until crumbly. Press evenly into bottom and up sides of prepared pie plate.
Hair still hot from the iron, you follow her into the kitchen. She’s measuring out the butter and peanuts, humming along to the Mamma Mia soundtrack she’d put on. It is her favorite, so now it’s yours too. It’s the one you always reach for. Something about it makes the kitchen feel warmer. Maybe it’s the way “Super Trouper” turns the kitchen into a stage, or how “Does Your Mother Know” always inspires your mom to give you “the look,” but you’re both grinning too much to take her seriously. You watch as each ingredient falls into the bowl, separate at first but coming together as she mixes them. She lets you dump the muffin mix in, your hands move with careful concentration. You stir with the same slow, practiced rhythm she showed you. The mix doesn’t look as smooth when you do it, but she smiles while Meryl Streep sings ‘Take a Chance on Me”. Her words swell in the kitchen, a reminder of how much she believes in you.
Bake for 12 to 15 minutes or until light golden brown. If crust is slightly puffy, press down gently with back of a wooden spoon. Cool.
You watch from the kitchen table as she moves through the house. Your legs swinging, twirling your hair around your finger, wearing your favorite worn-in sweatshirt that’s way too big for you. She folds laundry, does the dishes, and picks up toys while the crust cools. Like the crust in the oven, she is steady. You are still forming, still rising, hoping you’ll turn out just like her.
Beat peanut butter, cream cheese and sugar in large bowl with electric mixer at medium-high speed until smooth. Beat in milk.
She always lets you do this part, but you don’t have an electric mixer. We have to do it with a big wooden spoon and our arms, one holding tightly to the bowl, and the other stirring. She always says mixing this way will make you strong. You trust her, she is the strongest woman you know. There’s something about stirring by hand, the way the ingredients come together slowly right in front of your eyes. It feels more real, like you’re a part of it all. You might not be strong yet, but if you keep baking with her, you soon will be.
Her strength goes far beyond how much weight she can lift or how many things she can do at once. Her strength is how she stays calm when things get tough, and how she's always there when you need her. It’s the way she always keeps going even though she's exhausted, and does it all without complaining. She shows how strength isn’t just in what you do, but in how you keep showing up.
Fold in whipped topping. Spoon into cooled crust.
You sit beside her at the kitchen table. You watch as she spreads the topping onto the crust. She makes everything look so easy. No hesitation, just smooth movements that you try to memorize. She sees you watching and hands you the spoon. Your arms are a little sore from all the stirring and they shake as you try to spread the topping yourself. It comes out uneven and lumpy, but we brush it off. Now, Meryl Streep is singing “I’m glad whenever I can share her laughter. That funny little girl”, and you can’t help but smile, knowing she's the one who taught you how to make this mess in the first place. She lets you lick the spoon, the best reward for trying.
Drizzle warm fudge topping over pie. Chill 3 to 4 hours or until serving.
You trace her steps, trying to fit your feet into the places she’s already walked. The way she moves, the way she carries herself. It all comes together like the final touch of fudge over something already complete. She knows you are watching, and knows you are following. One day you will do everything effortlessly like her, leaving behind a path for someone else to follow. Just like she did for you.
Guest essay written by Jessica Andrew. Jessica is a pre-law college student from Brighton, Michigan. She stumbled into a love for writing during a personal essay class and never looked back. She plays college basketball, loves running and hiking, and spends more money on iced lattes than she probably should. When she’s not busy with practice or homework, she’s hanging out with her cat Henry—who she’ll argue is objectively the cutest cat on earth.
Photo by Jennifer Floyd.