Archive for October, 2008

There are worse things than bad recipes. I know. And in the interest of perspective, let me state I’m not especially a fan of doctor’s appointments, migraine headaches or sixth grade kickball, either. But I really hate bad recipes. Or, what’s truly worse, recipes I make bad. With just a few teeny-tiny (or maybe not so teeny-tiny) mistakes, the results become disaster. It’s enough to make a girl run from the kitchen and never look back. In fact, I’d bet it’s the reason a lot of people say they don’t like to cook.

This (can I complain to you for a minute?) was supposed to be a post about pumpkin trifle, filled with alternating layers of crumbled gingerbread, a creamy pumpkin medley and whipped topping. There were to be broken gingersnaps on top. It would have been beautiful. You would have been impressed. And those of you who, smarting from a bad recipe or two, weren’t sure if you should take another risk, would have sprung from your computer screen and been off to the kitchen.

But, the other night, preparing the gingerbread ahead of time, I made a classic mistake. I used a wrong ingredient, substituting corn syrup instead of kane syrup, in place of molasses, creating a flavorless, doughy cake with a pale off-white hue.

It was time for Plan B.

Growing up, the part of Thanksgiving I liked most, just after the rolls and the green bean casserole and the turkey (all right, and the sweet potatoes, provided there were marshmallows and brown sugar involved) was the pie. Pumpkin pie.

This, you must understand, was fairly significant, since, when growing up, I generally hated pie. Apple pie, no, thank you. Banana cream? Ew. In fact, though I’ve expanded my palate a bit in the intervening years since then, still to this day, I would rather go hungry than eat a slice of cherry pie, except maybe if I can scrape out the chunky insides and have just the crust with a big side of ice cream.

So in terms of childhood favorites, pumpkin pie was it. Thus this week, frustrated with my first step at pumpkin trifle, I decided to make a homemade pumpkin pie instead, crust and all. This time, I used a new recipe from a cookbook I generally love, a cookbook that has never failed me.

The results were, well, fine. Edible, even. The filling was superb, a pumpkiny custard made from my pumpkin puree, hot and soothing out of the oven. But the crust? Hard, tough, like cracker. And while I’m reluctant to blame the recipe, since its source has been so reliable, I have no idea what I did wrong. Every ingredient was as instructed; the directions were followed. Yet somehow, some way, the results were failure.

This, I hardly have to say, is frustrating for a home cook. You take the time to try something new, you do exactly what you’ve been told—yet, you come out the loser. Would it be easier to just order take-out and call it a day?

But, on the other hand, this—the whoops! moments, the small failures—happens to everyone. I mean, everyone, everyone. If some nice person you meet tells you he or she has never had a kitchen disappointment (let alone disaster), don’t believe it. In fact, get as far away from that person as quickly as possible, as this is clearly a liar you should never trust.

Cooking is not just therapeutic or comforting, and it’s not just a way to provide food for one to eat. Cooking is also learning. And, just like I had to mess up a little (still do) before succeeding—in school, in jobs, in friendships—so with cooking.

In that spirit of optimism, let me also say that my small tupperware container of puree garnered me two more pumpkin-based recipes, which I’ll share next week and which were, generally at least, completely disaster-free.

In the meantime: Happy Halloween! And, have you made your own pumpkin puree yet?

Tuesday night, while watching that Charlie Brown Pumpkin movie on TV, I did something that I highly recommend you try, definitely before Thanksgiving and absolutely tonight if at all possible. It’s classic fall in a way that that will remind you it’s almost Halloween, that there are still snow-free days yet to be enjoyed, that, maybe, just maybe, if you play your cards right and enjoy fall to the fullest, you can keep winter from coming. Armed with two pie pumpkins, some utensils, a big dish and a food processor, I made homemade pumpkin puree.

Remember the apple orchard I visited recently? Well, what I’ve been waiting to tell you is that the orchard was, very conveniently, connected to a pumpkin patch. And as much as I loved picking from bins of juicy apples, I was well near giddy when I searched the patches, a Radio Flyer wagon rolling behind me.

I have a problem with pumpkins. A. Very. Big. Problem. The way some people feel about chocolate or hitting the slots or watching one more episode of their favorite show: I am addicted, no way around it. Thankfully, my wagon set the limit for how many pumpkins I could rationally transport to the checkout counter (then, of course, there was the deciding of which pumpkins to keep and which to part with. Have you been faced with such a decision? Let me say it was not easy.)

I walked away with $20 of loot: a tall, slenderish orange pumpkin and a big crazy-green one, as well as a handful of smaller, cuter ones that were each remarkably beautiful, if I do say so. I took them home, trying to decide if I should make one a Jack-O-Lantern or use them all for cooking.

Then I did some research. Were you aware that not all pumpkins are best for cooking? No? Well, let me fill you in: apparently, the best pumpkins for recipes are called “pie pumpkins” and you can find them like that labeled in the store. So all the beautiful, carefully picked ones I got at the farm? Two are on my work desk, two are at home and the two big ones are on the front steps—nice decoration but not sliced up for eating. The pumpkins I made puree with? They came from our local grocery store.

Anyway. If you get your hands on some of these pie pumpkins, which, again, please believe me when I say you should, you need to turn them into pumpkin puree. It is easy (most of the time involved is down time, spent with you doing your own thing while the pumpkins cook), triumphant (when the shell peels off the flesh so perfectly, like a jacket that the pumpkin no longer needs, you will shriek with glee, I dare you not to) and, most of all, the beginning of many, many good things to eat.

Here’s what you will do: cut the pumpkins in half (use a serrated knife, and begin on one side, continuing through to the other, then splitting apart the halves with your hands to break the stem) and scoop out their stringy insides. You can save the seeds if you like, and there are many recipes online with ideas of what to do with them.

The best description of instructions I read said something about scraping against the insides of the pumpkin with a metal spoon. I would just add that you shouldn’t feel worried about pushing or scraping too much: you want to get those insides out. After doing this, you just need to put the halves, open-side down, into a large dish or oven-safe container. I lined mine with tin foil and covered it with the same, but a cover works just as well.

Bake at 400 degrees for about 80 minutes. When the pumpkins are roasted, they will be very tender, so a fork could go right into their sides. Take them out, leaving the dish covered, and let them cool.

After the pumpkin halves are cool, you can scoop out their fleshly insides and put it all into a food processor (or, I suppose a blender might work?). With my little guys, the skin came right off so perfectly, I think I exclaimed some happy noise quite loudly.

Mix the pumpkin flesh in the food processor until it is smooth and thick. You may want to drain it for a little bit in a strainer, to get rid of excess liquid. I went ahead and put my puree in a tupperware container in the refrigerator and let out some of the extra water the next day. The mixture will keep for a few days in the fridge but longer in the freezer. From two pie pumpkins, I achieved between 3 and 4 cups of puree, I believe.

(Pumpkin-based recipes to come!)