Squash, harira soup, spiced squash curd, cranachan

Abundance: 26 October 2023

The summer-long conversation between the garden’s contours and the plant’s genetics placed a single Uchi Kuri squash - the plumpest of the crop - on the garden wall. It must have reached that spot just as it had enough about it to drop anchor, for the plant to grow on without dragging the young fruit with it.

It is - of course - this one I’ll use first.

Despite a malevolent army of an absent summer, incompetence and every mollusc in the south west moving to this post code, there are 21 good sized squash in the garden.

21 squash presents a challenge. 

There are a number of things I feel bad for not liking more than I do - Bob Dylan¹, rugby union, sponge cake² etc - and squash is most certainly one. It’s not that I don’t love it, but I find squash the Baker Street of vegetables: extremely welcome once in a while, especially if it appears unexpectedly. And having 21 is the very opposite of unexpected.

Two things prevent those 21 from sitting on the side in the kitchen rotting and making me feel guilty for not using them in time: preparing them for a long life after harvesting, and having a few delicious recipes that buy you time to eat them. More of that in a moment.

Now autumn has stopped playing at it, the squash are ready to harvest. You can leave them a little past when the leaves surrender to the chill, but when you rap the fruit with a knuckle or dessertspoon and it rings hollow as a funfair coconut, it’s time. Here in the rainy south west, if the wettest weather comes early, I slide a slate under each plump fruit to keep them from sitting in the damp and rotting before they’re ready to pick. This year, that wall saved me one tile at least.

Whatever the weather, I pick and bring them undercover before the frosts hit - we cut them from the plant leaving a short T stalk on each squash as fewer rot that way and they seem to store longer. If I have to pick early, I flip them so their underside faces skywards while they mature. 

Right now, the 21 are lined up like pub league trophies in the greenhouse, curing. 

This is what buys you kitchen time. Leave squash for a week or two, ideally somewhere cool and dry, and much of their water evaporates, the flavour concentrates and sweetens, the skin hardens, respiration slows and shelf life extends.

Just as just as City and Utd may be related, squash and pumpkins are very much not the same. Botany reveals little about the distinction between the closely related pumpkins, squash and gourds, but experience tells us much: squash have been bred and their seed saved for generations with flavour uppermost in mind, gourds tend to be decorative and largely inedible, and pumpkins - with a very few exceptions - are generally orange, large, of no great culinary pleasure and most definitely best hollowed and lit with a candle. 

Preparing a squash is like tackling a large, irregular baseball. I don’t bother peeling unless I really have to, and I’ve learned the hard way that cutting into an wobbling squash is the quickest route to discovering that no-one can remember the location of the first aid kit³.

First, I cut an inch or so off one end: this allows me to flip the squash on to a wobble-free base to cut in half through the poles (rather than the equator). A sturdy spoon and much enthusiasm is needed scoop around the edge of the core and remove the seeds⁴ and their associated threads of tedium. 

Placed cut-side down, it’s less hard work to slice each half into long, eye-shaped wedges. 

Three recipes from one squash

For these recipes, one good sized Uchi Kuri squash provided enough flesh. I cut one half into 4 wedges, using 3 for the curd; I cut the other half into 5 thinner wedges, using them and the remaining thicker slice from the other half for the harira soup.

Place the wedges flesh-upwards in a roast tray and drizzle with a little oil - more is just a waste as it’ll slip off and just fry the skin beneath. You can spice and herb it as you wish - salt, pepper, chilli, rosemary, cinnamon, etc - but I almost always roast without, so that I can lean the flesh one way or the other once cooked. As here.

30 minutes or so, at 180°C should do, but let the tip of a sharp knife sinking with luscious ease into the flesh tell you exactly when.

Squash curd

Most people will tell you to make curd in a heatproof bowl over a pan of simmering water, but I do it in a pan over a low heat as my hob is responsive and I’m confident in making it. Either way, whisk frequently, bordering on constantly.

Butter is the usual source of silkiness in curd, but Thane Prince suggested cream worked even more beautifully and having tried it I can’t go back.

The spices are yours to tweak: mixed spice gives a gorgeous, wide warmth and you can just add more if you prefer, but I like to lift the star anise and mace as they go so well with squash. 

