If you’ve been following our blog since the summer, you’ll know that we grew a lot of pumpkins this year. Or at least we tried to. Some of them didn’t take off, but we eventually had success with seeds we bought and planted in July. You’ll also know that one of my goals with the garden was to make food entirely out of the garden. This Thanksgiving, we’ve been able to accomplish that by roasting pumpkins we harvested in September, puréeing the flesh, and making a pie. Here’s a brief walkthrough of the pumpkins we used, the roasting and puréeing process, and the final product, with pictures of each step.
The Pumpkins
The pumpkins we used were New England Sugar Pies. We bought the seeds from Baker Creek. This variety dates back to the 1860s and is the perfect pumpkin for pie. Baker Creek describes it in the following way: “The noted small sugar pumpkin of New England. The orange fruit weighs 4 to 5 lbs and has fine, sweet flesh superb for pies.” That description is spot-on. Without any added sweetness, the roasted flesh was delightful. It was the perfect pumpkin to use. It was easy to grow, and we’ll certainly grow more of this variety.
New England Sugar Pie PumpkinPumpkins we grew
Roasting & Puréeing
I had never roasted a pumpkin prior to this week, but I approached it similar to how I’ve roasted spaghetti squash. I split each pumpkin in half and scooped out the seeds. I think we could have washed, dried, and roasted the seeds to eat, but I wasn’t interested in that much work this time. With the seeds out, I brushed some oil on the flesh, pierced the skin in a few places to aid in the roasting process and put them in a 400-degree oven for an hour or so. Our house smelled so good during this time.
Pumpkins split in half
To purée them, I let them cool entirely and used a spoon to scoop out the flesh, which was much easier than I anticipated. The flesh then went into our small food processor and was blended until smooth, with water being added as needed. A note for future me: Buy a larger food processor. It took some time, since it had to be done in batches, but it was an easy process in general. In the end, we had more than a quart of pumpkin purée, which was much more than we needed for the pie, so Magz made a pumpkin soup with the excess. It was delicious.
Roasted pumpkinsPumpkin puree
Making a Pie
I love making pies. My grandma is an excellent pie maker, so I think I came by it naturally. I also always make a homemade crust. A few years ago, I found a great pumpkin pie recipe that uses almond milk in place of dairy since Magz can’t have dairy. If you weren’t told it was made with almond milk, you’d never know. I used that recipe again this year, and there was no noticeable difference between the homemade purée and canned pumpkin when it came to mixing and baking other than it needed to cook a bit longer due to additional moisture. The end product was great. Please ignore the divot. That was the result of foil touching it when I was trying to prevent the crust from burning. It was absolutely delicious.
Luscious, warm, a decadent note that makes a dessert sing in perfect harmony. I used to crave this in candy bars, a Twix, or perhaps a scoop of Bruster’s Chocolate Turtle ice cream.
The Great British Bake Off opened my eyes to Banoffee Pie and the simple luxury of making a caramel without instructions. The process is a beautiful as the finished product. A melting sugar and butter, finished with cream.
The Caramel Macchiato taught me what coffee can do beyond ice cream sundaes and candy confections. It can be comforting, a delight to grab between classes, or an awful first job.
But how does one enjoy something they can not eat? I’ve been stumped on how to recreate this treat since my dairy-free lifestyle began, until I picked up a pint of dairy-free Phish Food from Ben & Jerry’s. It had the marshmallow fluff (which I discovered I could eat again this past winter) and ribbons of soft caramel. Caramel that tasted like the real thing.
I began to search for knowledge on blogs and Reddit until I found a recipe so simple I had to give it a try.
1 can of coconut milk
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 tsp kosher salt
It was so simple. Melt the ingredients together on medium-low, then boil and reduce for 20 minutes. Let cool in a glass jar and store in the fridge. I made it last night and it was marvelous!
I found Vanilla Bean Oat Milk ice cream at the store for a sundae, and bam, I was a kid again, making an ice cream sundae with my grandparents on a summer evening.
What is a flavor that takes you home? Is there a food you haven’t had in a while that will comfort you in these trying times? Make it, your inner child will thank you.
