Pumpkin, two ways

I know it's not original, but I really do love pumpkin this time of year. I've come across all kinds of glorious recipes for pumpkin recently, including pumpkin cake, pumpkin bars, and pumpkin ice cream, all of which have my mind spinning in an orangey blur. So when an adorable Sugar Pie Pumpkin arrived in our produce box last week, I thought long and hard about what to do with it.

By the way, isn't "Sugar Pie Pumpkin" the cutest name ever? I mean, if you don't want to eat something called Sugar Pie, you need to get your head checked.

Sometimes I spend a lot of time mulling over what to do with a particular ingredient, only to use it on a whim, which is what happened to my little Sugar Pie one night recently when we found ourselves without a dinner plan. All of a sudden my agony over pumpkin whoopie pies v. pork and pumpkin stew, in honor of one of my favorite dishes at Burma Superstar, vanished into thin air. Before I knew it, I was flying around the kitchen like a little witch, chopping squash, covering the other hungry dog in a light dusting of garam masala, and rooting around for my immersion blender.

Turns out curried pumpkin soup isn't bad for a quick weeknight dinner. It's certainly not fancy, nor is it particularly photogenic, as is evidenced below, but it hits the spot on a cool night. Serve it with a dollop of sour cream and a few snipped chives, plus crispy croutons or some good bread.

I also had some canned pumpkin burning a hole in my, uh, pantry. I think we can all admit that canned pumpkin is up there with frozen spinach when we're talking about the greatest convenience foods. Someone else has done all the hard work so that all we have to do is open a can or defrost a box. Canned pumpkin lends great moisture to any baked good and can take a lot of flavors.

Normally I make pumpkin cranberry bread, but having recently made something similar, I nixed the berries, bulked up the powdered ginger, and added a hefty grating of fresh ginger root.

Gingery pumpkin bread is a nice way to start the day. It's not too sweet and has a lot of spice, and it goes well with coffee or tea. I ate it plain, just cut into thick golden slices, but I think it would be delicious cut a bit thinner, toasted, and served with an orange marmalade or quince jam.

What have you been doing with pumpkin recently, besides carving jack-o-lanterns?

The bestseller

Every cook has in their repertoire a few dishes that are surefire hits, or bestsellers, as my dad would say. These are recipes you can practically put together blindfolded, homey enough just for the family but special enough to serve to guests. You know, the ones everyone gushes over, thinking you slaved away for hours, when really you just made something you've made a hundred times before, something you put together while intermittently checking your email, playing tag with the dog (yes, we do that), and talking on the phone with your sister.

I've found that most of my recipes that fit this bill are traditional comfort food with universal appeal, like pot roast and chicken with rosemary. And then there's my ace in the hole, baked ziti.

Everyone loves this dish. I can't tell you how many times I've made it, or how many times I've given away the recipe. It's great for company, because you can assemble it ahead of time and bake it off when your guests arrive. It's also unfailingly reliable. And who can resist a bubbling tray of cheesy, tomato-y baked pasta, full of sweet Italian sausage and oregano? With a crisp salad and a bottle of wine, dinner is done.

I mentioned this dish once before, although that post was mostly a love letter to San Marzano tomatoes. And I didn't post the recipe, or any photos. Since I made it last weekend, I decided to do a proper post

I got the recipe from the Chronicle about six years ago, during the age of "The Sopranos," when TV critics and foodies (and one Soprano-obsessed Hungry Dog) were snickering about gabagool and salivating at the thought of Carmela's ricotta pie. In fact, this recipe is called Baked Ziti, Soprano-Style.

While "The Sopranos" is long over, I'll always be grateful that someone came up with this recipe and that I happened to spy it in the paper. It's a bestseller, no question about it. I've made it countless times and always with stellar results. Get past the silly name, and you'll be rewarded with a fabulous new go-to recipe to add to your collection, one that will satisfy your cravings for cold-weather comfort food while duly impressing your guests.

