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‘Tis fall, dahlings! The leaves outside our windows have begun to redden at the tips, and the glorious sundrenched days of summer have transformed into the city's signature misty grey. We are fully in sweater (and clog) weather, and the cheerful outdoor dining of summer is now an exercise in stoicism under the heat lamps of the outdoor terraces as the cold misty sideways rain assails us. At dinner the other night, the étrangers, the non-French, were bundled up and shivering at our outdoor table, while our Parisian friends were unfazed, chain-smoking, wearing wisps of outer layers—looking impossibly chic. As much as I love the art of conquering outdoor dining, I also take great delight in padding around my apartment in warm slippers, lighting candles, luxuriating, and making cozy foods. One of the things I've been obsessively cooking the past few weeks is winter squash, specifically roasting and puréeing pumpkins for baking. This, dear reader, is highly unusual Jen Kim cooking behavior. For years, I’ve watched gorgeous pumpkin and winter squash varieties come and go at the farmer's markets with a mixture of longing and apprehension. On occasion, I'd take home a winter squash to cook savory dishes—acorn, butternut, kabocha, etc.—but not without trepidation. Cooking winter squash always felt laborious, like some kind of a special occasion food. And baking with an actual pumpkin, forget about it! Any pumpkin found on the Kim-Martin premises functioned strictly as décor. Making homemade pumpkin purée felt too aspirational, inaccessible. The only time I baked pumpkin anything was a mediocre pie eight or so years ago for a Friendsgiving using some brownish goop that came from a can. This all changed just a few weeks ago when a lovely lady at Terroirs D'Avenir, one of our favorite food purveyors, gifted us with a cute teardrop-shaped potimarron. Touched by this unexpected gesture of generosity, I resolved to cook something with it. How hard could it be? But before I could cook, I had several questions to answer: What's the difference between this little squash versus a pumpkin versus the winter squashes that I already knew how to cook? What's even in the can of pumpkin that you buy in the stores? What is this squash called in English? After my thorough-ish online search, I learned that winter squashes and pumpkins are in the gourd family from the plant genus Cucurbita (don't ask me what genus means; I haven't a clue). You can use the words squash and pumpkin interchangeably, and winter squash are harvested in the fall, or now. Unlike summer squash, winter squash have thick skins that protect them and can be cured and stored up to a year. They're cultivated and cooked globally for both sweet and savory cooking. I also learned that the canned pumpkin we buy in the States is usually a type of squash that's similar to butternut squash, not the orange jack-o’-lantern pumpkins you'd expect them to be. Emboldened by my research, I decided to roast and purée my bébé, called a red kuri squash in English, to make a sweet loaf cake with a crackly crust. I cut the kuri in half with my trusted knife (named Lady Guillotine), scooped out the seeds, poked a couple of holes in the skin, and roasted it cut side down to steam the flesh. I separated the seeds from the pulp, tossed them in salt and neutral oil, and roasted them in the oven with the squash. When the squash was tender and easy to pierce with my cake tester, I let it cool and then blitzed the flesh (tossed the skins) in my teeny food processor. The purée was vibrant, gorgeously orange, thick, and tasted like pumpkin should taste: vegetal and pumpkin-y with hints of savory chestnut. I was shook at how rich and delicious the pumpkin was and how easy it was to prepare. I had plenty of hands-off time to write and tend to my other work in between the steps. PLUS, I had a lovely little pumpkin seed snack for apéro (or cocktail hour). With the kuri purée, I added a drizzle of olive oil and salt to serve as a delicious and healthy side, used it as a spread on sandwiches to add creaminess and richness, baked a bundt cake with a glaze icing, and made many loaf cakes with a crackly sugar crust. Since my first roasted kuri bébé, I have been roasting different varieties of pumpkins and squashes. I'm delighted by the endless possibilities of these winter beauties and am so excited to share the recipes I've been working on with you in the upcoming weeks. I never thought I'd be the queen who would make my own pumpkin purée. It seemed too much, too extra. I was ready to continue living my life, avoiding le drama of the pumpkin and the horror of the tin-y memories of the canned cousins. Now that I've gotten over that self-constructed mental barrier, I can't imagine giving up the fabulous flavors of a fresh fall pumpkin. I shan’t. And if I'm being completely honest with myself, and with you, I am an extra ass queen who goes out of her way to cook elaborate things (sometimes), and roasting Cucurbita is not as dramatic as I made it out to be. I used to scoff at fall pumpkin content, but here I am, living proof that you can teach a medium-old queen new tricks. I hope you have a fabulous day, and please do consider roasting that squash that’s decorating your living room. If you’ll excuse me, I'm off to the marché to pick up another pumpkin. Chic, Jen Kim
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