Butternut Squash

This recipe was inspired by my discovery of single-serving-size butternut squash the size of hand weights at my local farmers’ markets. Roasted butternut squash is a great thing to have on hand for use in various other dishes, though, so feel free to roast a larger one and use 1/2 cup of the flesh here, refrigerating the rest for up to a week or freezing for several months in an airtight container.

This is a recipe payoff from having made the Stewed Cauliflower, Butternut Squash, and Tomatoes (page 55), beefed up with the addition of white beans, crunchy croutons, fresh thyme, and cheese. The soup is a beautiful orange color and tastes of cream, even though it has no such thing in it.

One of the smartest things you can do when cooking for one is make large quantities of pasta sauce to freeze and then defrost and adapt into quick weeknight meals. Such sauces can go well beyond a simple marinara. When I asked the queen of Italian cooking in America, Lidia Bastianich, for her favorite approaches to such a thing, she quickly came to me with this hearty vegetable stew that can do triple, quadruple, even quintuple duty: Use a cup of it to dress pasta, of course, but also spoon it onto charred bread for bruschetta, use it as a base on which to nestle grilled fish or chicken, or try one of the companion recipes: Baked Egg in Fall Vegetables (page 33) or Fall Vegetable Soup with White Beans (page 58). I couldn’t resist putting my stamp on this recipe: I did what I do with many tomato sauces and splashed in some fish sauce to deepen the flavor.

The payoff for having made the Stewed Cauliflower, Butternut Squash, and Tomatoes (page 55), beyond that first bowl of pasta I hope you had with it, is that you can use it for quick treatments such as this one. With its runny yolk enriching the vegetables, it’s a satisfying breakfast dish on its own, or it can morph into a brunch or breakfast-for-dinner dish with the addition of crusty bread and a side salad.

An hour after leaving Dijon, I was lost. A tangle of lanes, endless vineyards, and a low mist left me confused and desperately looking for a farm at which to ask for directions. It wasn’t the most poetic of farmyards, but there was dry mud and clean straw underfoot and tight bales of hay on which were perched a hundred or more fat, round pumpkins soaking up the late-afternoon sun like a group of ladies in a Beryl Cook painting. I whistled and called without reply; not even a dog barked. As I waited, the pumpkins seemed to be watching me, growing faintly malevolent in the fading golden light. I felt like a lost child in a haunting fairy tale. Whether it was the watching fruits or the deserted farm that spooked me, I got back in the car and left as fast as I could. Thirty years on, I think of them in an altogether friendlier light, but they are still what I want at Halloween and on Guy Fawkes’ Night. I came up with this modern take on the classic sausage and mash a year or two ago in an attempt to pacify a herd of boisterous and hungry kids that descended on me one October. It worked.

Marrying textures and tastes to one another is one of the most satisfying pleasures of cooking: the soft with the crisp, the steamily hot with the icily cold, the spicy with the mint cool. I somehow had a feeling that crisp crumbs might work well with the soft, collapsing flesh of a squash. They do, but are more interesting when the crumbs are not packed on top like a crumble but lightly scattered over and between the pieces of squash.

The soup-stew, a bowl of spoon-tender meat, beans, and aromatics that partly collapse into the surrounding stock, is one of the suppers I hold dearest. More often taken as lunch, this is food that feeds the soul as much as the belly, enriching, calming, quietly energizing. This is the cooking on which to lavish the cheapest cuts going, the fatty, bony lumps that butchers sell at reduced prices: mostly cuts from the neck and lower legs. Ingredients whose sole purpose is to give body to the liquid in which they cook. A knuckle end of prosciutto would be a sound addition here, if your local deli will sell you one. Most will charge very little. Butchers are an excellent source of ham bones with much meat attached. Failing that, I use a lump of ham, complete with its thick layer of fat.

This rustic dish makes a wonderful cold-weather meal when paired with a green salad. Instead of the usual white top made of potatoes, this shepherd’s pie gets a toasted orange hue from winter squash, a common ingredient in Greek and Italian cuisine. You can substitute pumpkin, red kuri squash, or kabocha squash for the butternut. Gremolata, a fresh Italian condiment of parsley, lemon zest, and garlic, adds a bright citrus note.