It’s been a complicated week. I had plans to start blogging every day, to clean my house in one day not over several to prepare for hosting Thanksgiving. I also thought my pie crust would roll out with ease. Nothing went to plan.
It started with the couch breaking. One evening we noticed the leg fell off the mid-support but instead of buying a new one (Have you seen the price of couches lately? Yikes. Dubious quality to boot.) we opted to fix it. Improve it really. That was a bump in the road, the couch is stronger, and we have storage, but then we hit a pothole.
It’s like our rescue rabbit Mia unbonded to us. She became irritable and aggressive and would thrash around her room. She bites at us, growls at us, and won’t let us do normal things like sweep out her area. This whole situation is discouraging because how will we be able to properly care for her if she won’t let us? I never experienced this with my previous rabbit, Midnight, or with my family dog, Sully.
I was thrown into a murky mental pool. I have some deep memories from childhood of my dad that terrify me when loud outbursts happen. How could this happen? This rabbit I was so excited to adopt and give a loving home, was suddenly a source of triggering panic.
Cleaning ground to a halt. Kyle’s woodworking is uncertain. Walking through the office and living room tense, uncertain, scary, as the furball held us in her grip of territorial fury. She began to destroy the floor filling me with despair.
Every little part of preparing for the holiday felt treacherous as the C-PTSD clouded me from the reality of the tasks in front of me to the mountains of my mind. The craggy, inhospitable rock that has been too high to climb. I didn’t expect this random experience to cause such pain and confusion in my mind.
But the clock kept moving forward and things still needed to be done. This holiday we looked toward with joy could not become a thing we wanted to run from. It was our first holiday here.
Living as a human can be so tough. We are all broken and have hidden scars that can be reopened in the blink of an eye. What has been the most challenging part of this week has been where I find my pauses to take a breath. Finding opportunities in the chaos to recenter instead of giving up.
Making those pies was one of those moments of joy in the center of the storm. Cutting the Crisco into the flour is rhythmic. Feeling the sand become dough, stimming. Rolling out the crust and having it fall apart, is tragic! Finding the inspiration to make the difficult crust mold into the pie tin anyway, is a victory!
Seeing the smiles the pumpkin and apple pie brought to my family filled me with warmth. Yesterday, was a wonderful day. Yes because the food was delicious, but more so for the reminder that what makes the day special is being next to my loved ones and reflecting on the year and what blessings we received despite the chaos of life.
I hope you know that you are loved, dear reader and that you remember not to give up!
My favorite treat as spring has spring and summer rolls on has been homemade strawberry milk! As a kid I thought this was something you made with Hershey’s Strawberry Syrup but as I began to learn more about Japan and Korea, I discovered the real strawberry milk. Strawberry milk, banana milk, etc. With real fruit flavor and I had to try it! But there is one problem, I can’t have dairy without making myself sick.
This is why my favorite strawberry treats – strawberries with whipped cream and jello pretzel salad are no longer treats I can enjoy. It’s a bummer but if I make the strawberry milk myself, I am able to enjoy it.
And so this year I find myself happily blending strawberries in a food processor. Straining the seeds with a mesh strainer and spatula over a measuring cup all for a spectactular little treat – strawberry milk!
In Portal 2, Cave Johnson has an iconic rant about lemons that may have been the inspiration for my Saturday plan – to make dairy-free lemon curd from scratch.
To clarify, no lemons were exploded. But they were zested, juiced, and combined into a luscious lemon sauce and baked into lemon bars. Tart, sweet, buttery, lemon bars.
“All right, I’ve been thinking, when life gives you lemons, don’t make lemonade! Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don’t want your damn lemons! What am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life’s manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am? I’m the man whose gonna burn your house down – with the lemons! I’m gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!”
-Cave Johnson, Aperture Laboratories
But why did Cave Johnson speak so deeply to my mood on Saturday morning, one of the best times of the week? Well my dysfunctional family, of course. Communication is truly an art form, and for some relationships, healthy communication seems as easy as replicating a Michelangelo masterpiece with a butter knife. I am a member of that club. I feel like sometimes a conversation with my mom is doomed from the start. I call her and there is something in the air. A mistaken tone she finds in me, a lack of matching her extroverted, neurotypical energy.
