All posts tagged pumpkin

I know it would be easy to think things are all happy and cookies around here. But between you and me, I have a hard time with this time of year, when the days darken an hour before I leave work and we gear up for the long (snowy! icy! bitter cold!) winter. There are those who would say, fairly maybe, that if you declare autumn your favorite set of months, you have to take it with all its flaws, as well as its gorgeous colors and crisp breezes, caramel apples and cider doughnuts, colorful gourds and adorable pumpkins. That you can’t be a fickle lover, using the season for what it gives you and wishing it away when the good things end.

When every work day I walk to my car in pitch-black darkness, when the weather reports threaten a snowfall, when I eat dinner and want nothing more than to curl up on the sofa with a soft blanket, I tell myself these are the small sacrifices. That, in exchange for dense golden forests and carved Jack-O-Lanterns, I give up a little daylight, a little warmth. That, because fall is so wonderful, winter has to follow. It’s the way of things. You can’t have everything you want or you’d be terribly spoiled, right? You can’t have just the beauties of fall year-round or you’d forget to appreciate them, yes?

I want to be mature about all this. I am trying, all right? I’ve been finding what I like about these darker days—sunny mornings, for example, or the fact that I usually wake up before my alarm. This almost-winter thing isn’t so bad. Plus, there is Thanksgiving on the horizon, and after that, Christmas. Meanwhile, I could use a hug, if not a plane ticket to someplace lovely where I can wait out the next few months. Of course, I’d also settle quite happily for a bite of something delicious. Maybe something pumpkin, as another reminder of fall’s virtues?

Still on the hunt for the perfect pumpkin recipe, I baked these muffins last night, taken from a Gourmet recipe from 2006. They’re not overpoweringly sweet, more savory in fact, with a moist, moist center and flecks of cinnamon and sugar on top. I wouldn’t say they’re THE recipe, but they’re a step in the right direction. They’re also a whisper in my ear that fall hasn’t left entirely and, that I must enjoy it while it lasts.

Pumpkin Muffins
Adapted from Gourmet November 2006, as seen at Muffin Top

Ingredients:
1.5 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 15-ounce can of pure pumpkin
1/3 cup vegetable oil
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon pumpkin-pie spice
1.25 cups plus 1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon

Directions:
Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Put liners in muffin cups of a 12-cup muffin pan.

Whisk together flour and baking powder in a small bowl. In the bowl of an electric mixer, stir together pumpkin, oil, eggs, pumpkin-pie spice, 1.25 cups of sugar, baking soda and salt. Add the flour mixture until just combined, always with machine on lowest setting.

Stir together cinnamon and remaining 1 tablespoon sugar in another bowl.

Divide batter among muffin cups (each should be just over 3/4 full), then spinkle tops with cinnamon-sugar mixture. Bake until puffed and golden brown and a knife inserted into center of a muffin comes out clean, 25 to 30 minutes.

Cool in pan on a rack 5 minutes, then transfer muffins from pan to rack and cool to warm or room temperature.

My friend Becky has never tasted pumpkin. Not one Thanksgiving pie. Not one muffin or fresh-baked bread. And between us, she must be terribly sorry she ever admitted this to me, not just because she is now the subject of this blog post, but for the responses it’s garnered: “How can you never have had pumpkin? Do you know what you’re missing? I can’t believe this! We will change this. Really? You’ve really never, ever had pumpkin?” I’m not just pushy; I’m terribly hypocritical, chastising someone for not tasting pumpkin, when I myself have never eaten kale, brussel sprouts, sushi, fois gras, edemame and a wealth of other things many people love. I only just tried mushrooms a few weeks ago, by accident, and we still aren’t on friendly terms.

It’s a funny truth about eaters: we like to brag about what we love and what we’ve tried, especially, mostly, it seems, when someone else hasn’t.

So you should feel a little sorry for Becky, if you don’t already. Thing is, she doesn’t know, but I am now on a mission, a mission that began the moment she said she’s never tried pumpkin. This is one person who can still be converted, and I want to make it happen. Over the past few weeks, I have been plotting to find what would be the perfect first-pumpkin experience. What should a never-tasted-pumpkin eater start with? What would be a thing—the thing—to ensure a lifetime enjoyment of it?

I though of pumpkin pie first, since that’s what someone first gave me (and, if you remember, since my pumpkin trifle was a bust). But the crust was crackery and I didn’t want that to influence her the wrong way. I looked to the Internet and made some selections.

First, the truffles. The ingredients are expensive for these clever inside-out pumpkin pie truffles, so go to the store with a ready wallet. Even buying Ghiradelli white chocolate, rather than a more costly brand, I spent $18, and that was halving the original recipe. You’ll also need a vanilla bean, and, unless you know a good place to get them (tell me if you do!), those are high-priced, too.

