Squash

We always understood where our food came from. More often than not, the source was the land outside our back door! Pumpkin bread began with the pumpkin seed that we planted, tended, and eventually harvested. My mom never bought cans of cooked pumpkin, so the only time we could have pumpkin bread was when there was a surplus of pumpkins in our garden. This made me keenly aware of why pumpkins and pumpkin treats are a tradition for the autumn holidays—this is when pumpkins are actually in season! In fact, pumpkin bread is a Halloween tradition in my house. Those jack-o’-lanterns offer more than just spooky light—the pumpkins give us the makings for baking as well. I love cinnamon and this bread is definitely cinnamony, though you can use less if desired. As the bread bakes, the kitchen fills with a sweet, caramel aroma. The bread is very dark outside and very moist within.

When I was a kid, my mom cooked squash all the time because it grew (abundantly!) in our garden. I admit I had to learn to love it, and this is one of the ways I learned. Slow cooking and a touch of Parmesan bring out the natural sweetness of the squash. It’s also beautiful; the green and yellow colors really pop off the plate.

I love learning new things every time I eat a dish or step into a kitchen or take a cooking class. I was thrilled to discover Maite Gomez-Rejón’s program in Los Angeles called ArtBites, which combines art history and the culinary arts in classes that begin with viewing a collection at a local museum and end in the kitchen. I took a class called “Dining in the Aztec Empire,” in which Maite taught us modern ways to use ingredients that would have been used in what is now central Mexico during the fourteenth through sixteenth centuries. I learned this recipe, which uses the ancient ingredients corn and squash, in that wonderful class.

When I was a kid we grew all our own vegetables, especially calabasa, or squash. LOTS of squash. To be honest, I got a little sick of it (don’t worry—my mom already knows). Then I grew up and figured out a few surefire ways to show off the delicious earthiness and sweetness of summer squash. This soup is one of them; the lemon gives it great tang and the soup is unexpectedly creamy, even though there’s not a bit of cream or milk in it. Be sure to puree this soup in batches—don’t pour the soup over the level of the top of the food processor blade. This soup is brothy before it’s pureed, and it’ll seep out of the work bowl and all over the counter if you’re not careful.

This soup is as smooth as velvet and has the warm, orange hue of autumn that always looks beautiful in the soup bowl. The cream adds richness, but you can leave it out for a lighter soup that is nonetheless very satisfying.

With just a handful of ingredients, this fall favorite is super easy to make and at the same time really comforting. The mild sweetness of butternut squash mingling with the rich nuttiness of brown butter and the delicate, woodsy aroma of sage is downright delicious. Cutting up butternut squash is a notoriously difficult task because of its thickness and density. The most important thing to remember when cutting winter squash is to keep the piece you are working on as stable as possible.

Candy roaster pie has been an Appalachian Thanksgiving tradition for a hundred years. The term describes several varieties of large super-sweet winter squash. Many are so big—thirty pounds or more—that some farmers sell them at the market already cut into wedges. Any dense eating pumpkin or winter squash works well here.

Use small organic pumpkins or squashes. Before peeling, taste their skins. If they are very tender, they can be left on. Pickled pumpkin is good served with crispy roast pork seasoned with five-spice or on its own as part of a pickle plate.