Squash: so much more than a weird sport

Tis the season for members of the Marrow family to start showing up in the grocery stores.  Acorn, spaghetti, butternut, Turk's Turban, pumpkin, and gourds out the wazoo.  I often find myself stocking up on various squash with the best of intentions, but more often than not they become ornamentals.  Condemned to become the centerpiece of a rotting, impromptu cornucopia amongst appliances and unopened mail on the counter.

This year will be different, I swear.

I solemnly vow to buy squash as needed only.  I shall purchase with purposeful intent, and a recipe in mind.  I shall not say “Oooo, that’s pretty!” and bring a miscellaneous weird gourd home and permit it to decompose on a random surface in the kitchen.

In this moment I grow.

I recently picked up the book ‘Moro East’ by Sam and Sam Clark.  I’ve ogled their books often in the past.  Their recipes celebrate Mediterranean foods, with particular focus on the Moorish influences. 

‘Moro East’ also reads as something of a requiem.  The Clarks were part of a gardening community on one of the garden allotments in London’s East End.  Sadly, despite the fact that the land had been bequeathed to East End families “in perpetuity” back in 1900, they were bulldozed in 2007 to become part of the lands used for the 2012 Olympics.

So much for perpetuity.

You can read more about the loss of these properties, as well as the displacement of an entire community here.

Within the pages of ‘Moro East’ there’re recipes based on ingredients harvested from the garden allotments, the people of varied ethnic backgrounds who contributed to the community, as well as people the Clarks have met on their travels.

This past week I zeroed in on two recipes in particular.  Pumpkin Pisto, and Roast Chicken with Sumac.  I’ll focus on the Pisto, though, as it was by FAR the scene-stealer!

As per usual, I made several significant alterations and additions to the recipe.  Since this was to be the only accompanying dish to the chicken, I wanted there to be more veggie variety, so I added carrots, yam, tomatoes and eggplant.  Here’s the recipe as I made it, with a strong nod to the original in ‘Moro East’.

 Harvest Veggie Pisto

·      About 6 tbsp Olive oil, more as needed

·      1 onion, diced

·      1 red pepper, seeded and diced

·      2 cloves garlic, sliced thin

·      1 acorn squash, peeled, seeded and cut into chunks

·      1 large carrot, peeled and cut into large chunks

·      1 yam or sweet potato, peeled and cut into chunks

·      1 eggplant, peeled and cut into chunks*

·      1 -1 ½ tsp finely chopped fresh rosemary

·      1 or 2 bayleaves

·      1 tbsp oregano (preferably fresh, but I used dried)

·      About 1 ½ cups tomatoes, diced

·      ½ -1 tsp ground cumin

·      A few grates nutmeg (teeny pinch)

·      Handful (total) chopped cilantro and parsley

·      1 tbsp balsamic vinegar

·      Salt & pepper

In a large saucepan (I used the base of my Ikea tagine) over medium heat, sauté the onion with a pinch of salt in olive oil for about 15-20 minutes.  Stir and cook until beginning to caramelize. 

Add the red pepper, and continue to cook for another 10 minutes or so. 

Add carrot, yam or sweet potato, garlic, bay leaves, and rosemary, cooking and stirring for a few minutes until all ingredients are evenly mixed.

Next, add the squash, reduce the heat and cover.  Allow to simmer about 10 minutes, before adding the tomatoes, eggplant, oregano, cumin and nutmeg.  Mix well, cover and allow to cook a further 10 minutes until the veggies have softened.

Toss the cilantro and parsley over the vegetables, sprinkle the balsamic vinegar over and stir gently until evenly dispersed throughout.

Adjust seasoning as desired, and serve.

*Often eggplant can be somewhat bitter, and it’s recommended to sprinkle cut eggplant with salt and allow the bitter juices to be drawn out.  I didn’t find that was necessary with this recipe, as the sweetness from the other ingredients defeated any bitterness which may have tried to rear its head.

…and a little light S&M for dessert

Pardon me whilst I wax nostalgic for a moment.  I have very fond memories of pretty much living on the beach during the summers of my childhood.  My grandparents lived on the waterfront, and my brother and I would spend every chance we possibly could running around on the sandbar which was revealed at low tide, building sandcastles, terrorizing the living crap out of every piece of sea life we came across, and drinking buckets full of lukewarm Tang which my Gramma would bring down in a plastic pitcher.

There are so many smells that I associate with those long lazy days, that it’s hard to choose a favourite.  Even the stranger ones seem to hit a happy place in my brain: the aforementioned tang of Tang, the saline waft of hot sun on rocks, the sweatiness of creosote on the pilings which lined the front of my grandparents yard, an occasional lilt of wild tea roses, and the omnipresent mingling of dry tree needles, moss and sun-scorched grass.  Then, at this time of summer, there would be the Dominator/trix of all the other smells: The ripening blackberries.

My brother and I would scour the beach for the best, most untouched patches of the blackberries, cramming our faces until our cheeks and chins were stained crimson, and we pooped purple for a week.  We took few precautions towards the thorns, and barely noticed the shred marks, which made our skin look like we’d tangled with a herd of particularly temperamental felines.

So, you can imagine my delight the other day while walking home with my groceries, and that familiar sweetness plucked at my nose.  Baskets of fresh local blackberries had made it to one of my local markets.

Needless to say, I picked some up, and brought them home to mingle with some fresh-from-the-yard blueberries which were just waiting for a purpose.

Thus S&M Crisp was on the dessert menu for that evening.  So titled because the berries were black and blue, and also as a small homage to those summer days long since past when my brother and I would endure excruciating pain for those moments of blissful berry-induced nirvana.

S&M Crisp

Preheat oven to 375°

Filling:

·      Blueberries and blackberries.  Yeah, ummm…I really don’t know a specific quantity. I conferred with my Mom on this one, and she’s in agreement that it's up to you.  You could use enough berries to make up anywhere between 2 and 4 cups.  Depending on the pan you use, and how thick you want the fruit layer.

·      1-2 Tbsp cornstarch

·      2 Tbsp sugar.  You may need more sugar depending on the sweetness of the fruit.

 Toss the fruit with cornstarch to coat, and then 2 Tbsp sugar.  

Crust:

·      3/4 c brown sugar

·      3/4 c flour

·      3/4 c oats

·      1/4 c softened butter (maybe a Tbsp or so more for blendability)

Smoosh crust ingredients together in bowl until blended.  I just use my hands.  Way easier to knead it together than have a brain aneurism with a spoon or spatula.

Bursting berries, ochred oats and failed photo focus

Sprinkle pieces of crust mix on top of prepared fruit, and chuck into preheated oven for 30-40 minutes.  Remove when crust is handsomely golden.  It’s also a good idea to place a cookie sheet underneath if you're using a shallow pan, as the fruit juices can blurp over the sides.

 

Okay, so I took the easy way out and bought the berries rather than put myself through the iron maiden of a blackberry patch.  However, this is my mothers recipe, and since I haven't given her credit for it until now, I think that's enough of an exercise in potential masochism to make up for it.

My friend Manuela was on hand to partake in the devouring of this little pan full of happiness.  She later recreated this at home, creating a vegan version by substituting a soy butter for the real butter.  I think the bible speaks of butter omission as one of the greater sins, but for vegans and/or the lactose intolerant I guess it's good you have non-cramping options.

Photo and vegan alternative courtesy of Manuela