With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I am, characteristically, looking ahead to Christmas Eve. In our family, Christmas Eve means an elaborate feast that takes all day to prepare, Spotify Christmas-music channels, jammy red wine, laughter, the occasional blowup (we are Italian, after all), and: Santa Claus.

I live for the magic that palpably crackles in the air on the night when Santa makes his yearly voyage. Alas, much as I have tried to wait up for him, I have yet to catch a legitimate glimpse of Old Santa. Like many mystical figures, he seems to have a knack for coming when one is drifting between the borders of consciousness, neither awake nor fully asleep. I remember one Christmas Eve when I was three years old and we were living, briefly, in Texas; I awoke with a start sometime before midnight, ran downstairs, and exclaimed, half-tearful, half-triumphant, "I heard the "ho ho ho!" (Well, no. In fact, I heard the "oh, (expletive) no!" of my father and grandfather nearly setting fire to our lawn, having lined it with candles in white bags during high wind--a holiday tradition that was promptly discontinued.) Another year, when we were living in Pennsylvania, I swore I had spotted Santa's boot disappearing around the corner as he walked down the hall outside my bedroom--surely a dream, as no part of the Santa legend has him trolling the second floor of your house in the middle of the night.

Look, I love that Santa is mysterious and elusive--two traits we all crave in a man--and I respect his ability to evade capture, but that will never stop me from trying. Which is why I've devised the perfect way to stay up late enough to achieve that long-coveted face-to-face with good Saint Nick: this Midnight Miami Mud Pie with Peppermint Crust. It has everything you need for your Kris Kringle encounter: three kinds of caffeine (espresso, brewed coffee, and rich, dark chocolate); whipped cream with peaks to rival the snowy North Pole; and Santa's favorite repast, cookies, crushed and molded into a simple, delicious crust infused with just a droll little hint of that age-old holiday flavor, peppermint.

I call it "midnight" mud pie for a few reasons. First, should you decide to make it on the same day you plan to enjoy it (folly!), you aren't likely to have the first bite in your mouth until midnight at the earliest. There are just too many steps, and, as Joe Pesci points out in My Cousin Vinny (in the context of grits), you cannot rush the laws of physics when it comes to things like boiling water (or chilling "for three hours", or whipping egg whites). Second, there is something late-night, clandestine, even sensual about the way the flavors and textures come together in this pie. Espresso-infused flourless chocolate cake topped with dark chocolate pudding, all over a crust that puts thin mints to shame? Surely this is something that should only be enjoyed at night.

Finally, here is my real fantasy for this pie: that you and your special someone(s) will share a slice in the wee small hours, when all the carols have been sung and the presents wrapped; when, even in a condo unit on a middle floor in a city like Miami, you might just hear, in a twinkling, up on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

Midnight Miami Mud Pie with Peppermint Crust (adapted from Baked Brooklyn's Mississippi Mud Pie)

Ingredient Glamour Shot. Note: there is neither flour, baking powder, nor brown sugar in this pie. I got a little excited and took out a few too many ingredients. What can I say? I'm not perfect. Learn that now.

Cookie Crust
1 lb (approx. 40) Oreos, or other chocolate sandwich cookies
6 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
1/4 tsp peppermint extract

Flourless Chocolate Cake Batter
4 tbsp unsalted butter
6 oz dark chocolate, chopped (or baking discs, but preferably not chocolate chips, as they have a higher wax content, and you want this cake to be as chocolatey as possible)
2 tbsp plus 1 tsp instant espresso powder
1/4 c strong brewed holiday blend coffee, at room temperature
1/4 tsp kosher salt
1 tbsp Madagascar bourbon vanilla extract
1 tsp (or one capful) Tahitian vanilla extract (optional)
6 large eggs, separated, at room temperature (separate when cold, then allow to come to room temperature)
1 c sugar

Pudding
3/4 c sugar
1/2 c dutch process cocoa powder
1/4 c cornstarch
1/4 tsp kosher salt
4 large egg yolks (temperature is irrelevant, but make sure to separate when cold)
2 1/2 c whole milk
3 tbsp unsalted butter
2 tsp madagascar bourbon vanilla extract
3 oz dark chocolate, chopped (or use baking discs--but again, not chocolate chips, if possible)

Topping
1 1/4 c heavy cream
2 tbsp sugar
chocolate shavings

Now take a deep breath, clear your schedule, and remember: this is going to be one of the most revelatory desserts of your life. Are you ready? Santa awaits!

