Thirty-three

It is 10:30 PM and I am eating a slice of squash bread.  It is quiet in my kitchen.  I just had the shattering realization that some people—many people—I went to high school with now have multiple children.

I do not have children.  I have a one-bedroom apartment I can barely afford.  I have towels that get moldy. I have a sourdough starter and a few succulents that, some days, seem very challenging to keep alive.

I start to feel a little bad about all this, so I remind myself I just baked two loaves of very good bread.  And that I added a vegetable—not because I needed to—but because I wanted to.  Because I had a craving for butternut squash, and also for cake, and the universe was in low supply of acceptable recipes with these combined appetites.

So I took the bones of a banana bread recipe—a very good one—and browned some butter.  Added autumnal cues by way of cinnamon and allspice. Quartered a whole squash—without chopping a single finger off—and roasted it into submission.

It turns out very well, the bread, until I realize I have compared it to having a child and not killing a cactus.  I recently turned thirty-three and part of me feels I should have more grown-up ends by now. At the very least, maybe a yard?

But instead I live in a pest-free rental—with the black and white-tiled floors I wanted in my mid-twenties—in an area bolstered by the mafia and cannoli.

I have a smart, thoughtful, and very handsome boyfriend who never lets me drink alone, whom I love. I have maintained a job at a well-respected institution for over a decade. Plus I am old enough to swear and not feel bad about it.

I also have the sense to know bad things happen and enough emotional collateral, I think, to navigate them. And to realize that having kids does not make one feel any more put together.

In truth, I do not know if I even want a yard.  I certainly do not want to mow it.  What I do know, for now, is that I want butternut squash in dessert form.  And I know how to make that happen.

Brown Butter Butternut Squash Bread

Ingredients:

1½ cups mashed cooked butternut squash (about ½ a medium squash, see instructions below)

½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter

1 cup granulated sugar

¾ cup packed dark muscovado sugar (or regular dark brown sugar)

2 eggs

½ cup buttermilk

1 tsp vanilla

2½ cups all-purpose flour

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

½ tsp cinnamon

½ tsp allspice

1 tbsp chopped fresh ginger (peeled)

1 cup chopped pecans

Instructions:

A few hours in advance (or the night before):

Set the oven to 425 degrees.  Grease a sheet pan lightly with olive or canola oil.  Quarter a whole butternut squash, leaving the skin on.  Place on the prepared pan, flesh side down and skin side up.  Roast for 60 to 70 minutes, or until it softens and the flesh side become caramelized (you’ll have to peak to see this).  Let cool and refrigerate until needed.

When you are ready to bake, set the oven to 350 degrees. Grease the bottom only of one 9 x 5-inch (or two 8 x 4-inch) loaf pan(s).

In a medium saucepan, heat the butter on medium-low until it becomes caramel-colored and starts to smell nutty; this will take 5 to 10 minutes, swirl the butter occasionally to prevent it from burning in spots and adjust the heat as necessary.

In the bowl of a stand mixer, combine the sugars and brown butter on medium-high speed until fully combined and the mixture resembles wet sand (about 2 minutes).  Add the eggs one at a time, then the buttermilk, 1½ cups squash (flesh only), and vanilla; mix on medium-high until fully combined and smooth. 

In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, and allspice.  With the mixer on low, add the flour mixture to the wet ingredients in three swift additions.  Stir in the ginger and pecans with a rubber spatula until just combined (make sure bits of flour are no longer visible).

Bake for 60 to 70 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean when inserted into the center.  (Start checking around 55 minutes with the two smaller loaves.) Cool 10 minutes on a wire rack then, with a knife, loosen the sides of the bread from the pan.  Let cool on the wire rack for one hour before slicing.

Makes one 9 x 5 loaf or two 8 x 4 loaves

Notes:

-The pecans seemed seasonally timely, and were good, but I prefer walnuts in breads like this.

-In a pinch, substitute 1 tsp dried ginger for the fresh variety.

-It is decorative gourd season too, and if you need a proclamation mug, you can find it here.

Spiced Candied Pumpkin Seeds, a Trilogy

I recently heard someone say: pick three things you can do really well each day and then let the rest go.  I like making lists and fall comfortably into self-loathing, so I thought now was as good a time as any to focus on the power of three and put some inner monologues to bed.

