Winter Skies, Kitchen Aglow

One of the truest signs of the onset of winter is the presence of pumpkins and squashes in the markets. It is perhaps no surprise that pumpkins were part of the welcoming gift basket from Native Americans to the newly arrived English at Plymouth Rock in the 1620s, for the appearance of their curvy figures and cheerful colours are both inviting and comforting. While pumpkins and squashes look gorgeous on the mantelpiece, dining table or at the foot of a door, their creamy textures make for divine treats, such as pumpkin pie.

I have had an odd fascination with pumpkin pies since childhood. Their ostensible glow seemed to me symbols of unity and warmth in many of the shows I grew up watching, such as Sesame Street, The Cosby Show, and Peanuts cartoons. I was, however, always baffled at the idea that a dessert could be made from pumpkin, for my exposure to Cinderella's vehicle-in-waiting were smiling, boiled wedges. (To boil slices of pumpkin should be a culinary crime since they already contain so much water, which essentially displaces its mild sweetness and earthy flavours.) When I moved to the US just before Thanksgiving in 2001, I finally had the opportunity to try this practically mythologised pie, but the moment of eating a slice overpowered the actual eating of it - so much so that after I scoffed my portion of pie, I was not certain that I liked it.

What I have since found singularly surprising is that many pumpkin pies are made with butternut squash. Given the difference in natural and detectable sweetness, this makes sense. But a pumpkin pie made with butternut squash should still nod to the great Thanksgiving pumpkin, and I do this by using pepitas in both the pie crust and pie filling a la Martha Stewart.


Pepitas are hulled pumpkin seeds - oval and the colour of deepest jade. When ground they are a glorious mint green, fairy dust similar to fine powdered green tea. When I think of baking pies, I often look to add ground nuts or seeds to any crust, for it makes them taste more like the ingredients they contain. If, however, you are making a pie whose principal ingredient does not have nuts or seeds, then use nuts or seeds that complement the principle ingredient (for example, almonds pair so well with cherries, though having said that, grinding a few cherry kernels is not impossible, if you can be botherd to smash them).

I have followed Martha Stewart's recipe for Pumpkin Pie with Candied Pepitas before, and while gorgeous, I have since adapted it to suit my proclivities. I am not huge on cloves - her recipe begs for but a pinch, but I find it too overpowering, preferring instead to use cloves sparingly in braised dishes or mulled wine. You can reduce the amount of spices by 1/4 if you prefer, but I find that without the overt presence of spices, pumpkin pie tastes odd - it just does not quite sell me as a dessert. Having said that, if you leave the pie for one day, the profound nature of the spices will permeate the filling, adding gorgeously subtle notes to every bite.

Pumpkin Pie with Candied Pepitas
(Adapted from Martha Stewart Living, November 2006)

For the graham crust:
2/3 cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup whole-wheat flour
1/4 cup ground pepitas
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 cup (113g) unsalted butter, softened
1/3 cup light brown sugar, packed

1) Combine flours, pepitas, salt, and cinnamon (either with a whisk or in a food processor).
2) Add butter and sugar and proccess and rub fat in until mealy (you can also do this with a food processor).
3) When dough comes together, press it into a 23cm/9" or 25cm/10" springform pan or single-crust metal pie plate, then freeze for 15 minutes.

For the filling:

1 small butternut squash (approximately 3/4 kg/ 1 1/2lb)
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 tablespoon corn starch
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
pinch of cayenne pepper
1 1/2 cups evaporated milk

1) Slice butternut squash in half and roast at 220 C/425 F, cut-side down, for 50-60 minutes.
2) When cool enough to handle, discard the seeds from the cavity and puree the flesh. You need about 1 1/2 cups packed butternut squash puree for this recipe.
3) Preheat oven to 180 C (350 F).
4) Bake crust (after it has been in the freeze for 15 minutes) until dry and golden brown - about 20 minutes - and then let cool completely.
5) Reduce oven temperature to 170 C (325 F).
6) Whisk pumpkin and eggs in a bowl.
7) In a separate bowl, combine brown sugar, cornstarch, salt, and spices.
8) Whisk dry ingredients into the pumpkin mixture.
9) Whisk in evaporated milk.
10) Tap firmly on counter to release air bubbles *you can let it stand for 20 minutes to ensure this as well).
11) Pour filling into graham crust; tap to release air bubbles.
12) Bake until set, approximately 50 minutes. I like to leave it in the oven for an extra couple of minutes to encourage a caramelisation to occur on the surface of the pie, lending a burnished shade that contrasts with the rich and bright orange of the pie filling.

