Untitled Document
“Can we have pumpkin for dinner?” This
has been a frequent request by my younger daughter, Ashley, since her return to Springfield after
four years spent studying viticulture and oenology (grape-growing and
winemaking) at Lincoln University in Christchurch, New Zealand. It was
oddly comforting to think of Ashley going half-a-world away to a university
called “Lincoln,” even though I knew it had been named after
the city of Lincoln in the United Kingdom. British place names are
everywhere in New Zealand, a British Commonwealth country. Still, the
university makes a connection with Springfield’s most famous citizen:
A large plaque featuring a portrait of Abraham Lincoln and detailed
biography, including his Springfield years, hangs in a central hallway of
the student union. It really is a small world.
The pumpkin to which Ashley refers isn’t what’s commonly thought of as pumpkin in the United States, the rounded orange squash we carve into jack-o’-lanterns for Halloween and bake into pies, breads, and other desserts at Thanksgiving and Christmas. What’s thought of as pumpkin varies from country to country and region to region but can be any of the large hard-skinned squashes with yellow-to-orange flesh and exteriors in shades of green, yellow, and orange. There is, according to Elizabeth Schneider, author of Vegetables from Amaranth to Zucchini (a wonderful reference/cookbook, one of the most frequently used in my kitchen), “no botanical (or other) distinction” in the group, which includes butternut, acorn, blue and golden Hubbards, Turk’s turban, rouge vif d’etampes (Cinderella pumpkin), blue and pink bananas, and so on. The pumpkin Ashley ate in New Zealand, Jarrahdale, is an old variety, also known as a crown or Australian pumpkin, that’s being grown more frequently in the U.S. “There it is — that’s what we ate!” she exclaimed recently as we strolled through the downtown Springfield farmers’ market. Pumpkin in New Zealand is generally served as a savory vegetable and only rarely as a dessert. Ashley’s friends thought that the pumpkin pie she once made was good but weird; they’d never had anything like it. Pumpkin is one of the most frequently served vegetable side dishes, as common as corn, peas, or carrots here, and it was a constant offering in the student cafeteria. Ashley cooked a lot during her time in New Zealand: in a French restaurant in downtown Christchurch, at a campus cafО, and even as a personal chef. Probably the most cooking she did, though, was in the house she shared with several fellow students. They were guys with big meat-and-potatoes appetites who refused to even consider eating most vegetables. She and I spent many long phone calls figuring out ways to sneak nutritious vegetables into their diets. Ashley, who now says, “I’ll never date anybody who doesn’t eat vegetables,” found that the boys would eat pumpkin, however, either in traditional New Zealand recipes or as an ingredient in stews and other dishes she’d concoct. Ashley and I brought home a Jarrahdale, then proceeded to have a difference of opinion about what to do with it. I won, but only because Ashley’s vegetarian older sister was coming home for the weekend and I wanted to make pumpkin ravioli, an ideal main course for a non-meat-eater. Jarrahdales are beautiful pumpkins, small to medium-size and deeply lobed, with cloudy green-gray skin that resembles celadon porcelain. The taste is light, pure pumpkin. It’s the texture of the Jarrahdale’s flesh, however, that’s extra-special: velvety smooth and creamy without any stringy fibers, it’s perfect for mashing, purОeing, or use in soups, custards, and desserts That velvety texture made for the best pumpkin ravioli I’d ever tasted. I’ve made them for years but never had an exact recipe for the filling: roasted cubes of pumpkin or butternut squash (roasting concentrates the flavor and sweetness), mashed and then combined with sautОed onion or shallot, grated cheese, and salt, pepper, and nutmeg to taste.
