Mock Pumpkin Pie: or, Cornmeal for dessert

What do you do when carrots are too expensive?

Mock Pumpkin Pie 1 unbaked pie shell 1½ cups cornmeal mush* ½ cup brown sugar or molasses ½ tsp cinnamon ½ tsp nutmeg ½ tsp salt 1 tsp ginger 2 eggs, separated 2 cups scalded milk Whipped cream, sweetened to taste Heat oven to 350°. Mix the cornmeal, sugar (or molasses), spices, salt. Whisk in the milk. Beat the yolks in a small bowl til light and lemon-colored, then stir them in. Beat the egg whites until soft peaks form. Then fold them in. (They will probably float in a separate layer on top.) Pour into the pie pan and bake until firm. (Mine took about 40 minutes, but keep in mind I halved the recipe and made a small pie.) Serve with whipped cream on top. *If you don't know how to make cornmeal mush, here is a recipe. Cut the ingredient amounts in half. Source: Mrs. Mary Martensen's Century of Progress Cook Book (recipes from The Chicago American), 1933, via The Internet Archive

We're starting 2026 with severe economizing, but with also a bit of adventure. Can you really turn cornmeal into a pumpkin pie? I'm willing to believe Mrs. Mary Martensen after she showed us that you can make cherries out of cranberries and raisins. 

Mrs. Mary Martensen's Century of Progress Cook Book (recipes from The Chicago American), 1933

When read I the recipe title, I thought we would start by mashing carrots (as was a common pumpkin substitute at the time). But this pie is apparently meant for people who can't even afford a few carrots, because today we are using... this!

This is a pot of "cooked cornmeal," which presumably meant cornmeal mush. I'm pretty sure most people making mock pumpkin pie in 1933 would have known how to make cornmeal mush, but I had to look it up. (I didn't plan on learning bygone skills before we got past the ingredient list.) 

At first I thought that starting this pie by making porridge was a lot of effort (and another dirty pot in an era before dishwashers). Then I realized that someone at the time might have simply made enough cornmeal mush in the morning to save a little for a future pie.

At any point in the recipe, I could have just reheated the bowl contents for breakfast. (And if we were on a Depression-era budget, I could have also served it for lunch and dinner.) 

 Some of the cornmeal mush stayed in little hard yellow lumps that refused to break up. I had to get out a whisk and really flog it. I guess you should always expect to put in a lot of work when you're making ingredients act twice their cost.

 

I thought this was one of those "just stir it together" kind of recipes, but the directions tell to beat the egg yolks until light (well, the single egg yolk since I halved the recipe). This seemed more pointless than any other step. But just in case it mattered, I had at it with a whisk until it looked slightly aerated and then lost interest. Can you see the difference?

I gave this a taste after adding the milk. And... well, it was hot milk with sugar and spices in it. The cornmeal didn't change the flavor as much as I thought it would.

When we got around to working in the egg whites, they floated on top instead of mixing in. I had a hard time breaking them up. Maybe this is supposed to be like one of those sponge puddings that separate into a custard layer with a cake-ish layer on top?

You can really see the layering if we look at the bowl from the side.

While I was waiting on the oven, it occurred to me that if someone wanted to sell this recipe in this millennium, they could easily rename it "polenta pie."

I decided this pie would be easier to cut if I got it out of the pan first. I note this because my great-grandmother's pie clippings yielded a pie that I could flip out of the pan and then right-side-up again without any structural failures.

Before we hide this under cream, let's see what this recipe gave us. If you dimmed the lights and squinted, it was almost pumpkin-pie colored on top. We have a sort of extra-shiny surface layer like you get on brownies, which I think was nice. The egg white foam on top almost looked scrambled even though it wasn't. And the layer underneath looks like an unremarkable beige custard.

I only put whipped cream on top because the recipe told me to. And let's be realistic, this pie probably needed all the help it could get. Then I realized the cream might be the costliest part of this pie.

I didn't like this very much. But, I have a hard time getting too snipe-y about of a recipe that is clearly meant to make a dessert out of nothing. So let's try to have a nuanced opinion here.

First, does it taste like pumpkin pie?

It tasted like pumpkin-spice. Which is not the same. And there were still little granules of cornmeal suspended in it. They were cooked soft, so there wasn't any grit in the pie. But contrary to my expectations they didn't take on enough water to dissolve.

Is it any good?

Well, it's better than I expected. Honestly, with a better mix of spices it could be pretty decent. I don't think I'll make it again, but I didn't throw away my half-finished slice either.

Was it worth the dish pileup in the sink?

I guess if you're on a really stretched budget and no one wants another water pie (or its close relative vinegar pie) for dessert.

Final thought:

This recipe successfully turned some dry pantry staples into a pie. It's not the best pie I've ever had, but it is very good at what it's meant to be.