For the candied pepitas:

1 1/4 cups pepitas
5 tablespoons sugar
1 large egg white, beaten
pinch of coarse salt, plus more for seasoning
pinch of ground ginger
pinch of cayenne pepper

1) Preheat oven to 180 C (350 F).
2) Stir ingredients together in a bowl.
3) Spread mixture in a single layer on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.
4) Bake until pepitas are golden and slightly puffed, approximately 10 minutes. 5) Season with salt.
6) Stir gently, forming some into clumps.
7) Let cool completely in a bowl before storing in an air-tight container for up to three days. Sprinkle a small handful over pumpkin pie (the remainder of which makes for sweet snacking).

The colour and aromas of this pie are so enticing that they beg to be enjoyed in the company of good friends and family. The pumpkin pie's understated yet celebratory appearance make it a perfect feature for every holiday table, or at this time of year when one is tempted to break in the pumpkins and squashes of the season but is not quite ready for their savoury elements. The comforting glow as a slice on a plate is a culinary refuge when looking out at the gloomy skies on the other side of the window panes.

(And happy birthday to the stylish and effervescent Ailene!)

Labels: Autumn, Butternut Squash, Fall, Martha Stewart, Pumpkin Pie

Through the tangle of orange, red and purple withering leaves, piercing blue skies suggest an Indian summer. In New Zealand this is the last moment of autumnal brilliance, just before all the deciduous trees cast off their leaves shaped like aces, leaving behind spindly branches ashen and bare.

The sparkling quality of the image to the left does not fool you, I am sure - the sky looks pristine, clear, but the sun is turning its warm rays toward the northern hemisphere, and we Kiwis are in the cool space that is the transition from autumn to winter.

This is the optimal time in which to put to good use the dreams of winter that I escaped to during the height of summer when it was too hot and muggy to think - instead of swimming or napping, I day-dreamed of rainy days in the kitchen. In the heart of winter one is often tired of root vegetables, so playing around with them before one has no choice but to get used to them is a luxury, for one can still call on the last of the autumnal bounty to overcome failed ideas for interesting winter fare (let's face it, one does not always want for hearty and robust food even when it is blowing a gale and grey as slate).

To lift one from the doldrums of cold climes, I turn to sharp flavours, much as I turn to wooden, earthy herbs in summer - hopefully I am not the only one that, in this instance, appears a walking (blogging) contradiction. I am particularly drawn to sumac, a spice that is produced by crushing dried berries from sumac shrubs (also known as "vinegar trees" in Iran). Lending a gorgeous deep red-purple shade to any marinade, sumac has a sour taste and a citrus spike. Its inherent smokiness makes it a natural spice for grilling. In Turkey, Iran, Lebanon, Syria and Iraq, sumac is sprinkled over meat and fish dishes as well as salads as an alternative to lemon (if the acidic jolt of citrus juice is not required, that is). Sumac is sometimes incorporated into spice rubs, such as za'atar, which also consists of thyme, salt and toasted sesame seeds. Today, though, the sharp property of sumac is paired with the salty yet delicate touch of fleur de sel, giving the palate a real workout against the sweet and earthy bites of beetroot and kumara.

Beetroot and Kumara Fritters
(Adapted from Issue 38 - Autumn of Donna Hay Magazine)

For the sumac salt:
1 part sumac
2 parts fleur de sel

For the fritters:
200g/7 oz beetroot, peeled
100g/3.5 oz orange kumara (sweet potato), peeled
1/4 cup flour
salt, pepper
1 egg white
rice bran or sunflower oil

1) In any vessel (I used a half-cup measuring cup!), mix together fleur de sel and sumac, then put aside.
2) Julienne the beetroot and kumara and put the strips into a medium-sized bowl. For a more refined look, drag a zester across the flesh of the vegetables in order to yield long, thin strips. You can see that I forwent refinedness.
3) Tip the flour onto the julienne strips of beetroot and kumara.
4) Grind in salt and pepper, half the pepper to salt - approximately 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper.
5) Break an egg white into the bowl (keep the yolk in a zipper-locked plastic bag in the fridge and use within a couple of days).
6) Mix together with a fork. After 30 seconds, it should bind quite well.
7) In a small saute pan over medium heat, add enough oil to come 1cm/0.4" up the sides. This is to create a shallow frying environment. The oil is "ready" when the oil bubbles semi-furiously - add a strip of either beetroot or kumara to test.
8) Add 1/4 cupfuls of the vegetable strip mixture, flatten so that all strips touch the oil.
9) Cook in batches 40 seconds to one minute per side or until golden, then flip them over.
10) Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with sumac salt whilst hot.