The inability to recognize drama or harshness in her tone. My anxiety and frustration at being accosted by questions, picking remarks, or in general still not living up to whatever I was supposed to. It’s a mess, a mess that continues to respawn after numerous attempts to get rid of this and live a drama-free life with the mom that I do deeply love even if sometimes I get exasperated at her. This was one of those conversations, I did something and the verbal missiles were locking on me, which was really disappointing because it was supposed to be a simple conversation – what time are you coming up to celebrate my husband’s birthday?
Instead, there was chaos, my confusion at why there was chaos with questions followed by accusations of trying to fight and being told I was being a problem, gaslit into the aggressor when I held my temper in check and just asked questions. There seems to be no light at the end of the tunnel. I was being baited into a fight and it sucked. It was a conversational sucker punch. Some weeks I don’t even want to pick up the phone, I yearn to move far away from the possibility of hanging out with her, because I just want to be loved not picked at. Being lonely but happy feels better than being close and miserable. I feel like she brings all the drama-ma-ma-ma-ma and then runs away from me after her work is done.
In the screaming silence that followed the nasty encounter, I felt confusion, anger, hurt, sadness, failure, shame, disappointment, a building pressure of anxiety and depression, and the complex childhood trauma memories flooding back of her gaslighting me into thinking I was a kid with an un-teachable spirit, a stubborn child who spirit needed to be broken because seeing things differently from her was a sin.
I feel sorry for my mom because none of those things are true, and keeping me at arm’s length hurts both of us. We only have so much time on this earth, wouldn’t it be better to be laughing instead of arguing, smiling instead of crying?
I’ve learned there is nothing wrong with me. I’m neuro-divergent and God made me this way for a reason. There is beauty in being different, but she can’t see that. She sees me as difficult, and I in turn see her as small-minded.
Recently, I’ve turned to baking when I feel down in the dumps. For a while, baking was quite painful for me, after Grandma passed away in 2020. She was the one who taught me how to bake and that void made baking a chore. Since watching the Great British Bake Off, I’ve found my baking delight once again. We had a bunch of lemons on hand for a separate recipe, and since the rest needed to be used, I decided to make something I’d never made from scratch before. Lemon curd.
They make it on Bake-Off and I used to love eating lemon bars and lemon meringue pie as a kid, it was Papa’s favorite pie. We had it each year on his birthday. It was the bomb. The tart, lemony sharpness of the filling with the pillowy sweet clouds of meringue on top, slightly browned like a marshmallow with a flakey crust. Scrumptious.
Fun fact: My grandma dressed, acted, and looked a lot like Mary Berry. Watching Bake Off is like a hug.
And you know what, baking helped. I felt the tension melt from my shoulders as I zested the lemons and squeezed the juice into the bowl. The delicacy of separating yolks from egg whites required me to slow down, to breathe through the emotional stress. I made a cup of herbal tea and began work on the sugar and butter. After combining it came time to use the bain-marie to slowly temper the eggs and cook until thickened. The result was a dreamy curd that I was hoping for!
Out of pain, something beautiful came, and the next day I made shortbread for the lemon bars and layered the golden yellow lemon sauce into the pan for a delight I hadn’t had since childhood. Next time we’ll make that lemon meringue pie.
I’m glad I’ve learned coping mechanisms like baking, cleaning, stimming, etc so that I am not tempted to rage at my mom, clench my jaw, get drunk, or go on a shopping spree to fill the pain with stuff. It’s been a journey but through my tumultuous twenties, I learned that the dysfunction is never going away but who I am and how I respond to it are not beholden to other people and their poor behavior. And that is true freedom.
Have you ever made lemon curd? Do you like lemon meringue pie or lemon bars? What’s your go-to way to calm down after a stressful encounter? Thank you, dear reader, for coming along on this blogging journey with me. I’m incredibly thankful for you.