Before You Do Anything Else
Brew a strong cup of holiday-blend coffee. This needs time to come to room temperature, and you don't want to wait until you get to the coffee-using stage to find out you needed to have this ready.

I chose Peets, because it reminds me of my California roots.

To Make the Crust
Preheat the oven to 300. Lightly spray the bottom and sides of a 9-inch springform cake pan with nonstick cooking spray. Line the bottom of the pan with parchment paper (yes, cut it into a circular shape to make it fit), and lightly spray the parchment. This will be important later when you're actually trying to cut a slice of this thing.

Put the Oreos in the food processor and grind to very fine crumbs. Place crumbs in a bowl, add the melted butter, and stir until combined.

Add your secret holiday ingredient, peppermint extract, and stir in with a spoon. Notwithstanding the photo below, make sure you measure this ingredient with precision; the crust will thus have the amount of mint that makes you think of chestnuts roasting on an open fire, not the kind that makes you think of oral hygiene.

It's almost time for your first spoon-licking opportunity--but not yet.

Using a measuring cup or your fingers, press the crumbs evenly into the base and up the sides of the springform pan. Chill in the freezer for 10 minutes, then bake until the crust is dry to the touch, for about 8 minutes. Cool on a wire rack.

Raise the oven temperature to 350 degrees, and turn your attention to the cake batter.

The Cake Batter
Combine the butter and chocolate in a double boiler (i.e., a heatproof bowl set over--but not touching--simmering water in a saucepan). Remove from heat and whisk until smooth. Let cool.

I decided to use baking discs after all.

In a small bowl, combine the coffee, espresso powder, salt, and vanillas, whisking together. (Aren't you glad you have that brewed coffee all cooled and ready?) A note on the Tahitian vanilla: this is an expensive ingredient, and with Congress tinkering with our taxes, times are tight. I only include the Tahitian for its "nose-feel", as it is otherwise less flavor-forward than its Madagascar and Mexican brethren. Do not feel compelled to include it, particularly if you have a deviated septum, compromised sense of smell, or soon-to-be taxable student loan debt. If, however, you have more than a million dollars in the bank, you have no excuse and should be buying Tahitian vanilla for all your friends and family.

With or without this Tahitian vanilla, you are well on your way to a masterpiece in your mouth.

Now, in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat the egg yolks with 1/2 cup of the sugar on medium-high speed until the mixture is light and almost double the volume, approximately seven minutes. (Note: everything with eggs takes longer in Miami because of the humidity, so look for the light color and doubled volume as opposed to a rigid time frame. Your beating time will vary based on whether you are in an arid climate, or are cooking this in summer, or if you are one of those earthy people who doesn't like air conditioning.)

You'll know it's ready when it looks something like this.

Add the chocolate mixture and beat until just combined. Reduce the speed to low, add the coffee mixture, and, again, beat until just combined.

Here comes the caffeine! Santa doesn't stand a chance.

Now transfer this whole delightful mess into a clean bowl, clean the bowl and whisk attachment of your stand mixer, and remember: you're going to have a delicious dessert, holiday magic, and, hopefully, a photo op with the man in red at the end of this recipe. So it's all worth it. (Although cursing is, at this point, understandable.)