It turns out this is a lot like trying to rationalize naptime with a toddler.  There are a lot of things I can do terribly.  My subconscious is a genius at it.

I’m not good at staying in touch with anyone outside a five-mile radius.  My small talk skills fall somewhere along the autism spectrum.  I’m not patient.  I have no idea how to use a crockpot.  I’m also pretty bad at adhering to positivity trilogies. 

But it’s an admirable exercise and so today I’m sharing a recent success.  Which involves not giving up.  And pumpkin. If nothing else I’m stubborn and seasonably appropriate.

The first time I made these seeds they were not worthy of mention.  Their flavor was fine, if you don’t mind eating gloppy, thick-skinned ovals tasting faintly of sweetened curry.  Experience tells red kuri squash seeds are not the appropriate vehicle for this recipe. 

You also need to have enough time and patience to appropriately cook and cool everything. So if you have less than an hour, or are feeling foolhardy, and are not in possession of a pumpkin, these seeds are probably not in your future today.  Otherwise, proceed.

They toast up warm and fragrant and crisp, shellacked with a smooth, sweet glaze.  Their spice is balanced by briny fleur de sel and caramelized maple paired with bits of crunchy crystalized sugar.   They engage all the senses and the result is really something to be proud of.  It also solves the problem of what to do with the guts from your carving pumpkin.

I created the recipe for my Wine Bottega friends.  The final incarnation was worthy of a feature on their October newsletter.  (If the idea of monthly wine appeals to you, you should think about joining their Farm to Glass program.) The seeds pair brilliantly with anything from the era of Harry Craddock and would work with a rebellion of liquid bubbles, a Gewürztraminer, or lower tannin red like a Cabernet Franc. 

So pumpkin, persistence, and a subsidiary of booze, it is.  I can think of worse places to start.

Spiced Candied Pumpkin Seeds

Ingredients:

seeds from one small to medium-sized pumpkin (about ¾ to 1 cup)

2¼ tsp demerara or turbinado sugar (i.e. “raw” sugar with a larger granule)

¾ tsp fine sea salt (e.g. fleur de sel)

½ tsp ground cumin

¼ tsp ground cinnamon

¼ tsp ground cayenne pepper or piment d’espelette

1/8 tsp ground ginger

1/8 tsp ground allspice

1/8 tsp freshly ground black pepper

1 tbsp maple syrup

¾ tsp canola oil

Instructions:

You’ll need to reserve the seeds from a carving or sugar pumpkin for this recipe.  To prepare the seeds, scoop them out from the fleshy inside of a pumpkin and place in a colander.  Rinse under running water to help separate any pulp still attached.   Pat them dry as best you can with a paper towel and proceed with the recipe or refrigerate until ready to make (a day or two is fine).

Set the oven to 300 degrees. Spread the pumpkin seeds on a rimmed baking sheet and bake for about 20 minutes, gently tossing halfway through.  They should become dry and slightly fragrant.

While the seeds are toasting, combine the sugar, salt, and spices in a small bowl; stir to mix.  When the seeds are done, place them in a medium bowl; add the maple syrup and oil and stir to combine.  Add the spice mix and toss until the seeds are evenly coated.

Line the baking sheet with parchment paper and pour the prepared seeds on top, gently spreading them.  Place in the oven and turn the heat down to 275 degrees.

Bake for 35 to 45 minutes, or until the mixture becomes caramelized and fragrant.  (Rotate the pan halfway through to ensure even cooking.) To test for doneness, take out a couple seeds and let cool.  They are done when dry to the touch.

Cool completely and store in an airtight container.  They should keep for about a week.

Makes about 1 cup

Notes: The unsalted, shelled pepitas in the supermarket might be worth a try if you are pumpkin deprived. 

Butterscotch Oatmeal Cookies, a Funny Thing Happened

There are few times in a person’s life when having an oatmeal cookie sounds like a bad idea.  Perhaps when giving birth, or when running a six-minute mile; otherwise, it’s fair game as far as I’m concerned. 