The pumpkin filling made with the Jarrahdale was impossibly rich, especially considering that it was made with the barest minimum of olive oil to roast the cubes and butter to sautО the shallots. Ashley’s New Zealand pumpkin experience ran the gamut: soups and stews; mashed or steamed with butter; sliced and browned alongside a pork, lamb, or beef roast; and — one of her favorites at the university cafeteria — cold leftover chunks made into a salad with feta cheese and slivers of peppers and onions, tossed in a vinaigrette. I used less than half of the Jarrahdale to make the ravioli, and she’ll surely have no problem deciding what to do with the rest. I developed this recipe using butternut squash. As I write, the thermometer is still stuck in the nineties, but as soon as it cools down — by the time you’re reading this, I hope — I’ll be making it with a Jarrahdale. Whether you use that or butternut or another hard-skinned squash, it’s an excellent soup, perfect for autumn.
Send questions and comments to Julianne Glatz at realcuisine@insightbb.com.
WINTER SQUASH AND APPLE BISQUE
6 heaping cups of 1-inch cubes of seeded and peeled winter squash, such as butternut or pumpkin Three or four tart apples, such as Jonathan or Granny Smith 6 cups chicken or vegetable stock, plus more if needed 1 1/2 cups thinly sliced leeks (white part only) or onions 1 tablespoon butter 1 cup heavy cream, not ultrapasteurized Kosher or sea salt and freshly ground white pepper and nutmeg to taste Optional garnishes: toasted pepitas (squash seeds), thinly sliced scallions, croutons, minced fresh herbs (e.g., rosemary, thyme, marjoram), crisply fried crumbled bacon, crumbled blue cheese, diced fresh apple
Peel and core the apples and cut them into chunks. In a large pot, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the leeks or onions, stir to coat, and cover the pan. Sweat them until softened, about five minutes. Add the squash and apples and pour in the stock. Bring the mixture to a boil, reduce the heat to a simmer, cover the pan, and cook for 20 to 30 minutes or until the squash and apples are softened and completely cooked. PurОe the mixture with a handheld blender, food processor, blender, or food mill. (Cool the mixture before using the blender or food processor — hot ingredients will explode in them.) Return the mixture to the stove, whisk in the cream, and season to taste with the salt and freshly ground pepper. Serve the soup with or without garnishes, as desired. This recipe, which freezes well, lends itself well to several variations: (1) Add a tablespoon of minced fresh ginger or ginger juice, a tablespoon of curry powder, or both. (2) Substitute yogurt for the cream (just make sure to not boil the soup after adding it.) (3) SautО 2 tablespoons of minced sage, rosemary, thyme, marjoram, or savory with the leeks. Serves six to eight people.
The pumpkin to which Ashley refers isn’t what’s commonly thought of as pumpkin in the United States, the rounded orange squash we carve into jack-o’-lanterns for Halloween and bake into pies, breads, and other desserts at Thanksgiving and Christmas. What’s thought of as pumpkin varies from country to country and region to region but can be any of the large hard-skinned squashes with yellow-to-orange flesh and exteriors in shades of green, yellow, and orange. There is, according to Elizabeth Schneider, author of Vegetables from Amaranth to Zucchini (a wonderful reference/cookbook, one of the most frequently used in my kitchen), “no botanical (or other) distinction” in the group, which includes butternut, acorn, blue and golden Hubbards, Turk’s turban, rouge vif d’etampes (Cinderella pumpkin), blue and pink bananas, and so on. The pumpkin Ashley ate in New Zealand, Jarrahdale, is an old variety, also known as a crown or Australian pumpkin, that’s being grown more frequently in the U.S. “There it is — that’s what we ate!” she exclaimed recently as we strolled through the downtown Springfield farmers’ market. Pumpkin in New Zealand is generally served as a savory vegetable and only rarely as a dessert. Ashley’s friends thought that the pumpkin pie she once made was good but weird; they’d never had anything like it. Pumpkin is one of the most frequently served vegetable side dishes, as common as corn, peas, or carrots here, and it was a constant offering in the student cafeteria. Ashley cooked a lot during her time in New Zealand: in a French restaurant in downtown Christchurch, at