Top-secret pie

Every family has their secret, and this is ours.

Fudge-bottom pie is my family’s signature dessert. The recipe is not casually shared. Within the family, that is. It is not shared at all with others. You learn it through an in-person, hands-on tutorial first; only then can you have your own hard copy of the recipe. I recall being told at one point that my grandmother had coaxed the recipe out of a diner owner in Madison, Wisconsin. So even if my ancestors didn’t create the recipe from scratch, at least we were part of a very small, very exclusive group of people who had access to it (nothing a child who moves a lot likes more than being in with the cool crowd).

Fudge-bottom pie makes its annual appearances at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and you better savor it then because the next time you’ll see it is the following November. Heresy of heresies, I think it would make an excellent summer dessert, since it’s served chilled. My dad once made my mom a miniature one for her birthday, which I believe was allowed to pass because my mom’s birthday falls between Thanksgiving and Christmas.There are Rules in our family, supported by Strong Opinions about how Things Should Be. This is one of many things I love about my family (nothing a child who moves a lot likes more than certainty). Breaking the pie rule to give my mom a dessert she adores but wouldn’t usually make for herself – time-consuming, also see above re: Rules – strikes me as a delicious example of true love.

To my great disappointment I discovered recently that the recipe, or a version of it, is available to any casual Googler. Generations of University of Wisconsin students have evidently enjoyed fudge-bottom pie, which originated in either the UW student union or the dining hall.

Since the secret is already out I figured there was no betrayal in sharing it further. But alas, as with many treasured family recipes, it’s a bit vague. The original copy is on an index card in my grandmother’s elegant spider-crawl handwriting, with no quantities given for the ingredients and only the gentlest suggestions as to how they might be combined. In the 90s a more precise version was typed up for those pie-makers requiring more instruction, with an addendum in my uncle’s neat block capitals: “Consume one or three Manhattans before beginning.”

That solid advice in hand, I asked my mom to send me the recipe, with plans to tweak and test the crust, fudge, and custard layers to make it easier to turn out the best version every time, since one of the pie’s charms is that it is never the same. Even two baked on the same day by the same person will differ.

The potential pitfalls are many: the fudge layer, poured hot onto a chilled graham cracker crust, can seep into the crust and work its way into the nooks and crannies between the cracker crumbs and undermine the pie’s structural integrity. Alternatively, the fudge can set up like concrete and become impervious to your attempts to serve and eat it, unless you are willing to use a hacksaw at the table, which I believe is also against the Rules. Custard is notoriously fickle, demanding a sure hand and a watchful eye. Get lazy with the whisking and it will break or curdle. Pour it on too soon and it will melt the fudge layer, creating an unappetizing oozing mess. Pour it on too late and it won’t spread properly. I presume the preparatory Manhattans are for girding yourself to do battle with custard. Whipping cream, fortunately, is easy. Just don’t overdo it and make butter.

A fudge-bottom pie that retains its shape when sliced, with the requisite layers, none of them curdled or concrete-like, is thus an achievement.

“Sure, play around with the recipe,” my mom said, “just don’t put it online.” “But it’s already out there!” “If it’s online it’s online, but you can’t put it online,” Mom clarified. “It would upset your grandmother,” she added, and that settled it.

And so I will say only that a graham cracker crust, chocolate fudge, and vanilla custard are a very good combination. The secret lives on. Unless, of course, you care to Google.