Custard's Last Yam

When we were living in our apartment on Crab Apple Court in Naperville, and our boys were young and getting into trouble, our neighbor across the hall was a young, attractive, black woman with a boy about the same age as ours. Like all the kids on the block, her son was constantly in and out of our home. One day he walked into our apartment, plopped himself down on the loveseat, picked up the remote and started watching TV.

I looked at him and said, "Hey Jace, what's going on?"

He said, "Oh man, I broke my mom's lamp that used to be my grammie's, and she's gonna kill me, so I gotta hide out here. You ain't gonna narc on me, are you?"

What could I say? I listened for Camille to get home, slipped out the back door, and softly tapped on her door. When she answered, I said, "Hi Camille, I've got Jace over here. I think he broke something and he's afraid he's going to get it. You know, we have a lot of holiday breakables, and it goes with the territory. What do you want me to do?"

She said, "I'll go around and knock on your front door and say I'm looking for Jace."

I went back in and busied myself in the kitchen. A moment later there was a knock on my front door. Jace lowered himself down as I opened it. Camille said, "I'm looking for Jace, has he been here? I saw an old lamp was broken in our apartment and I want to make sure he's alright. He's not in any trouble, but it's dinner time and I'm worried about him."

Jace sprang up and said, "I'm here ma."

"Hi honey," said Camille. "Thank Mr. Dunn."

"Thanks Mr. D," said Jace.

"See ya buddy," I said.

A few weeks later, early on Thanksgiving morning, we were surprised by a knock on the door. We had the parade on and were drinking coffee, but we were still in our sleepwear. I looked out the fish hole and saw Camille standing there. I opened the door. Jace stood beside his mother.

"We brought you something for dessert," said Camille. "It's a sweet potato pie. We have it every Thanksgiving. The recipe's been handed down in my family for many generations."

I will not even attempt to describe how good it was. I subsequently asked for the recipe. Camille gladly gave it to me and I've tried to recreate the experience of that first bite. I've come close, but there's some subtle nuance that I've never been able to capture. Be that as it may, this is one helluva pie.

Steve's Southern Yankee Sweet Potato Pie

3 cups (4-5 large) sweet potatoes, roasted, peeled, and mashed

1/2 stick butter, melted

1/2 cup white sugar

1/4 cup light brown sugar, packed

1/2 cup cream

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

1/4 teaspoon ground allspice

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 Tablespoon bourbon

Homemade or refrigerated pie dough (bottom crust for 9" pie plate)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Place sweet potatoes in large mixing bowl. With electric hand-mixer on lowest setting, beat in melted butter. Mix in sugars. Add lightly beaten eggs, one at a time. Add cream. Add vanilla. Mix in spices and seasonings. Add whiskey. Mix. Pour into unbaked pie dough. Bake for fifty-five minutes, or until butterknife inserted in center comes out clean. Cool on wire rack. Serve at room temperature with whipped cream.