The aftermath: turkey soup with butternut squash, beans and spinach

Had enough turkey yet?

I have come within a hair’s breadth of tossing everything to liberate myself from the memory of my indiscretions on the fateful fourth Thursday in November. At least I am in good company. But the frugal housewife in me cannot tolerate the waste. So I have removed the meat from the bones, saved some for the last couple of sandwiches, and a bit for soup. The bones are going into stock. Some day. Right now, I am shoving them into the freezer because I made stock on Thanksgiving.

Here’s why. First, we had a very small Thanksgiving. As in, only our very small family of three at the table. It was College Boy’s twenty-first birthday. I could make peace with the small number around the table since I wanted him to myself for a day. To that age group, “coming home” means “sleeping at home.” I take what I can get. He requested a birthday pie. And we had pink champagne (of course.)

 

I mention this as background to my decision to roast the turkey in two halves as an experiment. Presentation was not so high on the list of priorities that day. Even though I am happily and thoroughly tradition-bound when it comes to my Thanksgiving menu, I am mesmerized by all the cooking advice that proliferates at this time of year. So after reading chef’s tips on cooking a turkey in the New York Times and viewing Tyler Florence on the Today Show, I decided to try the split turkey method. (Note to Tyler: the herbs were messy and did not add much, in my opinion; I think I’ll skip them next time, better for garnish.)

It was a last minute decision. I had to hack the bird in half myself. It felt very un-American, believe me. That left me with the backbone, neck, and gizzards. I had a lot of chicken bones in my freezer, too, so I ended up with a nice big pot of stock by the time the day was over.

P.S. The turkey (12 pounds) was juicy and perfect, not in the least bit dry.  I rubbed it with butter, seasoned it with salt and pepper, and added a bit of stock to the bottom of the pan and roasted it at 425 degrees F.  I might have basted it once. Of course I used a probe thermometer (set to 160 degrees F.) so I don’t remember how long it took, but I would guess around 2 hours. It was easy to carve, too. So unless I want to bring the bird to the table, I think it is one new experiment that I will repeat. Maybe I’ll leave the hack job to the butcher.

Now that most of the work is done, the soup is a snap. We will eat a little and freeze the rest. It will be even better as a go-to, healthy meal, when the excess of Thanksgiving is far behind.

For the stock:

Place the carcass and all the denuded bones in a large pot. If you happen to have any chicken bones in the freezer, you can add them too. Cover with about 2 inches of cool water and bring to a boil. Let the stock bubble for a few minutes and skim off the foam.

When the foam subsides, add:

1 to 2 sliced onions

3 to 4 carrots, thickly sliced (don’t bother to peel them),

A few stalks of celery, thickly sliced

Several peppercorns

Parsley and thyme sprigs if you have them

A generous pinch of salt

Simmer very gently for 2 to 4 hours. Strain. Divide among quart freezer containers and let sit at room temperature to cool for about 20 minutes. Cover and refrigerate overnight. The next day, skim off the fat and freeze or use in soup.

Turkey soup with white beans and squash

Feel free to substitute chicken anywhere the recipe says “turkey”

Serves 6

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 medium onion, finely diced

2 stalks celery, cut in 1/4-inch dice

1/2 small peeled and seeded butternut squash (8 ounces) cut in 1/4-inch dice (about 1 1/2 cups)

Salt and pepper

10 cups turkey stock

1 can (14-15 ounces) cannellini or navy beans, rinsed and drained

2 cups diced leftover turkey

5 cups (about 4 ounces) baby spinach leaves

Freshly grated Parmesan cheese, for garnish

1. Heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat until it shimmers. Add the onion, celery, squash, and salt and pepper to taste. Cook for about 3 minutes, until the vegetables begin to soften. Add the stock and the beans, bring the soup to a simmer, and cook until the squash is tender, 12 to 15 minutes. Add the turkey and spinach leaves and simmer for another minute or two until the turkey is heated through and the spinach has wilted.

Ladle into warm bowls and garnish with grated Parmesan to taste.

