The Strange Fig Pudding Recipe That Made Me Cry

A brief note: This week’s post includes reflections on grief and loss.

I’ll be honest: I had no clue what fig pudding was supposed to be like, but I assumed, at the very least, it would include heavy cream and eggs. After all, those are basically the main ingredients in pudding.

It seemed, however, that in 1915 people were still worried about the safety of eggs, because this Fig “Pudding” had none. Just finely grated Graham bread crumbs, sweet cream, sugar, and fresh figs.

I wasn’t sure what Graham Bread was, so I used graham cracker crumbs instead. The recipe seemed straightforward enough—no questionable ingredients, no strange substitutions—but, true to form, the cooking method had me scratching my head. I was supposed to steam this pudding for two and a half hours.

Two and a half hours for cream, graham cracker crumbs, sugar, and figs.

So I pulled out my steamer, mixed everything together, set the covered pan inside, and waited.

As I waited for the pudding to finish, I found myself thinking about last weekend. My parents and my sister Amanda’s kids came up from Florida to spend the holiday weekend with us. There was tubing on the River and all the touristy things around Chattanooga.

It was good to see my dad and Amanda’s kids. It was also the first time I had seen them since her funeral, and I’ll be honest: I didn’t know what to expect. I was apprehensive. But as soon as they walked through the door, everything seemed… fine. I asked everyone how they were, and they told me they were good. Of course, grief is weird, and I had to take them at their word.

As we approach the one-year anniversary, I know it may bring every emotion back to the surface. The truth is, not a day goes by that I don’t think about my sister. I think of her especially on Mondays, because I know she would have loved this whole An Apple a Day cookbook project. She would have been very happy that I abandoned the original cookbook full of Jell-O molds. I was glad some of last week’s Brown Betty was still in the refrigerator when the kids arrived, because they got to try it. For the record, they loved it. In a small way, it felt as though Amanda got to be part of the project too.

Over the weekend, a friend’s son passed away unexpectedly. I immediately thought of all the people I know who have lost children, and I still cannot wrap my head around that kind of loss. Losing someone—young or old—is hard. But losing someone you brought into this world? I can only imagine that it is excruciating.

Death leaves so many unanswered questions, at least for me. I don’t believe we simply sit in the ground and wait for the resurrection, the way I was taught when I was younger. I find that thought too cruel when I think about the people we love most.

Instead, I like to believe they are around us: guiding us, keeping us safe, and occasionally visiting.

Amanda and I used to talk about the wild foxes in my yard. She loved hearing about them and watching the little videos I sent. Then, suddenly, they were gone. I hadn’t seen them for months and months. Amanda and I worried they had been hit by a car or caught by a coyote—because yes, I have those too. Whatever happened to them, we were both sad they had disappeared.

The week after my sister died, I couldn’t sleep. One night, I sat in a chair by my bedroom window and looked out into the backyard. And there, on the back wall of the yard, was a fox.

It was sitting perfectly still, looking up at my window.

Looking right at me.

I started laughing and crying at the same time. I knew, somehow, it was Amanda telling me she was okay.

It gave me such comfort.

And while I stood in my kitchen steaming this pudding, I started to cry again. I miss Amanda every day. It was so good to squeeze my niece, who looks exactly like her mother.

Once the two and a half hours were finally up, I pulled the pudding from the steamer. The instructions said to eat it immediately, so I spooned some into a bowl, poured sweet cream over it, and took a bite.

It smelled delicious.

It did not taste delicious.

The best way I can describe it is gummy.

Much like my heart was at that moment.