a delicata morning

Our first delicatas never made it past the kitchen counter. My husband and I love winter squashes and look forward to them each year. In our travels in Europe we have found that colorful seasonal squashes like acorn, butternut and delicata are just beginning to find a place on the table. The stores are just filled with them around this time each year but people use them as seasonal decorations and can't imagine that they are edible. I like to think that my darling mother-in-law really fell in love with me, the new loudish, quirky, American bride, when I cooked her centerpiece. She didn't know that those squashes were edible and I didn't know that they were part of the decor. So I say fill a bowl with your share of colorful squash. They are a feast for the eyes and soul as well as the tummy. And they are just too practical, as natural in savory dishes as in sweet. There are so many lovely recipes for stuffed roasted squash and I really should try one someday but during the Autumn and Winter the container of roasted squash puree in my refrigerator is as ubiquitous as hummus or jam. I just slice, scrape out the seeds and roast in a baking dish with about a cup of water poured into the bottom until the squash is tender enough to be scraped from the skins. From there it may be stirred into a pot of tomato soup for extra richness. I frequently replace a cup or so of cheddar cheese with an equal amount of roast squash in macaroni and cheese. That macaroni, let me tell you, is greedily gobbled down by a three and a half year old who will   remove bits of squash with surgical precision from a plate of risotto.
I hope you can enjoy the simple spicy squash muffins I baked just this morning.  A cup of squash puree to one lightly beaten egg, three quarters of a cup of milk, a table spoon of oil, two heaped tablespoons of wheat bran, one third a cup of sugar, a shake of nutmeg, a sprinkle of clove and a dousing of ground cinnamon, one and a half cups of flour and a teaspoon of baking powder and a half teaspoon of baking soda. Into a buttered muffin pan, top lightly sprinkled with crunchy sparkles of raw sugar and off to a 400 degree oven for about ten minutes.    I pulled those fragrant, fluffy beauties from the oven this morning right as my husband was rushing frantic out the door and as a trio of riotous little ones played hide and seek. But when the plate of warm muffins, cups of milk and coffee and a dish of butter made it to the table for a small handful of precious moments there was nothing but the sounds of quiet, satisfied chewing. I may have never come across a magic pumpkin but this, certainly, is the magic of winter squash.

behold the parsnip

I do love a good parsnip, such a herald of fall, such a carroty crispness. Even the name parsnip is just so peppy. I find that a little extra pep is a good thing as summer sizzles to an end. So, welcome parsnips. I've been waiting. I got my greatest exposure to this humble root veggie while teaching in the Czech Republic, a country so renown for craft beer that I rarely hear it referenced in regard to cooking. Which is a shame really. I had more than my fair share of rich, lovingly prepared meals all over the country. And if there were ever a people who embraced the parsnip whole heartedly it would be the Czechs. There were just piles of them at every market I shopped. I ate them fried and funneled into paper cones like french fries, roasted alongside pork and mushrooms and creamed with potatoes and celery root. I bought a bottle of homemade wine at a little family run deli on the side of the highway one evening on the way to a dinner party expecting a rough sherry-ish concoction. When the host pulled the cork before dinner he inhaled deeply at the neck of the open bottle and his face softened into a dreamy wistfulness. It was a bottle of parsnip wine, something he had made with his grandmother and grandfather every fall of his childhood.  The wine was unlike anything I'd had. A bit sweet from the natural sugars in parsnips but deeply earthy and mineral. I wished I had bought more.
I'm no wine maker and It is unlikely that I will have another chance to sip a glass of parsnip wine but that is okay so long as the parsnips keep coming I will be ready with a recipe for savory parsnip strudle.
Just peel and slice about a pound of parsnips into rounds. In a heavy bottomed skillet slowly caramelize the parsnips and two large sliced onions in a bit of butter until soft and golden, adding salt and black pepper to taste. Transfer the vegetables to a baking dish and dot everything with about four ounces of fresh goat cheese. In a separate bowl combine a generous pinch of salt  half a stick of ice cold butter, a teaspoon of dried or fresh thyme and a cupful of whole grain flour. Use your hands to squeeze and blend the mixture until you have a bowlful of buttery herb-scented crumb topping. Sprinkle over the parsnips and onions and bake in a 350 degree oven four about thirty minutes until everything is golden and bubbly. This and a simple green salad is lovely to find on an early autumn supper table.