Maple candied sweet potatoes:hold the marshmallows

When I was a kid, I filled my plate almost exclusively with stuffing and sweet potatoes. The turkey was a mere cursory, compulsory nod to expectations. Not that anyone was really noticing mind you, so busy were they contemplating their own plates from the Thanksgiving groaning board.

At Grandmother’s house, the potatoes were smothered in a caramelized goo of butter and brown sugar, enough to send a small person into shock. 


Lord, they were good.

I’ve tamed my sweet tooth since then. We were never a marshmallow family, so luckily I did not have to attempt to graduate from that school. But I decided to tone them down.  I know. Thanksgiving is all about excess.  But as a wiser grown-up, I understand that I have to pace myself if I want to make it to the most important part of the meal: the pie.

Here is a recipe for gently sweetened potatoes. Are they yams, or are they sweet potatoes?  Do we know which is which? Do we care?  Do we have time?  In this photo, the “yams” are on the left and the “sweet potatoes” are on the right. I think. 

The main thing is you can eat the leftovers with almost no guilt, or sub them in when the pie is all gone.

Maple candied sweet potatoes: hold the marshmallows

Serves 12 or more as part of Thanksgiving dinner

1/4 cup melted, unsalted butter (1/2 stick) plus more for the pan

4 large sweet potatoes (3 to 4 pounds) cut in half crosswise

Salt and pepper

1/4 cup maple syrup

2 tablespoons brown sugar

Zest of 1/2 orange

1. Heat the oven to 400°F. Generously butter a large baking dish.

2. Place the potatoes in a large pot and cover them with cool water. Add 1teaspoon salt, cover the pot, and bring the water to a boil over high heat. Decrease heat to a steady simmer and cook potatoes, uncovered, for 10 to 12 minutes, until tender BUT STILL FIRM. The potatoes should be slightly underdone since they will be baked again. Drain and cool.  When cool enough to handle, peel and cut each half in two lengthwise pieces.

3. Place the potatoes in the buttered baking dish in one layer with the flat sides up. Combine the melted butter, maple syrup, brown sugar and orange zest in a small bowl  (or nuke them in the microwave for 30 seconds until the butter melts.) Use a pastry brush to coat the potatoes with the syrup; if you have extra, drizzle it over them.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper. (Potatoes can be prepared to this point up to one day ahead of time.)  Bake for 20 to 30 minutes, until golden. Baste occasionally if time permits.

I feel that I have finally fulfilled my obligation to my family by posting almost all of our traditional recipes. For everyone else, please chime in with your favorites. Here is a roundup. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!

Gravy

Cranberry sauce

Glazed carrots with cranberries

Pumpkin pie with maple whipped cream

How to cook a pumpkin

Step-by-step illustrated guide to making a pie crust 

Roasted acorn squash with sage and pine nuts (from White on Rice Couple)

Pumpkin pie with maple whipped cream

Thanksgiving. It’s all about family, right? So in the spirit of tradition and the holiday, I’m going to share my grandmother’s version of pumpkin pie. I thought you should know something about her if you try her recipe. I’d like to wax nostalgic about Grandmother, but it is hard to get all misty-eyed. Grandmother was not the cuddly type but she had her good points.

She was direct.

When I was 13: “You’re fat!”

When I was in my twenties, wearing make-up: “A little too much rouge, Sally dear.”

When I was divorced after less than a year of marriage: “I thought you were in an awful hurry when you married him.”

When she met my true husband: “What does his father do? Do they have money?”

When she learned he was Mexican-American: “Are they short?” My husband, at six feet-plus towered over her. But she insisted. “Aren’t they all short?”

And as my uncle Tim said, “Catherine, you may have shut off your hearing aid, but you will turn your head at the rustle of a dollar bill across a crowded room.”

She had another good point. The woman could cook.

I’ve never seen anyone able to pull odds and ends out of the refrigerator to make a fabulous little meal or snack as well as Grandmother. Even liverwurst was pretty good when she added her pickled cucumbers.