Oatmeal cookies say warmth, and fall, and comfort, and sweaters.  And these do not suggest otherwise.  A coworker named Anne first brought them into work, thick with white chocolate and dried cranberries.  And while I don’t really love either adornment in other sweet things, I quickly decided they were some of the best cookies I’d ever known.  Right up there with these guys, these guys, and grandma’s rum balls.

So I got the recipe.  Swapped in butterscotch and apricot for the chocolate and cranberries.  Then I baked and I tasted, hot out of the oven. 

The cookie was okay. It was not one of the best I had ever known. 

I ate three more, just to be sure.  And then I put the rest in plastic bags, sealed them in, and went to bed feeling a little sick.

But a funny thing happened overnight. Those boring little cookies morphed into something else entirely.  Something nutty and chewy, with a dose of oats thick enough to suggest they mean business.  Plus a caramel undercarriage hitting from a few different places, and just enough salt to balance it all out.

I’m going to go ahead and say that browning the butter is a must, as is baking them the night before you need them.  The walnuts are in there for a reason, so resist the urge to take them out if you can. You’ll need good quality oats too, along with a little patience.  I suspect you can hang loose with the chocolate and dried fruit.

The rest pretty much takes care of itself.  We’re not birthing a child here, mind you, but having a recipe like this still feels like a win.

Butterscotch Oatmeal Cookies

Ingredients:

½ cup walnuts

2 2/3 cups old-fashioned oats

1½ cups all-purpose flour

1 tsp baking soda

½ tsp salt

1 cup chopped dried apricots

6 ounces of butterscotch chips

1 cup unsalted butter

1 1/3 cup dark muscovado sugar

2 eggs

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp vanilla extract

Instructions:

Toast the walnuts until fragrant (either in the oven or in a pan; I used a cast-iron skillet); set aside.  Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper; set aside.  In a medium bowl, add the oats and sift in the flour, baking soda, and salt; add in the apricots and butterscotch.  Finely chop the walnuts and stir in until everything is well combined.

In a medium saucepan, melt the butter over medium low heat until it turns golden brown and fragrant (about four minutes); this happens very quickly so be sure to watch.

In the bowl of a stand mixer, pour in the browned butter and whisk in the sugar until well combined (a minute or two).  Add in the eggs, cinnamon, and vanilla and whisk until well combined.  Add in the dry mixture and stir until just combined.  (The mixture will be thick.)

Chill the batter for 15 to 30 minutes; meanwhile preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Once chilled, scoop the batter using a tablespoon to gather up a heaping amount (about 2 to 3 tbsp) of dough and gently round it loosely into balls spaced 2 inches apart on the prepared sheets.

Bake until lightly golden and just dry to the touch but still soft in the center (about 10 minutes).  Slide the parchment onto wire racks to cool.  Line the sheets with more parchment and repeat with remaining batches.

Makes about 2 dozen cookies

Notes:

-Let the walnuts cool slightly so they aren’t piping hot when you mix them in.

-My oven runs a little hot, so I ended up dropping the temperature slightly, but these cook pretty quickly so watch them.

-These freeze beautifully.  And I confess I’ve even eaten them that way.  They really do get better with age.

-If you don’t have muscovado, use dark or light brown sugar and don’t look back.

Pedaling in Sauteed Cabbage with Apples

The French have a way with words.  So how do you make spinning your wheels sound charming?  You say you are pedaling in sauerkraut. The French say: pédaler dans la choucroute. 

Last year I was shipping off to Paris around this time.  This year it’s not so much Paris as it is work, school, or—perhaps very soon—the looney bin.  Take your pick.  

Safe to say, impossibly chic French women need not apply here.  I’m knee deep in some pretty unglamorous funk at the moment.  But what I’m realizing is that we’re all up to *here* in it, so it’s best to just slap on some waders and trudge around in the muck. 

Thus, I decided to make use of some cabbage.  Because, well, pedaling around in sauerkraut made me hungry.  Except I didn’t feel like waiting for cabbage to ferment into sauerkraut.  Best not to let things fester, anyhow, when you have a short fuse.  So the cabbage got sautéed with some butter and apple slices and finished with apple cider vinegar and cognac.  (After all, a woman can’t live on pure brandy alone.)

