Jack-o-Lantern Pies

Let me introduce you to the fine art of Jack-o-Lantern Pie Baking. Despite what Lynn Johnston, she of "For Better or for Worse", says (check the footnote of this particular comic strip), jack-o-lanterns can, and indeed do, make fine pies. You just have to make sure to not include any of the wax drippings from the candle.

So here's this year's jack-o-lanterns (and a couple of jack-o-nothings in their whole uncarved glory):

The one on the left did, alas, end up on the compost; it looked kind of mouldy on the inside. It came that way; not sure what went on there. But the one on the right, one of our homegrown pumplings, became pie fodder.

In order to turn a jack-o-lantern into a pie, you first examine it carefully for wax drips and scorch marks. This one, being of the wide and squat persuasion, was totally blackened on the underside of the lid (there was only a couple of inches between the lid and the flame of the candle). So the lid hit the compost, too. But then, I just hacked up what was left, stuffed it in a large pot, added some water, and cooked it for, umm, until-it-was-done. Maybe forty-five minutes or so? Then drain it, peel off the rind, and Bob's your uncle (or cousin, or kittycat).

Enter the fail-safe and idiot-proof recipe:

1 single unbaked 10" pie crust (I use the recipe from the inside of the lard box. Yes, I make my pie crust with lard. It's makes the flakiest crust.)
2 c cooked, mashed pumpkin
2 eggs
3/4 c brown sugar
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1/4 tsp allspice
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp vanilla
1/4 c cream (or less, or more, or 1/4 c milk and some butter, or whatever)
(c = cups or 250ml, tsp = teaspoon or 5ml)

Whiz all and sundry in food processor, dump into crust, stick pie into preheated 400°F (200°C) oven, bake for 45-55 minutes or until filling puffs evenly all the way to the center.
Remove from oven, cool on rack, serve with whipped cream.
Observe minute of silence for memory of jack-o-lantern.

And there  you have it. I got two whole pies out of it this year, and yummy they were indeed. See?

Life, the Universe, and Jack-o-Lantern Pies. There's nothing like acquired tastes.

Pumpkins

It's Halloween, my man is back from five months in California, and we got some really strange cross-bred pumpkins from our garden. All of which has nothing whatever to do with each other, but I just thought I'd mention it.

On the topic of pumpkins, I hear this cross-breeding is a really common thing with them. The ones we got must be a cross between ordinary orange pumpkins and Sweet Dumpling squashes. Sweet Dumplings are little guys, no more than 5” across (there's one in the front right in the picture); the perfect single-serving squash, if you like that sort of thing.

Unfortunately, in my family I’m the only one who’ll eat cooked squash. That, my friends, is called an acquired taste. I never tasted squash until I came to Canada, and for starters, detested all of it, even the one dish my family does like (a lot): pumpkin pie. (It always makes me think of The Fat Ladies, Clarissa Dickson Wright and Jennifer Patterson, in one of their cooking shows: “...this pumpkin pie the Americans are all so fond of - never let an American near a pumpkin; dreadful things they do to them!” Hah. They certainly weren’t mealymouthed, those two. Too sad Jennifer had to go and die and put an end to that show. But Clarissa is still going strong, and writing excellent books on food and country living and her own life. If you haven’t read or seen any of her stuff, do check it out, even if you are an American, or Canadian, or German, or Any-other-an, who likes to do dreadful things to pumpkins. Heck, I do!)

The first time I tried pumpkin pie I thought “Eew!” The second time, it was “Hmm, not too horrible, especially slathered with whipped cream.” The third time, “I could get to like this!” And now I grow pumpkins in the garden specifically to make pie out of.

Our Jack-o-Lanterns usually get cooked down into pie fodder after the event, which is probably sacriligeous, but I do it anyway. This year, our largest pumpkin came from a volunteer plant which turned out to be one of those white ones - I call them ghost pumpkins, but I think technically the variety is called something like "New Moon". The flesh on that thing is a good two inches thick (it was really hard carving!), and bright orange; if it tastes as good as it looks, it would be a sacrilege not to make it into pies. It’ll be interesting to see if the funny crossbreeds are any good for pie. If not, at least they’re decorative.

Life, the Universe, and Cross-bred Pumpkins. Try acquiring a new taste today!