Okay, that may be a nostalgia thing.

Pumpkin Pie

This version of pumpkin pie has a light, custardy texture and it is not very sweet, so you may want to adjust the sugar to 3/4 cup if you like your pies sweet. Naturally, after years of eating it, I think it’s perfect. You can use canned pumpkin (Grandmother did) but if you want to go the extra mile, make your own puree from a fresh pumpkin—the resulting pie will be good both ways; it is a little lighter  and more delicate if you use fresh pumpkin. This pie is best eaten on the day it is made, but you can make the filling and line the pie pan a day ahead and put them together and bake the pie on Thanksgiving.

Makes one 10-inch pie

1/2 recipe flaky pie pastry or 1 ten-inch pie shell of your choice

2 large eggs

1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar

1 1/2 cups half-and-half

1 1/2 cups fresh pumpkin puree (or 1 can pumpkin if you must)

1 1/2 teaspoons cinnamon

3/4 teaspoons ground ginger

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons melted, unsalted butter

1. Set a rack in the middle of the oven and heat the oven to 375 degrees F. Line a 10-inch pie pan with dough and crimp the edges.

2. Whisk the eggs in a large mixing bowl until they are blended. Stir in the brown sugar, half-and-half, pumpkin puree, cinnamon, ginger and salt. When they are blended, stir in the melted butter and pour the filling into the pie shell. (Note: To help with the soggy bottom problem, you can pre-bake the shell for 15 minutes if you like, using the blind baking method.) 

3. Place the pie in the oven and decrease the temperature to 350 degrees F. Bake for 50 to 60 minutes, until a toothpick poked into the center of the pie comes out clean. Set the pie on a rack to cool and serve at room temperature with plain or maple flavored whipped cream.

Maple Flavored Whipped Cream

1 cup heavy cream

2 tablespoons maple syrup

1 teaspoon vanilla

1. Chill the bowl and beaters of a mixing bowl. Add the cream, maple syrup and vanilla. Beat until soft peaks form. If you are using a machine, turn it off before the cream is completely whipped and whisk the final few seconds by hand to avoid over whipping it.

How to cook a pumpkin

Cooking a pumpkin is not that different from baking a potato. Once you realize this, you will not want to bother with the canned stuff. You can make the puree and freeze it to make really good pumpkin bread or soup.  In pie, fresh pumpkin has a more delicate flavor and the filling bakes up lighter than the usually too-dense (in my opinion) filling that turns some people off to pumpkin pie.

One pound of pumpkin produces a little less than one cup of pumpkin puree. It is almost 1:1 pound to cup, so you might as well roast a 3 to 4 pound pumpkin while you’re at it, and freeze the leftovers.

 How to cook a pumpkin

1 sugar pumpkin or pie pumpkin, the size of your choosing

1. Heat the oven to 375 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with parchment for easy cleanup.

2. Cut the pumpkin in half and place it flat side down on the baking sheet.  Don’t bother to scrape out the seeds yet; it’s easier to do when the pumpkin is cooked. Bake it for about an hour. Poke it with a knife to see if it is soft, just like you would test a baked potato.  Remove and let it cool on the baking sheet.

3. Scoop out and discard the seeds. Peel off and discard the pumpkin rind. Cut the flesh in chunks and puree until very smooth in a food processor. If the pumpkin has a very dry consistency, you may need add a little water. (Just a little.)

You can store extra pumpkin puree in a plastic bag in the freezer for up to 3 months.

Pie school: a step-by-step illustrated guide to making piecrust

Well, push has come to shove, boys and girls. Pie Day, I mean, Thanksgiving, is just a few days away and if you are about to revisit your yearly, perhaps frustrating, encounter with piecrust, I hope this will help.

Claims of perfect piecrust aside (if only life were as simple as perfect piecrust!) this is my method, honed after making thousands of pies. Seriously. But that was then (when I made about twenty pies a week for years on end) and this is now. Now I don’t make nearly enough pie and it is sad because I love pie almost as much as life itself. I have a lot to say about pie, but as I mentioned earlier, we’re down to the wire.

