This audibly and odiferously caramelized the bit of flesh that met the scorching metal of the tray. Halved, the squash went face-down onto an oiled baking tray and into a 400-degree oven for a little less than half an hour. But here we are now, and baby, I’m so glad. Had I still had those, I’d never have thought to sprinkle the top of my bowl of soup with pine nuts instead. The seeds were scooped out for an earlier use, as a brown sugar-baked topping for my last Chili Takedown recipe. Picking the heaviest one for its size (they’re fresher), I figured I had in my hands a single-girl portion of squash soup with the beautifully ridged, round specimen, with an orange and green-speckled skin. I grabbed the smallest squash I could find for my sole consumption. Luckily, acorn squashes from the Greenmarket come in quite a variety of shapes and sizes, though if truly acorns, they would all be in the Giant Land level of Mario Bros. Food that generally comes in sizes bigger than my head can be a bit of a puzzler, exacerbated by the fact that I live alone. And then I have a lot of squash to eat throughout the week (it seems odd to leave cleavered quarters of a single squash in the fridge for long). I should note that most of the time, I opt for an enormous orb of fleshy butternut, or stringy spaghetti squash. It’s mid-February, and I’m almost at the end of my rope with winter squash. Call me shallow, but sometimes beauty just isn’t that deep. I’m sinking these crispy, salty kale “chips” into its sweet custard and lodging a pebble of a pine nut onto a spoon for the ultimate scoop. It could have a splash of cream or milk or not. It could be any squash, butternut, pumpkin. Here, we’ve got creamy roasted acorn squash soup. It’s not what’s inside the soup that counts.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |