The Sweet Meat of Pumpkins

Courtesy Shannon Graven

It’s probably an overstatement to say that fall is my favorite time of year, because I’m sure I say that with the arrival of every new season.  But, it is a pretty amazing time in the Pacific Northwest ―especially this year, with the absolutely spectacular display of fall colors awash everywhere you look.
 
Out in the fields, farmers are busy taking advantage of the warm sunny days and chilly nights; this perfect scenario has set them scrambling to take full advantage of optimum harvest conditions. 

A recent visit to support local Herrick’s Farm inspired me to take a step beyond selecting my usual generic pumpkin carving variety and to venture into lesser known heirloom territory. The farm was abuzz with the activity of screaming school kids all in the throes of Halloween excitement. Their holiday spirit was so infectious I joined in the clamor and proceeded to wrestle down my own gnomish looking pumpkin. 

 

Based on its sheer ugliness―and high baking praises―I trundled off with a 10-pound prize, a warty blue/green affair affectionately called Sweet Meat (a gourd in some circles).  Only at Halloween would something this creepy appear even vaguely edible.    

By early the next day I had serious plans for this pumpkin.  Armed with my largest chef’s knife and a  glint in my eye, I tackled the gnarly behemoth.  I stabbed through its thick reptilian-like skin and hazily hacked it into manageable pieces.  I pulled out its slimy seeding system and set it aside.   Then I placed its meat in a deep roasting pan, poured in a thick layer of steaming hot water, sealed it with foil, and baked it until fork tender, about 1-1/2 hours.   

 Meanwhile, I sorted through the plump seeds, gave them a good cleaning and dispatched them to a solitary brining solution for later roasting.  Finally, I gathered up the assorted pumpkin detritus and stealthy eliminated it ―all into that vast pumpkin graveyard. 

 Once out of the oven and cooled, the meat easily peeled away from its skin and was ready for a quick turn in the food processor.   In short order, the processor’s pulsing rhythm had this mass whipped into an astonishingly elegant, creamy, deep golden elegant puree.  Did I mention elegant?    

 Verily, thou art true to thy name. O, great pumpkin, thy meat is sweet. 

 

Pumpkin Bread

Most pumpkin breads can require up to 1 cup or more oil or butter.  With the addition of the moist Sweet Meat pumpkin pulp, I’ve used decisively less fat here.  If necessary you can even reduce the amount of granulated sugar. 

The agave nectar provides a sweet caramel flavor that enhances the pumpkin, but honey will work, too.  After it cools, wrap it well.   If you can let this tender loaf rest a few hours before cutting, it will slice like a dream.   As a variation, I sprinkled about 2 tablespoons streusel between the layers of batter and added a bit more on top of the loaf before baking. 



Ingredients
1/4 cup softened butter
1 Tbsp. olive oil

½ cup brown sugar

½ cup granulated sugar
2 Tbsp. agave nectar (or honey)
1 cup Sweet Meat pumpkin pulp (or other)
2 eggs
1 cup all-purpose flour
¾ cup whole wheat flour
1 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp. nutmeg
¼ tsp. each ginger and allspice

Instructions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Line and spray a 9x5” loaf pan.

In a mixing bowl, beat butter and sugars until light; beat in the agave syrup, then the pumpkin; when combined beat in the eggs one at a time.

In small bowl, combine the dry ingredients and gently stir into the pumpkin mixture.Spread into prepared pan and bake for 60 minutes or longer; until it begins to pull away from the sides of the pan and the center is cooked.
 
Cool on rack for 10 minutes before removing from pan. 
 
**Stay tuned for possibly unfolding episodes of Pumpkin Passion.

The Case of the Mysterious Tapioca

The other day I was blindly pawing through a cupboard and tipped over a long-forgotten box of tapioca.  Fortunately, the potential mess was averted as it was confined to a zip-lock storage bag, so I set it to the back of the counter for later consideration.   That’s the thing about tapioca.  It’s not a staple that I regularly use and it is packaged in a fairly small box that tends to get lost and forgotten.  Even if it’s in line for rotation it is easily squeezed out by the bigger players, unwittingly benched to the back of the shelf.    

Unless you are a slave to old-fashioned tapioca pudding or inclined to pie baking, tapioca may carry with it very little value or significance.   I had no clear recollection of why or when I last used it and wondered if it was still good. Later, I took a closer look at the slim classic red and white box, on the top of the box was stamped Nov. 08, 2010.  Hmmm.  I also noted it was microwaveable ‘minute’ tapioca, not the original pearl variety.  Beyond that, I recalled that it’s advisable to soak the larger pearl tapioca first.  Why? What’s the difference? I puzzled.

I did a little further digging and thanks to Ellen at Ellen’s Kitchen, I found a helpful explanation of tapioca in its various incarnations.   Fact is, it’s a pretty powerful thickening agent known to out-match flour in many sauces and long cooking dishes.  Tapioca comes from the cassava plant’s root system, of which some portions are highly poisonous.  This is a point worth fully researching if you are considering a future in tapioca markets.

It’s a complicated process.  Their preferred roots are ground into a pulp, and then liquefied into a starch that is dried and pulverized again before becoming tapioca flour.   To make pre-cooked pearls, the tapioca flour and water is slowly simmered until it reaches the dried flake stage.  At this point the flakes are milled into recognizable uniform pearl shapes―of which the smallest is the instant or minute tapioca, with its noticeably small pearls. The larger pearls need to be soaked again to soften them for cooking purposes.       

Along the way, I also read that tapioca can lose its thickening power if it has been opened too long.  Oops. I decided to ignore the warning, jump right in, and continue my investigation into the mysteries of tapioca.  I passed on the pie idea; I was interested in something a little more outside the box.  I knew I was onto something good when I discovered Judith Fertig’s Lemony Baked Apple Tapioca in All-American Desserts. This is an invaluable resource that celebrates a wide swath of regional sweets, all owning a particular spot in the American landscape of desserts.

Unlike the average tapioca pudding which requires tedious stirring, here apples and tapioca simmer unattended in the oven.  As usual, I made a few adjustments along the way, like substituting ¾ cup brown sugar  for 1 cup granulated sugar and a hint of vanilla in lieu of fresh lemon juice. 

This cleverly comes together in a charming pudding with bites of baked apple adrift in nubby tapioca all mysteriously tucked under a golden brown meringue dome.  Best of all,  time did not seem to alter tapioca’s amazing ability to manifest into a thick and tasty pudding.  Now, that’s deliciously entertaining. 

 

Baked Apple Tapioca 

Inspired by All-American Desserts, Judith M. Fertig

Ingredients

2 tart apples, such a Granny Smith or Jonathan, peeled, cored, and cut up

1 lemon, zest

1/3 cup quick-cooking tapioca
1 tsp. vanilla
4 cups milk
¾ cup brown sugar
2 eggs, separated
1 Tbsp. cinnamon-sugar
 
Directions 
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Butter the bottom of a 2-qt baking dish.  Arrange the apple pieces over the bottom and sprinkle with lemon zest.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the tapioca, vanilla, milk, sugar, and egg yolks.  In a medium bowl, whip the egg whites until stiff.  Whisk the whites into the tapioca-milk mixture until lightly blended. 

Sprinkle the apples with the cinnamon-sugar and pour the tapioca-milk mixture over the fruit.

Bake until the tapioca has firmed and apples are soft, approximately 30-40 minutes. (Allow the pudding to cook about 10 minutes after it begins to bubble.)  It will thicken and set as it cools, serve warm.   Yield:   6 or more servings. 

The Answer is: Millet.

Hot on the heels of my sojourn out of the country for nearly three months, I’m back aboard the whole grain train again.  

With all the fried and rich spicy food that I devoured while in Mexico, it was time for some simple, unadulterated comfort food.  And millet was my answer. 

Now that I’ve become more familiar with millet mechanics, I’ve learned it is extremely forgiving.  When it comes to cooking time, millet tolerates a wide margin of error. Although I usually allow about 20 minutes overall, the consequences of under or over cooking it seem minimal.   

Millet is happy to drift into the background and just hang out.  Its moderately small grains and mild nuttiness make it a great foil for other more substantial textures and flavors.  

 

Here’s my version of a convenient homemade custard pudding that is soothingly suitable for many occasions.  Start with a quick and easy custard, add the cooked millet, stir in a handful of dried fruit such as apricots and golden raisins, and top it with toasted sugared almonds.   

For an easy parfait variation, omit the dried fruit and layer the pudding in stemware alternately with sweetened fresh berries.   

Millet Pudding

Ingredients

1/2 cup millet

1 ½ cup boiling water

pinch salt

2 Tbsp. cornstarch

2 cups milk

1/3 cup brown sugar

2 eggs

½ tsp. each vanilla and/or almond extract

Optional ingredients and variations:

2/3 cup dried fruit:  such as 1/3 cup golden raisins, 1/3 cup chopped dried apricots

1 cup fresh berries or other suitable fruit:  toss lightly with 1-2 tbsp sugar

½ cup slivered almonds, toasted in a dry pan with 1 tsp. sugar

Directions 

1.       To pre-cook the millet, bring salted water to a boil, stir in the millet.  Reduce heat, cover, and simmer for approximately 20 minutes.  Note:   you will have more millet than you will need. (Freeze the remainder, or try it as a hot cereal for breakfast.)

2.       For the custard, in a small pan over medium heat, whisk milk, cornstarch, sugar and eggs and bring to a simmer.  Continue to whisk until mixture begins to thicken about 3-5 minutes. 

3.       Stir in extract, 1 cup or more millet and dried fruit if using.  Let stand briefly and then pour into serving bowl or portion into individual dishes.  Top with toasted sweetened slivered almonds.  Yield:  serves 4.

Variation:  In parfait glasses, spoon layers of millet pudding alternately with sweetened fresh berries or other fruit.  If desired top with toasted nuts or additional fruit. 

Nieve, as in Snow

Nieve.  Even the word rolls off the tongue and curls the lips in pleasure.  

 On a warm day, there’s nothing like it to instantly refresh and sparkle the taste buds.  Nieve, or snow in español, refers to fruit and water based ices and sorbets of a near limitless variety; some vendors even offer a creamy milk version. 

Nieve stands are a way of life in Mexico; their carts and small tiendas dot the street corners and calles. 

It’s hard to believe such a refreshing treat can be had for only few pesos, or less than a dollar.  In Mexico City recently, a guanabana-mamey combination was so stunning, I had return for more.  

Next door to my Queretaro casa, an addictive nieve stand is enthusiastically supported by the locals.   Early every Wednesday a mob begins to form in front of the small space, and it stays that way all day.  

 Anyone who loves nieve knows that today is 2-for-1 day, and it is well worth the wait for a few scoops of heaven. 

 Mango, coconut, or pineapple, are always popular; then there’s frequently queso or cheese, cappuccino, usually some version of chocolate, and often pistachio. The mantecado reminds me of an old-fashioned buttery spumoni with nuts and fruit. 

 
Rick Bayless and his Frontera Grill have done much to promote the foods of Mexico.  In his cookbook, One Plate at  Time, he offers a fascinating Elote Nieve, or Sweet Corn Ice Cream, which I can’t wait to tackle on my return home.  

For now, here is an authentic yet simple alternative from Rick:  Nieve de Tuna or Fresh Prickly Pear Ice.  He even explains how to handle the critters, so if your market offers prickly pears, there are no excuses.  Enjoy!

Nieve de Tuna  Fresh Prickly Pear Ice

From Rick Bayless,  Authentic Mexican

Ingredients

3 1/2 pounds (about 18 medium) fresh prickly pears (tunas)
1 cup sugar, plus a little more if necessary
About 3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice

Directions

Roughly chop the peeled prickly pears.  Place the fruit in a blender or food processor, add 1 cup water, the sugar and lime juice, and blend for several minutes, until the sugar is dissolved. Strain through a medium-mesh sieve; taste for sweetness and tartness, adding more sugar or lime juice as necessary. If time permits, chill thoroughly.
Pour the mixture into the canister of ice cream freezer and freeze according to the manufacturer’s directions. When the ice comes from the machine, it may be rather soft; for a firmer texture, let it "ripen" in your freezer for a couple of hours before serving.  Yield: 5 to 6 cups, 6 to 8 servings

To  prepare the prickly pears:   cut a 1/2-inch slice off both ends of the prickly pears; make a 1/2-inch-deep incision down one side, end to end. Carefully (avoid the little stickers) peel off the rind, starting from  incision: The rind is thick and, if ripe, will easily peel away from the central core of fruit.

Traditional Variations:  for mango, peach, nectarine or cantaloupe, peel, pit and/or seed about 2 pounds (slightly more for cantaloupe) fruit, to yield 2 cups of fruit pulp. Puree with 1 1/2 cups water, 3/4 to 1 cup sugar, and lime juice to taste.

Viva la Fiesta!

In France life may be a cabaret, but  in Mexico life is one big fiesta.

Yes, in Mexico there is always something to celebrate.  Since I started attending language school in Queretaro I have learned that these crazy mexicanos have a few things to teach us gringos about enjoying life.   

While we are breaking our necks chasing after our next dollar, they are just as likely to take a couple of hours off in the afternoon for a quiet siesta.

Today is Día de la Madre, or Mother’s Day, and it is clearly not to be taken lightly.  Here in my Mexican home, music started blaring at 6:30AM this morning.  In the next bedroom over, the senora’s family-in-residence commenced wailing a wake-up serenade, while a traditional feliz-día-del-la-madre version crooned on in the background, replete with full orchestra con horn section.  Joyful voices escalated amidst considerable kissing, hugging, and shouting, all in concert with the looped version. 

At a recent Cupleaños (birthday) celebration I became the brunt of good-natured jesting as I blindly whirled while waving a flimsy stick in search of a candy-packed taco piñata.

Earlier that day, my morning desayuno started out with a traditional plate of fresh fruit ― firmly anchored by a slice of ribbon-festooned cake.  

Later, at pre-piñata festivities, adorable individual gelatin forms were set out in lieu of our traditional frosting-inflicted birthday cake.  

  

Back at the hacienda much later, there was of course ―more cake. 

I am certain that right now all over Mexico, mamas are surrounded by throngs of their loved ones.  Plenty of good food is spread out and music is playing.   Without a doubt, there will be much singing and dancing before the night is over.