Flaky Pie Dough (see detailed how-to after the recipe)

This is a plain, old-fashioned, American style pastry, the ideal crust for a fruit pie, chicken pie or any traditional, down-home kind of pie. Its very plainness does not clash with or overpower the filling in the way a rich, buttery crust would. The shortening makes the crust very tender and flaky, and the butter zaps it with flavor. A small amount of sugar in the dough adds a hint of sweetness and helps the crust turn a lovely golden brown when the pie bakes. When using this dough for a savory pie, omit the sugar.

Visible pea size pieces of butter and shortening are what give this dough its irresistible flakiness, so while a food processor gives you quick results and keeps the ingredients from warming too much from your hands, you must take care not to over-process the mixture. When the fat melts in the oven it turns to liquid, creating pockets of steam in the layers of dough; hence flakiness.

 Makes enough for two 9 or 10-inch pie shells, or one double-crusted 9 or 10-inch pie

3 cups (13.5 ounces) all-purpose flour

3 tablespoons (1.5 ounces) sugar (omit if making dough for a savory pie)

1 1/2  teaspoons fine sea salt                                                                                  

2 sticks (8 ounces) cold, unsalted butter, cut in 1/4-inch slices

3 tablespoons (1.5 ounces) cold, trans-fat free vegetable shortening

5 tablespoons ice water
1 tablespoon lemon juice

1. Combine the flour, sugar and salt together in a large, zip-loc plastic bag and shake to mix. Add the butter, seal the bag and shake again to separate the butter pieces and coat them with the flour. Measure the shortening onto a piece of plastic wrap. Wrap it and flatten it with the palm of your hand. Place both parcels in the freezer for 20 to 30 minutes.

2. Pour the cold flour and butter mixture into the bowl of a food processor. Break the shortening into butter-pat size pieces and add them to the work bowl. Give the machine 4 to 6 two-second pulses, until the butter and shortening are in pea-size pieces. The mixture should look unevenly crumbly.

3. Dump the mixture into a mixing bowl. Dribble 1/2 cup of ice water over the mixture and toss it together with your hands as if you were tossing a salad. (Use 1/4 cup if only mixing half the dough.) If the dough feels dry, dribble in an additional tablespoon or two of ice water. 

4. When the dough starts to clump together without any dry spots, tip the dough onto the clean countertop. Divide it in half and cup your hands to press the sides of the dough together to form two disks. Resist the temptation to knead or squish the dough too much, just push it firmly into flat disk shapes, so that it holds together. 

5. Enclose the disks of dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 30 minutes, or longer if you need to walk the dog.  Use the time to preheat the oven, clean up, and ready the countertop for rolling the dough.

**********

To Make the Dough By Hand: Complete step one, above.  Pour the chilled flour and butter mixture into a bowl. Use a pastry cutter or a wire whisk to break up the butter in pea-size pieces. Break the shortening in pieces, add it to the flour mixture, and cut it in with the pastry cutter.  The mixture should look unevenly crumbly with visible pea-size pieces of butter and shortening. Continue with recipe in step three.

LOOK AND COOK:

Cut the butter in thin slices. Mix it with the flour, sugar and salt in a sealed plastic bag. Wrap the shortening in plastic and smash it down to flatten it. That felt good, didn’t it?

Put them in the freezer for 20 to 30 minutes, or whatever is most convenient.

Transfer the chilled flour and butter to the bowl of a food processor fitted with the metal blade. Break up the shortening and put it on top. (If you don’t have a food processor do all this in a bowl and use a pastry cutter or two knives to produce the same results.)

Pulse the machine four to six times (count one-chim-pan-zee, two chim-pan-zee, etc. for the pulses) until the mixture looks crumbly with uneven, small pea-size pieces of butter and shortening, like this. Don’t overdo. You need to pace yourself, and you want some little chunks of butter to make your pastry flaky.