It was just what I needed.  An uncomplicated fall dish, both tangy and sweet.  Quite comforting.  So you’ll likely find me at the market stocking up on heads of cabbage and trudging through the next few weeks.  Cabbage is a lot like life.  Sometimes it stinks.  Just add some brown sugar and brandy and make the best of it.

Sautéed Cabbage with Apples

~4 tbsp butter, divided

1 small white onion, thinly sliced

Kosher salt to season

1 apple, cut into thin strips

A pinch of grains of paradise, ground (alternatively, just use freshly ground black pepper)

1/2 head of cabbage, shredded or thinly sliced

2 tbsp apple cider vinegar

2 tbsp brown sugar

Splash of cognac (or other brandy)

Heat a pan on medium heat and add about two tablespoons of butter.  Add onion slices, a sprinkling of salt, and saute onions until they are nearly translucent; stir in apple slices and grains of paradise (or pepper). Cook until apples soften and then add the cabbage and vinegar; season with salt and cook until the cabbage softens.  Add about 2 more tablespoons of butter, brown sugar, and brandy and cook a minute or two more.

Makes about 4 cups

Notes:

-The grains of paradise add a nice floral note, but don't let not having them derail you from making this dish.  You can easily just substitute black pepper.

Thoughts of Fall & Flirting with Oven-Candied Tomatoes

I think I have been mind cheating on summer. Technically, we have a few weeks before fall begins, but I’ve already had thoughts of beef bourguignon and spiced sweet potatoes. I can’t wait to turn my oven on. I can’t wait to start braising again.

I feel like a monster. Who is this person so ready to give up on summer? We have had so many fond food memories together. I’ve eaten salads enrobed in blueberry vinaigrette and had my breakfast sweetened with lemon lavender marmalade. And yet …

Oh, the guilt.

My remorse led me straight to the pool this past Sunday; a last-ditch effort to rekindle what was left of my summer romance with summer. It was so cold I kept my jacket on the entire time. It clearly wasn’t working.

I should have seen this seasonal adultery coming: all the signs were there. Last week, I lost my cool when I sliced open a melon from the farmers’ market and its juice dumped all over the floor. I’ve grown emotionally distant—a tad neglectful even—with my corn, letting its natural sugar quietly turn to starch in my bottom crisper drawer. I’ve become resentful of peaches. (For once, I’d like to eat a peach in peace, without having to stand over my kitchen sink and have juice dribble down my chin.)

I’ve even been working later and longer hours, as I recently took a job as a food columnist for the South End News. (Curious? Check out my column about Joanne Chang of famed Flour Bakery + Café and her sticky buns.) I’ve loved this extra work, but have been too tired to even attempt making a berry fool or nectarine tart. Or maybe I've just lost interest?

Then I encountered the oven-candied tomato. It was the best of both worlds: bursting with the final flavors of summer, while still being hearty enough to carry me right into the arms of fall. The tomatoes barely lasted 12 hours: a very brief affair (but definitely one to remember).

It was also just saucy enough to ease the guilt. And you know what they say about guilt; it's a wasted emotion. Oh wait, that's regret. On second thought, I'd better buy a bushel of tomatoes before it's too late.

Oven-Candied Tomatoes

Adapted from The Splendid Table with Lynne Rossetto Kasper

10 plum tomatoes

1/3 cup olive oil

3 springs rosemary, chopped

Pinch red pepper flakes

Kosher salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Slice tomatoes in half and toss with olive oil on a sheet pan. Sprinkle with rosemary and red pepper flakes; generously season with salt and pepper. Roast for 30 minutes and then turn oven to 350 degrees and roast for another 30 minutes. (You may need to occasionally turn the pan to ensure even cooking.) Turn oven to 300 degrees and roast for an additional 30 minutes or until edges of tomatoes start to blacken slightly. If still not at desired doneness, turn oven to 250 degrees and roast for 10-15 minutes more.

Makes 20 halves

Notes:

-I am hoping I will stumble across a glut of September tomatoes; they often become discounted towards the tail end of the season, if you can hold out long enough.

-Theoretically, you should be able to freeze the tomatoes for a few months, should you have enough self-control to let them last that long.