BAKED ZITI WITH FENNEL SAUSAGE, SOPRANO-STYLE
from the San Franciso Chronicle

1/4 c. olive oil
1 lb. Italian fennel sausage (or other sweet Italian sausage)
1 large onion, finely chopped
1-2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
Kosher salt and pepper to taste
1/3 c. dry red wine
1 (35 oz.) can canned tomatoes, chopped with their juices
1/4 c. fresh oregano OR 2 T. dried oregano
1 c. fresh ricotta
1 c. grated parmesan
1/3 c. chopped Italian parsley
1 lb ziti or penne
1/2 lb mozzarella, preferably fresh, torn or sliced

Preheat the oven to 425. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Grease a 9 x 13 baking dish with about 1 T. olive oil. Remove sausage from its casing and crumble. Set aside.

Heat remaining 3 T. oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add onion and sauté until translucent. Turn up heat to medium high and add sausage; brown for about 6 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for 1-2 minutes longer. Season with salt and pepper. Pour off and discard most of the fat in the pan*. Add the wine and let it reduce for about 6 minutes or until it is almost gone.

Add the tomatoes and their juices and cook over medium heat for about 10 minutes. When the sauce begins to thicken, add the oregano and stir well. Season to taste again. Turn off heat.

Combine the ricotta, half the parmesan, and the parsley in a large bowl. Season with salt and pepper.

Cook pasta until al dente (do not cook completely). Drain well, reserving about 1/4 c. of the cooking water. Toss pasta with ricotta mixture. Toss again with the tomato and sausage sauce. If the mixture appears dry, add a splash of the reserved cooking water.

Pour the mixture into the baking dish, sprinkle with remaining parmesan, and dot with mozzarella. Bake 15-20 minutes, or until the top is nicely browned. (Often I'll set it under the broiler for 1-2 minutes).

Serves 4-6.
*I don’t usually have to do this, since the sausage I get is fairly lean.

Spiced persimmon chutney

Sometimes things show up in our produce box that I'm not sure what to do with. Of course, that's part of the reason why I like getting the box--to force a little creativity on myself. Over the last few years, I've conquered gaily striped carnival squash, beyond bitter dandelion greens, and a seemingly endless variety of peppers, none of which I would choose from the grocery store. But when they arrive at my doorstep, already paid for and ready to be cooked, I can rise to the occasion.

I have also had the opportunity to cook with ingredients that I like but don't often buy, like persimmons. This week, four fat little Fuyus appeared.

I knew I could just slice them and put them in a salad. But sometimes raw persimmons make my tongue feel weird and cottony. For a long time I thought I was mildly allergic to them, until I read that many people have this sensation when they eat persimmons. Something to do with tannins, although they are more pronounced in Hachiya persimmons, which are very astringent and should be cooked before consuming. Fuyus you can eat raw.

 

But I liked the idea of doing something more interesting with them than tossing them in a salad. I'd seen recipes for persimmon bars and persimmon cakes, but since I was already chilling dough for my apple crostata (an upcoming post) I wanted something savory.

Or at least sort of savory. I decided on a spiced persimmon chutney.

This isn't the kind of thing I normally make. I'm not crazy for chutney, and the husband isn't much for  sauces and relishes. But I decided to give it a whirl, since I had all of the ingredients on hand.

I modified the recipe based on the reader reviews--I cut the vinegar, apple, and raisins in half, and I left out the jalapeno. I also nearly wrecked it when I dumped all the ingredients in the pan after reading "Combine all ingredients" before I noticed the next two words, "except persimmons". I spent the next few minutes sorting through the pan pulling out the little orange squares.

The recipe, with my changes, turned out great. I served it alongside a roasted pork loin rubbed in ground fennel and coriander to echo the flavors of the chutney. Even the husband declared it a success.

This week I have more persimmons arriving. What shall I do with them?