Tip the mixture into a mixing bowl. If you are only making one crust, scoop out half of it and put it in a plastic bag; refrigerate or freeze for later. I will elaborate on freezing the dough/pastry mix at the bottom of this post.

Sprinkle the ice water and lemon juice over the top of the dough (finally, you have another use for the gravy separator.) Remember, you only need half the liquid if you are making a single crust.

Mix the dough with your hands, tossing it lightly like a salad until all the crumbs feel damp. Add a little more water if necessary.

Empty the contents of the bowl onto the countertop. Shove the crumbs together to make a round, flat disk. (If you used all of it, shape it into two disks.) Please, no excessive squishing or kneading. If you haven’t handled the dough too much, you can roll it out now, but it will be better to refrigerate it for at least 15 minutes to allow it to “hydrate” (allow the flour to absorb the water.) And if you have disobeyed me and squished your dough, the butter will have softened from the heat of your hands, so it needs to chill.

So far so good, right? The tricky part is rolling out the dough, but the method of sandwiching the dough between two layers of plastic wrap makes it easier. The catch: just try getting that plastic wrap to lay flat in one go. 

One piece is not wide enough, so you will have to lay two pieces, overlapping slightly, on the countertop. Place the disk of dough on top of the plastic and sprinkle a teensy bit of flour on top. Press down with the rolling pin in several places to flatten the dough.

Cover the dough with two more pieces of plastic wrap (side by side.) Start rolling from the center outward going round and round in all directions. Start at the center each time, until the dough is 3 inches larger than your pie pan. Do not press the rolling pin down at the edges. Rather, pull it up as you reach the edge, so the dough is of an even thickness. Anytime the dough becomes too soft, put it on a tray and refrigerate it for 10 to 15 minutes.

Go ahead, be a pie geek and measure before you move the dough.

Finally! The dénouement. When the circle of dough is large enough, pull off the top layer of plastic wrap. 

Slip your hand under the dough and spread out your fingers. Move the pan next to the dough and flip the dough over onto the pie plate. Gently maneuver the dough to fit it into the pan all around. NOW you can pull off top layer of plastic. Ta dah!

Roll the edges neatly under themselves all around the pie.

Crimp. This is the easiest crimping style to learn: place your thumbs on the outside of the rim and your index fingers on the inside. Push your thumbs toward your index fingers. I said crimping style, not crimp my style. You’re done. Fill and bake, OR wrap in plastic and store in the refrigerator for a couple of days, in the freezer for 3 to 4 weeks.

To Blind Bake: When you want to bake a crust without the filling (for a cream pie, for example) it is best to fill it with a "blind filling." 

Chill the pie shell (you can pop it in the freezer for about 20 minutes). Line it with parchment and fill it with dried  beans, like navy beans or chick peas. Bake the pie shell at 350 degrees F for 15 minutes. Remove the pan from the oven, remove the parchment and the beans. If it has puffed in places, gently push it down with a spoon. Return the pie shell to the oven to bake until it is golden brown, about 25 more minutes. 

If you want to partially pre-bake it for a quiche or something like a pumpkin pie, bake it with the beans, remove it from the oven and brush the bottom of the pie with beaten egg. Return it to the oven for 5 to 6 minutes, until the dough looks dry. Fill and bake as directed in the recipe. 

Cool the beans and store them in a jar for the next time you need them.

FREEZE-AHEAD METHOD: Instead of making and freezing disks of dough, which take several hours or overnight to defrost, freeze the pastry mix. You can add water, shape and roll, no waiting. Presto! Easy as pie.

P.S. Share the love! If this post helped, e-mail it to a friend. Let me know, too, and ask me questions if you like!

One is silver and the other is gold: apples baked in cider

A couple of weeks ago an old friend sent me an e-mail to say she was coming to Boston with her family. We had lost touch. Her letters, sent to me at an old address, never came back to her, so she had to dig a little to find me. She had faithfully sent Christmas cards with pictures of her growing family year after year. I wish I had seen them.