On the plus side, though, these truffles are very, very easy to make: melt the chocolate with some sweetened condensed milk, in a double boiler. After it’s all good and creamy, add pumpkin puree, then the insides of the vanilla bean. Stir in some spices, chill, then roll into balls. Roll those balls in graham cracker crumbs and chill them again. That’s it!

After the truffles, I made madelines. These would not be for Becky because she hates nuts, though, looking back, I don’t know why I couldn’t have added some sugar and removed the pecans entirely. For me, these cake-like cookies had me at Proust, who once wrote that a bite of a madeline transported him to his childhood, to a time when his mother would give him one before bed.

This recipe is a little more tricky than the first, in that there are many steps, and you’ll only make one or two trays of cookies. Don’t let that dissuade you, though: madelines taste best only for the first day (and maybe second) after they’ve been baked. For that reason, a smaller batch is ideal.

My favorite part of making these madelines is browning the butter, when the liquids turn a rich, nutty color and give off the most delicious fragrance. Watch the pan, though: if the butter burns, you’ll have to start all over again. Oh, and I should also say: If you don’t have a madeline pan (you can buy them all over, even at Amazon.com), I read a mini-muffin pan is a viable alternative.

So, the verdict? I, a hardcore pumpkin fan, enjoyed both of these recipes, though the truffles were a little rich and the madelines a little moist. But I was not satisfied enough to give them away. And my homemade puree is now, sadly, gone.

However. I picked up a can of pumpkin at the grocery store this weekend and am open to suggestions. Do you have a foolproof, I-can-trust-you, people-who-don’t-eat-pumpkin-should-try-it recipe? (Please tell me you do.)

Would you share it? Pretty please with a pumpkin truffle on top?

Pumpkin Pie Truffles
Adapted from Straight from the Farm

Ingredients:
2 1/4 cups white chocolate (the best brand you can find)
1/6 cup pumpkin puree
7 ounces sweetened condensed milk
1/2 vanilla bean
1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1 cup graham cracker crumbs

Directions:
In a double boiler or large heavy saucepan, melt chocolate and condensed milk together over low heat. Once chocolate is melted and smooth, add pumpkin puree and stir to combine. Scrape out the insides of a half a vanilla bean using the backside of a knife. Discard pod and add beans to pumpkin-chocolate mixture. Stir in the remaining spices and remove from heat.

Chill mixture for 45 minutes or until it sets up and rolls easily into 1-inch balls. Roll balls using your hands (this creates a sticky surface on the truffles) and then roll in the graham cracker crumbs to coat well.

Chill finished truffles for at least 30 minutes before serving. To store truffles, keep refrigerated. They also freeze well.

(makes 30 truffles)

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Pumpkin-Pecan Madelines
Adapted from Supper in Stereo

Ingredients:

1/3 cup + 1 tablespoon flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 cup butter, plus more for toasting pecans and greasing madeleine tin
1/4 cup chopped pecans
2 large eggs
pinch of salt
1/4 cup loosely packed brown sugar, plus 2 tsp. for candying pecans
4 tablespoons pumpkin puree

Directions:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. In a small bowl, sift the flour and baking powder together.

Next, melt the 1/4 cup of butter in a small pan over medium heat. It will froth up, then reduce again as it begins to brown and turn a rich nutty color. When it is brown, pour it through a fine-mesh strainer (this gets rid of any solids that might have formed) into a small bowl. Set the browned butter aside to cool as you prepare your pecans and batter.

In the same frying pan you used to brown the butter, toast the pecans with a teaspoon or so more butter. When they are getting golden, toss approximately 2 teaspoons of brown sugar in and stir the pecans to coat them well. Remove them from the pan immediately after fully mixed (trust me, I burned the first set of pecans by leaving them on too long) and set them aside to cool.

To prepare the batter, first beat the two eggs together with a pinch of salt. In a stand mixer, beat the eggs until they’re pale yellow, thick, and syrupy (approximately 10 minutes). They will also have gained some volume. Next, beat in your brown sugar, adding it in large pinches to the eggs while you continue beating. When all the sugar has been incorporated, continue beating until your mixture has gained even more volume and holds the marks of the beater for a few seconds (like softly whipped cream).

After you’ve beaten the eggs, sprinkle the flour on top and gently fold it in with a spatula. Don’t be rough and overstir, but don’t be afraid to be firm with it either. Next, fold in the butter and pumpkin, ensuring they are well-incorporated. Finally, fold in the pecans.

Generously grease your madeline tin—I used baking spray, which worked beautifully, but you could also use butter or whatever you’d prefer. Using a tablespoon, put the batter into your tin, about a heaping tablespoon for each little mold. Used the back of a spoon to spread the batter evenly in the molds; they should be almost filled, but with a little room to expand. I had enough batter for exactly 23 madelines, almost two trays.

Bake your madeleines for 12-15 minutes, turning the pan once halfway through cooking to ensure they brown evenly. They will be golden and springy when they’re ready.

Once you remove them from the oven, cool in the tin before popping them out and eating them. They will taste best when eaten fresh.

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?