The Muddy Kitchen: Rolling with Fall

I shouldn't be sitting at my computer, writing, right now. I should be at my last day of work, selling my neighbors' produce to my other neighbors, and visitors, at  the Tillamook Farmers' Market. That was my summer job: FarmTable project coordinator for the indefatigable defender of Tillamook's local food system, Food Roots.

It was an honor and a whole lot of fun. I spent every Saturday getting to know the people of my town better, working hard to make my little corner of the market a solid source of local food and support for the littlest of little guys. It was a spectacular success, thanks to the contributions of FarmTable vendors, Food Roots folks, and the immense help of my family. We made a ton of money and were all set for a fabulous closing day, when fall happened.

Hey, we can hang with rain, but the liklihood that anyone would venture outside in those winds was pretty small, so the market conceded to Mother Nature and cancelled. I feel a little better when I think about a week ago, which was supposed to be very stormy, but wasn't, and turned out to be pretty terrific. There was live marimba music, the sun even showed itself a time or two, and we made a decent chunk of money. It was a good last day, even if we didn't know it.

BUT WE WERE GOING TO HAVE PUMPKINS TODAY! Okay, no more complaining. I just really love pumpkins. That's all. And might have really loved selling pumpkins today, but never mind. Can't be helped.

Having fall weather bring an end to my summer job seems to be an occasion for blogging about pumpkin curry. The time for spicy warm ladling is all up on us, apparently. If you want to take this dish off the charts into the Stratosphere of Deliciousness, toss the pumpkin chunks in oil and a little curry seasoning and roast them in the oven before adding them to the curry stew. If you go this route, put them in at the end, with the leaves and tomatoes, since they'll already be cooked to the point of mushiness.

*I am a total poser when it comes to making curry. I don't do it properly, with toasted seeds and spices blended from a local Asian market. This dish could probably be amazing if I knew what I was doing.

I'm sorry to say, I made this recipe yesterday, and didn't think about posting it here. Oddly, there are times when I simply prepare meals, without photographing every step. So, sadly, there are no sun-dappled pictures of freshly chopped, local, organic, heirloom, fair-trade, zen vegetables. You'll just have to imagine them.

1 medium pie pumpkin, peeled, gutted, scraped, and cut into 1" chunks
1 cup chopped onion
1 cup chopped celery
5 large leaves Swiss chard (stalks removed and and chopped separately, as described here.)
3 medium-sized tomatoes
3 tablespoons of minced garlic.

The other ingredients needed are a few tablespoons of vegetable oil, half a bottle of curry seasoning, salt, and a two cans of coconut milk. 

Here's what's left of the curry. Guess I used more than half of the bottle. We're spicy like that.

Sautée the vegetables in oil in following order:
pumpkin, onions, chopped swiss chard stalks, and celery all at once, along with curry seasoning and salt to taste.
That gets cooked on medium high heat until it starts sticking and turning brownish on the bottom of the pan. Garlic goes in next, along with a little water until there's no more sticking or browning.
Continue to cook and stir, adding small amounts of water when necessary, for another seven minutes or so.
Reduce the heat to medium low and add just enough water to cover the vegetables, leaving the lid off, cooking for about twenty minutes. You don't want it too watery and uncovering the pot allows some of the water to evaporate.

Here's where I want you to imagine a turmeric-stained wooden spoon, stirring the aforementioned kind and friendly rainbow array of vegetables in a thick bubbly stew. You can practically smell it!

When the pumpkin is soft, stir in the chopped tomatoes and Swiss chard leafy bits. Turn off the heat a  minute later and add the coconut milk.

Now, envision a close-up of a freshly opened can of coconut milk pouring forth silky goodness, jagged poofs of thick cream spiking from the gleaming metal rim. Smooth.

Let it sit for ten minutes, if you can stand to wait that long, and serve over rice, barley, quinoa, whatever your favorite bed of grainy goodness is. I like to add a cool dill-garlic-grated cucumber-yogurt sauce when serving.  This recipe will serve a small army of six, two solid meals.

Hey look, I actually have a picture for this one. Hooray for leftovers!

The wind is gusting outside, abruptly shutting down all of summer's endeavors. I can either wallow in not having my way today, or I can celebrate what the new season has to offer. Let's do this, Autumn!

The Muddy Kitchen: Bread Pudding Pumpkins

 Right now.  This is the time.  The pumpkins are ripe, the bread is stale, and the kids are hungry.

  

This recipe is for just one little pumpkin, or li'l punkin, if you will, and I hope you will.  Click the picture of this recipe to see it enlarged.

Of course, we made six of these, but could only eat three.  So, when you're reading some of my crazy quantities, keep in mind, I took the above recipe and multiplied it by six.  And that ended up being twice as much food as we needed!  But that's because we added ice cream, which isn't called for, but was, in a way. 

First, you seize the moment, and carpe the pumpkin.  Here George tops it with a special serrated tool from a pumpkin carving kit.  As we worked, I regaled the kids with horror stories of The Days Before They Made Pumpkin Carving Kits.  "It was just the big knife. And the big spoon!" I said, in my best creepy voice.   "You'd stab your kitchen floor, every time!"  I don't think they believed me, but it was true.  All too true.  

Each kid has that first year, when they can do most of the pumpkin work on their own, if left alone.  This was George's year.

Once your gourds are cleaned out, score the insides with a knife.  We have a set of knives we let the little kids use, because they're somewhat effective, but not likely to cause an injury.  The red-handled one Mae is holding here is serrated, but not too rough or sharp to the touch; perfect for grooving up the inside of a pumpkin. 

They're ready for sauce, and baking, but first let's get the younger kids tearing up the bread.  That'll keep them busy while we deal with tricky things like melted butter.  Right?  

 This is just a day-old baguette, and George and Mae have been given orders to tear it to shreds.  Only one problem.

We got an eater here.  For goodness' sake, at least try to be a little sneaky about it.  

Seriously, how am I supposed to walk away from this? 

Okay, I guess most of it ended up in the pot.

ope!  Hey!

C'mon, I need to go do the sauce.  Otherwise, this is just a pot of shredded bread and some raw pumpkins, and nobody wants that.  

Bake these for about thirty minutes after bathing the inside of the pumpkin in a mixture of Paula Deen proportions of melted butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, and maple syrup.  Toss the remaining butter sauce over what's left of your baguette, and a couple of cups of raisins, and a couple of cups of chopped walnuts.   

When the pumpkins are good and squishy, fill them with the bread mixture and pour over it with a whisked-together 2 c. milk, 12 eggs, and 4 cups of grated cheddar cheese.  At this point, even Mrs. Deen herself would walk out of the room in disgust, but press on!  Pour this mixture over the bread mix, filling the pumpkins, and put them back in the oven for 45 minutes to an hour.  Basically until they look like this:  

Let them cool, cut them into halves, slices, or wedges, peel off the skins and go to town.  Just make sure you have a plan for the leftovers.  

And I'm not saying another word about the scoop of vanilla ice cream that got served with each wedge.  Not a word.  Make peace with your own demons on that one.