There was a point a few years back when I came to grips with the hopelessness of my ever completing the Christmas card routine. After I reconciled myself to not writing a newsy letter—they either seem too braggy or too depressing or too boring—I decided I would just send one of those drugstore photo cards. What could be complicated about that? Well, taking the picture, for one. And for two, addressing the envelopes. And three, getting them to the post office before the end of December.  So my friends fell by the wayside, and I don’t blame them. I am sorry, dear ones. I love you still. I hope you will e-mail me, because I can do that.

Liz persisted. Bless her.  They were cramming a lot into their trip to Boston, so I invited them over for breakfast, to fortify them for a day of visiting and sightseeing. Their eldest, a boy of about the same age as my College Boy, was away at school. Seeing the other two beautiful and, don’t read this kids, enchanting children gave me a giant lump in my throat. How precious these moments are, every little one of them. And from moment to moment to moment they just keep on coming until we wake up and realize we are here. Already. With children. Who have grown or will soon be grown. Out. Of. The. House.

On this bright Saturday we laughed about our nosey landlady in Washington, D.C. back when we lived upstairs, before children, before our lives really got off the ground, before so many things.

We feasted on warm baked apples and granola and scrambled eggs and scones and jam and laughed about Loretta in her furs, the snoopy landlady who had criticized Liz’s housekeeping after sneaking into her apartment and then left a note commanding us to stop leaving boots outside in the hallway. The other moments, making gorditas with Noe’s mom, there on an extended visit from Mexico, or hanging out the laundry in the back yard, a particular pleasure for me even though it meant schlepping tubs of heavy, wet clothes, all came rushing back.

The children were not quite as mesmerized by our trip down memory lane, so they went for a walk and returned with handfuls of beautiful gingko leaves.  I remembered how the sidewalks in Glover Park in D.C. were paved with the gold of gingko leaves in the fall. And now, fast forward, these two beauties shined in the door with handfuls of the little fans I had so admired on my walks home.

We had come full circle, only to begin again.

Apples Baked in Cider

Apples baked in cider somehow taste more of themselves. It goes without saying that this is comfort food, easy to put together and pop in the oven just as soon as dinner is underway. If possible, use cider from a farm stand or farmer’s market—it has a deeper, more concentrated flavor than the grocery store brands, which wash out in comparison. The comfort extends to those times when you are not eating dessert for self-improvement purposes, but want something just a little sweet. These won’t do much damage. You can even omit the sugar if you want to feel pure.

Makes 4 servings

2 cups apple cider

4 firm cooking apples such as Empire or Cortland

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

2 tablespoons brown sugar

Pinch salt

1. Heat the oven to 375°F.

2. Pour the cider into a small skillet and bring it to a boil. Continue to boil over medium heat until the liquid reduces by slightly less than half. It should be vaguely syrupy, but it will not be too thick. It will take less time in a skillet than in a saucepan because there is more surface evaporation. Either way, don’t just walk off to another room and leave it—you might set off your smoke alarm if you forget it. I speak from experience.

3. While the cider is reducing, peel the skin from the top third of each apple. Use a melon baller to dig out the apple core, leaving about 1/3-inch of the apple intact at the bottom. Place the apples in a pie pan or baking dish.

4. Stir the cinnamon, butter and brown sugar into the cider syrup. Pour it into the apple cavities, allowing it to overflow into the baking dish. Bake the apples for 40 to 50 minutes, until they are pleasantly soft but not collapsing.  Baste the apples occasionally in the cider syrup if you happen to think of it, and add more cider if the liquid starts to dry out completely. The exact cooking time depends on the variety and size of the apples—some take longer than others.

5. Serve the apples warm in dessert bowls with the extra syrup spooned over them. If you want to dress them up, drizzle them with some heavy cream, or add a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Custard sauce would be even better if you’re feeling ambitious. If any apples are leftover, warm them up for breakfast and eat with yogurt.

By the seat of your pants roasted (harvest) vegetable soup

I almost drove off the road, so distracted was I by torrents of golden leaves swirling and twisting in the balmy skies above me. It was a glorious, warm day last Thursday and the finale of a prolific season at the farmers’ market in the town next door.