Sweet, nutty butternut squash is one of fall’s most delicious vegetables. It is wonderful roasted, in a soup, or as a creamy puree. A touch of brown sugar brings out its natural sweetness. For a great change of pace, try this as a side dish instead of mashed potatoes.

Apples were one of the first tree crops to be planted in America and were originally used to make hard cider. The flavor of this soup is predominantly of squash with just a hint of apple for extra sweetness and a touch of acidity.

My first introduction to Thai curries came while I assisted a friend in preparing a luncheon for Nancy Reagan at the Reagan Presidential Library in Simi Valley, California. What a surprise: the curry sauce was red! Although Thai curries have many ingredients in common with those of neighboring India, they tend to be tinged with a hint of sweetness from the combination of coconut milk and a traditional dash of sugar, and they are often colored red or green by the red or green chiles in them, rather than the more familiar yellow color of Indian curries. As with most Thai curries, serve this over rice.

Amarillo means “yellow” in Spanish, and it is also the name of one of the seven classic moles, or sauces, from Oaxaca, known as “The Land of Seven Moles.” Though far from yellow (it’s more of a brick red), it can be used as a base for a delicious and very spicy vegetable stew that can stand alone or be served over rice to cut its heat.

Growing up in New England, I stayed as far away from pumpkin pie as possible. I did whatever I could to keep my distance from those dubious wedges of orangey-brown filling. For some reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to try it. But when I did, later in my life, I mourned for all those opportunities I missed. (I wouldn’t eat lobster either, which was cheap and plentiful back then. Talk about regrets!) One thing I don’t regret, though, is trying butternut squash in place of pumpkin in my pie. The cooked squash is naturally sweeter and thicker than pumpkin, and makes for a silkier pie. Note that in this recipe, the filling is added while still warm to the prebaked pie shell. This reduces the baking time for the pie and eliminates the problem of the crust burning while the filling bakes. You can make the filling in advance, but be sure to rewarm it gently before pouring it into the crust.

Pretty much everyone has a neighbor or friend (kind of a June Cleaver type) who loves to cook and also somehow manages to be a CEO and raise three Rhodes scholars while spending three hours a day (minimum) in the kitchen. This is the recipe you give that person when she says, “Oh, I’d so like to make something for you.” This is a labor of love, and while not quite as physically intensive as, say, coal mining, it takes a bit of effort. But it’s worth it, because the recipe is big enough to be made in ramekins so it can serve as six little meals, and it stores well, too.

To the uninitiated, winter squash can be a bamboozling vegetable. Sure, it tastes delicious, but being so hard and often so funny-looking, it’s a bit intimidating whole. The first time I got one home, I felt like I was working with a tree stump. How was I going to get to all of that delicious flesh in the middle? Machete? Chainsaw? Actually, a good sharp chef’s knife is all you need, and if you don’t want to go there, most supermarkets now sell precut squash. I don’t mind the work, because of the wonderful reward—a succulent, sweet, yum-alicious treasure that, when pureed and roasted, tastes like candy. Really! If you’ve ever worked with a pumpkin, taking on squash isn’t all that different. Only there’s no trick here, just treat. (Personally, I’m a fan of cutting squash in half lengthwise then prebaking it so I can easily scoop out the middle, but that’s just me.)

Fragrant and brimming with health-boosting nutrients, these little cakes are a scrumptious alternative to pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving dinner. Top with Whipped Cream Frosting (page 93).

This colorful stew is an autumnal cousin to chili, using Native American ingredients. It’s a good dish to try out on older kids and teens who have begun to appreciate more complex combinations of flavors and ingredients.

This cheerfully colored soup brings you a hint of sweetness and the pleasant crunch of turnips. Once you’ve got the squash baked, the rest is a snap.

Once you’ve got the squash baked, this Japanese-style soup comes together quickly, and is as pleasing to the eye as it is to the palate. Use chopsticks for “slurping” the noodles.