Because of the salty addition, these free-form fritters accompany cocktails perfectly - not exactly party food, though, for these are best piping hot; however, for a few friends gathered in the kitchen with Sidecars and Cosmopolitans, this is a great lead in to the pate and whatever else you have going. Speaking of cocktails, tomorrow I'm off to watch a movie with friends...and you know which film: it is the one that features a certain quartet of ladies - I'm "a Miranda," by the way, fitting given that it appears to be the last moment of autumn's russet splendour.

Labels: Autumn, Beetroot, Beets, Donna Hay, Fall, Kumara, Sumac, Sweet Potato

When thinking about this month's Weekend Cookbook Challenge, TV Cooks, I was in two minds about participating. There has been sufficient negative print regarding the post-modern breed of celebrity chefs and cooks that I didn't want to open myself up to criticism (namely, for lack of both depth and individuality). But then, I thought, "Who am I kidding?" The fact of the matter is that television channels like the Food Network and the proliferation of food-focussed magazines, all of which are either driven by or concentrate on cooks and chefs, may potentially curb what appears to be a very dangerous trajectory in the course of consumption - some of us are now questioning the provenance of our food and are thinking about what we are putting into our bodies. If one looks beyond the glossy lives, smooth skin and kitchen gadgets, what is there to criticise? Besides, I'm part of the target audience for these shows: willing and fabulous.

While we're talking about home truths, if it were not for television cooks, such as Nigella Lawson, Tyler Florence, Tamasin Day-Lewis and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, I might not be cooking as I do now - regularly and with some respect for ingredients. The appeal of the cooks on television is not necessarily their looks, though that can stop one from changing the channel when one is surfing, but their accessibility. The best tv cooks condense their knowledge into culinary bullet points, perfect for generations X and Y - the Short-Term Attention Span Set. Accessibility is paired with enthusiasm for ingredients and recipes, and each episode often climaxes with a lifestyle plug: food + friends = the good life.

It was the endorsement of a lifestyle I wanted that finally motivated me to work in the kitchen in a meaningful way (also, I had time on my hand as a student and felt guilty watching my angelheart Eric cook after a day's work followed by a typically-hellish Los Angeles commute). As you will note in my earlier posts, cooking centres around dinner with my angelheart Eric or gathering around the dining table with our good friends, most notably the divine poetess Suzanne (now in Paris), the stylish and effervescent Ailene and her husband, the espresso-loving and ruminating Mirko (both now in Colorado). Since leaving Los Angeles, the drive to cook has simmered. At first I attributed this to heartache; and while I think this quite true, I think that holding dinner parties for my Kiwi friends will get the boil going again.

So, moving forward, I am revisiting the cookery books that inspired me so much in the first place. (And I appreciate your patience, having listened to me rattle on about justifying my participation in this month's theme Weekend Cookbook Challenge, TV Cooks.)

What my angelheart Eric and I love so much about Tyler Florence is his enthusiasm for big flavours (heck, the guy even keeps a "flavour journal"!). One of my favourite cookery shows is the old format of Tyler's Ultimate in which Tyler would visit two different people to learn their approach to a particular dish (sometimes going to different countries) and then he'd return to his Manhattan apartment (with its gorgeous brick wall), enlightened and inspired to put his spin on the two recipes and produce the ultimate version of the episode's featured dish (the apple pie, lasagne and paella episodes are particularly compelling and mouth-watering). There is a cookery book of the same name plus two others by this young chef: Tyler Florence's Real Kitchen and Eat This Book.

Eat This Book celebrates big global flavours. The cover shows Mr. Florence in step, powering foward with grocery bags on which are printed Chinese charcters - he is urban, savvy and purposeful. The cover does not misrepresent the contents of the book. Eat This Book places diversity on a pedastal and is a culinary passport of the decentred yet globalised world in which we live.

The recipe that inspires this post highlights Tyler Florence's skills - it presents classically-paired items (pork and apple) and adds his post-modern spin; this is global fusion that is achievable without necessitating a leap of faith from one's comfort zone.