Try this with excellent bread or scones, in a tart, on porridge (honestly), stirred through whipped double cream and meringue on a very special autumnal Eton mess, or - perhaps my favourite way - in an autumnal cranachan (see below for recipe).

Makes approx 900ml

400g squash flesh, skin discarded
1 star anise, ground
2 lanterns of mace
1 tbsp mixed spice
145g double cream
270g caster sugar
2 eggs, plus 2 yolks

Add all but the eggs to a pan and use a stick blender to blend smooth. Warm through over a low-medium heat, stirring frequently with a whisk.

Add the eggs one at a time, whisking each in thoroughly. Cook for around 10 minutes or so whisking often and scraping down the sides if needed. Depending on the nature of the squash, you may need a splash or two of water if this gets a little too thick. If you have a kitchen thermometer, remove the bowl from the heat when it reaches 78°C; otherwise just ensure it is well cooked and hot.

Pour into a warm sterilised jar/s and seal immediately. This will keep for at least a month unopened, and for months in the fridge even once opened.

Squash harira soup 

Harira soup is a classic North African soup, heavy with sweet spices and tomatoes. While it is by nature highly adaptable - lentils, no lentils, which lentils? - I’ve stretched this a fair way from its origins on account of the wind blowing strongly today: warmth and comfort are needed; heartiness and heft essential. You could argue that it’s more of a stew than a soup, and I’d not put up much of a fight: whether it becomes one or the other is yours to choose, depending on the amount of pasta and water you go for. The wind made me tip the pasta in to make it more of a supper than lunch: by all means drop the quantity or entirety of pasta if you wish.

I used red lentil pasta as one of those it is for eats no gluten. Orzo or noodles (around 100g) work really well instead. Bear on mind the quantity of water here is a guide: the type of tomatoes and lentils will affect how much you need, and the texture is yours to choose. I prefer this on the thicker side of thin; you might not.

I used the 5 thin wedges, plus a thicker one from the other half for the chef’s portion…

Serves 6

2 tbsp olive oil
2 leeks, finely sliced
2 tsp dried ginger, ground
2 tsp ground coriander
10cm cinnamon stick
1 tsp ground turmeric
3 tbsp concentrated tomato paste
2 x 400ml tins chopped tomatoes
1.5 litre water
200g puy lentils, well rinsed
160g pasta
sea salt
a generous grinding of black pepper
4 tsp harissa
a good handful of coriander, roughly chopped
6 wedges of cooked squash
A little olive oil for serving; plus yoghurt if you fancy.

In a large heavy-bottomed pan, warm the oil over a low-moderate heat and cook the leeks slowly until soft, stirring often. Season generously.

Add the spices and cook for a minute. Stir in the tomato paste, the chopped tomatoes and 1 litre of the water. Bring to a simmer and add the lentils, turning the heat to low. Cook for 30 minutes or so, stirring occasionally, adding water if needed. Season.

In a separate pan, cook the pasta in simmering water to the packet instructions. Stir into the soupy stew.

Place a wedge of squash into each bowl and spoon over the soup.  Add a little yoghurt if you want, a teaspoon of harissa - more if you fancy the heat, a drizzle of oil and sprinkle with coriander.

Squash cranachan

A classic Scottish pud that is as simple as cream, fruit, oats, honey and optional whisky, in ratios that please. As a guide, these two were made using 100ml double cream whipped until it held peaks softer than Walter Brown, a few spoons of squash curd sandwiched in a central layer, a handful of rolled oats scattered on top with a friendly drizzle of honey to finish. Simple and magnificent.

The curd may firm up a little in the fridge: let it down with water or a glug or two of single malt if youfancy.

1. Much as I love Dylan’s 5 classic albums, if you left my mum in a darkened room with a comb and tracing paper for 61 years I suspect she’d come up with 5 cracking albums, without the very great deal of some of the worst throwaway pub blues ever created

2. I never want to eat sponge cake again

3. A selection of ill-matching plasters, mid-sizes absent

4. There’s little point in saving the seed to sow next year - squash cross-pollinate readily, so any seed  will give unpredictable results - and besides, they’re delicious. Wash and dry them, lay them out on a roasting tray with plenty of sea salt and roast at 200°C for a few minutes to intensify their flavour