Winter Squash Nouveau

"Butternut" is a favorite among winter squashes 

My father would harvest winter squash at the end of a gardening season when the tomatoes had been canned and the evenings carried a snap of cold – though the afternoons were still ablaze with heat. He would push the wheelbarrow down to the bottom of the gardening hill – and there, he would silently clamor behind broad leaves and thick vines, ruthlessly snapping tough umbilical cords to free the fruit from its mother plant. The vines were left to wither and feed the ground for the following season.

The harvest would be spread out on the marble slabs of the patio floor.  I used to think he did that to admire the bounty he had grown, but now I know it was for the more practical and scientific reason of allowing the harvested fruits to “ripen” in the autumn sun – that is, to let the natural sugars convert to sweet starches. After several days or a week of such ripening, my father would once again load the harvest into his wheelbarrow and tote it down to the fruit cellar where he placed them on shelves alongside the canned tomatoes.

Before he did that, my mother would ceremoniously cook one or two of the fresh gourds for dinner. I still remember the aroma that would burst forth when she slit the top off one of the gourds – a cousin of the pumpkin after all, though a tamer and less obtrusive variety – its clean spicy scent reminding me of cooler weather on the horizon. She often served meatloaf for dinner that night, topped with a red tomatoey hot sauce – perhaps because of the contrast in color.  She was an artist at heart, after all, and dinner was her task at hand.  In hindsight, I think she very often chose dinner items because of their color potential . . .

Once cooked and mashed, she would coax the pale orange squash into a serving bowl of contrasting color – blue is nice, especially near a browned meatloaf topped with red sauce. She would throw another dollop of butter on the steamy orange peaks, then add a generous shake of black pepper to finish it off . . .

There is something fleeting about the taste of freshly picked winter squash as compared to its brethren that has ripened a few weeks. Now that I know a little bit about wine, I compare it to Beaujolais Nouveau, that first wine of the season that ritually debuts on the third Thursday of November. This un-aged wine is the much anticipated indicator of the quality of the year’s wine harvest.  The wine is purplish-pink, purposely immature, fruity, light and pale . . . and such are the qualities of the first winter squash.

The dark coolness of the fruit cellar, and time, somehow let the squashes grow deeper in color – and certainly sweeter – until by Thanksgiving Day the starches would have reached their peak of sweetness. After the holidays, only a month or two remained for eating winter squash – for it became wizened and starchless by March.  Gourds that had lost their vigor entirely were unceremoniously fed to the compost pile . . . and a new batch of seeds begun.

The most expressive gourds – those with crooked necks and bulbous tails – those squashes found immortality in the oil paintings done by my mother on cold winter days. The nook of a crooked handle might serve as placement for an apple or a handful of dried corn. I saw her do that on many occasions: retrieve an eccentric squash or two from the basement for her creative, expressive needs at the easel before dinnertime . . . yet one more way that winter squash might feed.

The Method:

Peel, seed, and chop winter squash (butternut) into chunks.  Add one inch of water to the pan, bring to a boil and cover.  Simmer until easily pierced with a fork (10 or 15 minutes) . . .

Drain.  Add salt and pepper and a large spoonful of butter.  Mash till creamy.  Place in a pretty bowl of contrasting color, adding one more dollop of butter on top, and a generous smattering of pepper.