The glory of pork belly is that it is a cheap piece of meat that can be poshed up. It responds well to dry rubs and pastes, and because of its tender structure it is best braised, allowing many possibilities for great depth of flavour. While Mr. Florence suggests serving the dish with a potato and celeriac mash, I have opted for something that is not as soft, for the apple and pork belly offer enough - roasted kumara, cut into chips.

New Zealand kumara is also known as sweet potato. While pre-European Maori are shown to have grown many Polynesian cultivars, the most common kumara is the Owairaka Red, which was developed from a larger American variety of sweet potato. It is rich in Vitamins A and C, and the best thing is that you do not have to peel it (besides, the skin has a special fibre that has special health properties related to both cancer and longevity). Today I have chosen the red kumara for its mellow taste - if I had chosen orange kumara, it might have created too sweet a dish, what with the baked apple on the plate, too. For more information on kumara, go to Kaipara Kumara.

The following menu has been tweaked for a variety of reasons, one of them being that sage is not easily found in New Zealand, so I chose to forgo it altogether, and that I created a slightly spicier apple side by using ginger loaf instead of cornbread muffin, as you will see. Enough for four.

Braised Pork Belly and Buttered Apples
(Adapted from Tyler Florence's Eat This Book)

For the pork belly:
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon fennel seeds, toasted then ground
2 tablespoons thyme
1/2kg/1lb pork belly (one slice, unsmoked)
salt, pepper
720ml/24 fl. oz cider
1 cup chicken stock

For the kumara:
3 kumara, approximately 900kg/1.8lb, cut into wedges
olive oil
salt, pepper

For the apples:
4 apples (I used early season Pacific Rose because they hold their structure well when cooked and have a lovely pink blush)
56g/1/2 stick unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
1/2 cup crumbs from a moist ginger loaf (or, per Mr. Florence, corn muffin)
1/2 tablespoon thyme
1 clove garlic, minced
salt, pepper
1/2 cup cider

1) Pre-heat oven to 200 C/390 F.
2) Score the fat of the pork belly and pat the entire slab dry.
3) Stir together olive oil, ground fennel seeds, thyme in a small bowl. The idea is to make a paste, but I made mine slightly wetter for extra coverage.
4) Rub liquid all over the pork belly and season generously with salt and pepper.
5) Heat a saute pan over medium-high heat. Add 2 tablespoons olive oil.
6) When oil smokes, place the pork belly in the pan, fat-side down. The belly may bend, so use tongs to ensure all the fat crisps up. It should only take five minutes for the fat to look resplendent in burnished, autumnal hues.
7) Turn pork belly over and move pan from the heat.
8) Drain fat from the pan, add the cider and chicken stock.
9) Cover with foil or heavy lid and place on the middle rack in the oven until done, approximately 45 mintues.
10) Core apples.
11) In another small bowl, mix together softened butter, ginger loaf crumbs, thyme, garlic and salt and pepper.
12) Spoon the stuffing into the cavities of the apples, and stand them up, snuggled side-by-side in a baking dish.
13) Once the pork is approximately 30 minutes from being done, pour the cider around the apples and bake until soft.
14) On a foil-lined baking tray, place the kumara wedges and drizzle over olive oil, salt and pepper. Mix together, then lay wedges in one layer. Place in the oven on lowest rack.
15) After minutes, turn kumara wedges over and leave to bake until done.
16) Pull saute pan out, remove foil or lid, and place over medium-high heat. Baste the pork belly as the liquid boils. (If you wish, you can reduce liquid to a sauce and serve as a gravy.)
17) Remove pork belly and cut into slices.
18) Check sauce for seasoning.

The Autumn light does not allow for the most beautiful photo of the results, but you get an idea of the dish anyway. The amount of pork belly, here, seems stingy, but I assure you that it is so beautifully rich that one does not need more. And though one does not taste the cider, fennel seed and thyme strongly, there is a sweet herbiness throughout, harmonising with the richness of the meat. I did not eat the crackling, but I adore its tactile quality; it gives the dish presence. (And such wonderful quality pork belly from the guys at Seaview Meats.)

Now I just need to set the table for friends...

Post-edit: Please visit the round-up to see what everyone else made.

Labels: Apple, Autumn, Fall, Kumara, Pacific Rose apples, Pork belly, Sweet Potato, Tyler Florence, Weekend Cookbook Challenge