In the cleaned mixer, beat the egg whites on medium-high speed until foamy. Raise the speed to high, add the remaining 1/2 cup sugar, and beat until soft peaks form. Again, this will take much longer in a place like Miami. If you are in Arizona or California, you can whip up those peaks in no time. You will also have a challenge on your hands if you allowed any egg yolk to get into your egg white, which is why it's especially important to separate the eggs when they are cold. They really don't want to separate when they're warm, which probably has some evolutionary chicken-procreating purpose but can really thwart your baking efforts.

Scoop approximately one cup of the egg-white mixture into the coffee-chocolate-yolk mixture and gently fold in with a rubber spatula.

Folding gently and praying this all turns out to be worth it--which is something we can never know in life, so what's the point of even wondering. Just move forward in strength!

After about 30 seconds of folding, add the rest of the egg white mixture and fold until almost completely combined. You do not want to over-mix, because the whole point of all these whipped-up peaks is to achieve a light texture for your chocolate cake, and overzealous stirring will destroy all your methodical aeration.

Ebony and ivory, McCartney and Wonder, batter and crust--the point is, it's gonna be great.

Pour the cake batter--for congratulations, that is what you have just prepared--into the partially baked crust and bake until the cake is set but still jiggles slightly, approximately 38-40 minutes.

"I'm ready to go right now"--said John Legend and this cake batter.

Transfer to a wire rack and let cool completely, or at least 30 minutes to prevent condensation. As it cools, the cake will deflate and look a little sunken. This is perfect! Bravo.

Like the topography of a chocolate moon, the cake as it cools.

Tightly wrap the cake in several layers of plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 3 hours or up to overnight. And now, on to...

The Pudding
In a saucepan, whisk together the sugar, cocoa, cornstarch, and salt.

The dry pudding ingredients, waiting for that delicious milk.

Add the egg yolks and half the milk, and whisk until combined. Whisking constantly, slowly add the rest of the milk. Bring the mixture to a boil and never stop whisking, or your pudding will burn--and you can't handle that, at least not right now when you're probably at your wits' end. Once you see those big boiling bubbles, cook for another 30 seconds--again, whisking all the while.

I couldn't even stop whisking to take this photo--that's how committed you need to be to the whisk. My one-handed photography is really improving, don't you think?

Strain into a heatproof bowl. Add the butter, chocolate, and vanilla, and whisk until combined.

Talk about functional training! This is some serious arm work.

Continue whisking for another few minutes to cool the mixture slightly, then let it stand for 15 minutes. You can now put down your whisk...I think.

Put the pudding next to the cake and dream of what's to come.

Take a sheet of plastic wrap and press it directly to the surface of the pudding to prevent a skin from forming, then refrigerate 2-3 hours. At this point, you have now done all the heavy lifting for this gastronomical behemoth. If you've been holding off, this is a fine time to start drinking.

Putting It All Together
Remove the pudding and cake from the refrigerator. Stir (not whisk, thank God) to loosen the pudding, then pour on top of the cake, trying your best to stay inside the crust. Spread the pudding in an even layer.

Now, I hate to be a killjoy, but--you're not done. Oh no, child, take a knee. Put the whole pudding-filled cake back in the refrigerator, not bothering with any wrap unless you have some really pungent Christmas leftovers--in which case, do your best to tent some foil around the top without disturbing your pudding.

While it's chilling, whip the cream and 2 tablespoons sugar to medium peaks. There are no egg whites involved, so this should go nice and quickly, whether you're in Miami, or not.

Whipping cream in the mixer takes 2-3 minutes, tops, and makes you feel like a real culinary maven. Add 20 minutes and 2 Advil if you need to do it by hand.

Now--NOW--remove the chilled pie from the refrigerator and spread the top with whipped cream. Shave some chocolate on top and remove the sides of the pan. That's right, my friends: you have done it. Midnight Miami Mud Pie is finally yours.

Slice the pie into wedges, light some candles or the fireplace (or both), and add this to your arsenal of Christmas memories: the night you waited up for Santa, and found that he was right there with you all along.

And after all that, my first slice came out in two pieces. But it's ok. Santa won't mind.