a campus cafО, and even as a personal chef. Probably the most cooking she did, though, was in the house she shared with several fellow students. They were guys with big meat-and-potatoes appetites who refused to even consider eating most vegetables. She and I spent many long phone calls figuring out ways to sneak nutritious vegetables into their diets. Ashley, who now says, “I’ll never date anybody who doesn’t eat vegetables,” found that the boys would eat pumpkin, however, either in traditional New Zealand recipes or as an ingredient in stews and other dishes she’d concoct. Ashley and I brought home a Jarrahdale, then proceeded to have a difference of opinion about what to do with it. I won, but only because Ashley’s vegetarian older sister was coming home for the weekend and I wanted to make pumpkin ravioli, an ideal main course for a non-meat-eater. Jarrahdales are beautiful pumpkins, small to medium-size and deeply lobed, with cloudy green-gray skin that resembles celadon porcelain. The taste is light, pure pumpkin. It’s the texture of the Jarrahdale’s flesh, however, that’s extra-special: velvety smooth and creamy without any stringy fibers, it’s perfect for mashing, purОeing, or use in soups, custards, and desserts That velvety texture made for the best pumpkin ravioli I’d ever tasted. I’ve made them for years but never had an exact recipe for the filling: roasted cubes of pumpkin or butternut squash (roasting concentrates the flavor and sweetness), mashed and then combined with sautОed onion or shallot, grated cheese, and salt, pepper, and nutmeg to taste.
The pumpkin filling made with the Jarrahdale was impossibly rich, especially considering that it was made with the barest minimum of olive oil to roast the cubes and butter to sautО the shallots. Ashley’s New Zealand pumpkin experience ran the gamut: soups and stews; mashed or steamed with butter; sliced and browned alongside a pork, lamb, or beef roast; and — one of her favorites at the university cafeteria — cold leftover chunks made into a salad with feta cheese and slivers of peppers and onions, tossed in a vinaigrette. I used less than half of the Jarrahdale to make the ravioli, and she’ll surely have no problem deciding what to do with the rest. I developed this recipe using butternut squash. As I write, the thermometer is still stuck in the nineties, but as soon as it cools down — by the time you’re reading this, I hope — I’ll be making it with a Jarrahdale. Whether you use that or butternut or another hard-skinned squash, it’s an excellent soup, perfect for autumn.
Send questions and comments to Julianne Glatz at realcuisine@insightbb.com.
WINTER SQUASH AND APPLE BISQUE
6 heaping cups of 1-inch cubes of seeded and peeled winter squash, such as butternut or pumpkin Three or four tart apples, such as Jonathan or Granny Smith 6 cups chicken or vegetable stock, plus more if needed 1 1/2 cups thinly sliced leeks (white part only) or onions 1 tablespoon butter 1 cup heavy cream, not ultrapasteurized Kosher or sea salt and freshly ground white pepper and nutmeg to taste Optional garnishes: toasted pepitas (squash seeds), thinly sliced scallions, croutons, minced fresh herbs (e.g., rosemary, thyme, marjoram), crisply fried crumbled bacon, crumbled blue cheese, diced fresh apple
Peel and core the apples and cut them into chunks. In a large pot, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the leeks or onions, stir to coat, and cover the pan. Sweat them until softened, about five minutes. Add the squash and apples and pour in the stock. Bring the mixture to a boil, reduce the heat to a simmer, cover the pan, and cook for 20 to 30 minutes or until the squash and apples are softened and completely cooked. PurОe the mixture with a handheld blender, food processor, blender, or food mill. (Cool the mixture before using the blender or food processor — hot ingredients will explode in them.) Return the mixture to the stove, whisk in the cream, and season to taste with the salt and freshly ground pepper. Serve the soup with or without garnishes, as desired. This recipe, which freezes well, lends itself well to several variations: (1) Add a tablespoon of minced fresh ginger or ginger juice, a tablespoon of curry powder, or both. (2) Substitute yogurt for the cream (just make sure to not boil the soup after adding it.) (3) SautО 2 tablespoons of minced sage, rosemary, thyme, marjoram, or savory with the leeks. Serves six to eight people.