Although the weather was warm that day, I had soup on my mind when I snagged a small haul of the last of the yellow tomatoes. The squash was calling to me, too.  On the last day of this market, it was do or die.

I could not let the day go to waste, so I headed to the woods for a quick walk. Every tree stood in an electric yellow pool of leaves.  Psychedelic oranges and reds glared against the dusty, fading bronzes of brush and fallen leaves.  I did not want to leave, but the end of the day was closing in.

I seem to have a dreamy relationship with shopping. I am very energetic in the market and think of all sorts of uses for my purchases, but by the time I get home I have run out of steam and have no idea what to make for supper.  Does this ever happen to you? I teeter on the edge of calling for a pizza, which would make Man of the House very happy. I resist; I have my principles.

So what can you do with a lot of stray vegetables, the ones you had so many good intentions for last week?

Potage, mes amis. Potage, c’est la réponse!!

Ça c’est quoi? you may ask. It is a thick mélange of vegetables in a soup that is usually pureed. Julia has her potage Parmentier (leek and potato); there is the potage Crécy (carrots and potatoes) and then there is le seat of the pants potage chez moi. Or, what’s in my fridge that I can throw together and end up with something really delicious?

I will give you my non-recipe. It starts with the basic foundation vegetables: carrots, celery and onions. On top of that you need a theme. It could be the odd squash and root vegetables that are hanging around, or some cruciferous vegetables, like cauliflower and broccoli. Just not ALL the vegetables you want to get rid of at the same time. Remember, this is theme cooking.  You would not be pairing your trés chic little black dress with a pair of Converses if you were trying to impress, would you? (Well, maybe if you wanted to make some kind of statement, but you can’t do that in cooking without weird and inedible consequences.) Potatoes are almost always a bonne idée, because they are neutral. So think it through before throwing stuff in the pot.

The tomatoes could wait a few days, because I needed to deal with half a butternut squash, one speckled acorn squash and another small, bright orange pumpkin-looking squash. I decided to roast them in the oven, since I am too damn lazy to peel and seed squash unless absolutely necessary. And what the heck, the other vegetables could go into the oven too. Here’s the general gist:

Harvest vegetable soup

Makes about 6 generous servings (and freezes nicely)

1 onion, quartered

2 large carrots, quartered lengthwise (unpeeled)

2 stalks celery, halved

6 small parsnips, trimmed but not peeled

1 white turnip, peeled and cut in large chunks

A little olive oil

Salt and pepper 
1 acorn squash, halved

1/2 small butternut squash

1 ambercup squash (looks like a small pumpkin), halved

3 tablespoons butter

1 bosc pear, cut in 1/4-inch cubes, for garnish

1. Heat the oven to 425 degrees F.

2. Spread the onion, carrots, celery, parsnips and turnip on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Toss with a little olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place the squash on the baking sheet with the cut side down. Use a second baking sheet if there is not enough room. Roast the vegetables until just tender when pierced with a fork, about 20 minutes.

3. When cool enough to handle, cut the large veggies in 1-inch chunks. Scrape out and discard the seeds from the squash. Scoop out the pulp and discard the skin.

4. Melt 2 tablespoons of butter in a large pot. Add the vegetables and squash to the pot and cook them for a minute or two in the butter. Add enough water to barely cover them. Bring the liquid to a boil over medium heat, decrease the heat to a simmer, and continue to cook for about 10 minutes. Season with more salt and pepper.

5. Puree the vegetables in a food processor. Do not make the mixture too smooth. I had a mishap with a squash soup that I pureed in the blender. It turned out like baby food. Trust me, it was not very appealing.  The soup should have nice little flecks of all the vegetables, so that when you taste a spoonful you get tiny hits of parsnip or turnip or carrots.  Thin with water as necessary.

6. Melt the remaining tablespoon of butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Add the pear cubes and cook until the butter browns and the pears have colored slightly.  Pour the soup into bowls and garnish with the pears.