The Halloween candy is long gone, the frost is on the pumpkins, and the seasonal cucurbit celebration is at hand -- just in time for American Thanksgiving. What's more, this post will answer the burning questions surrounding the mysterious cucurbits that arose spontaneously from vintage compost in our summer 2014 garden, the ones with the quirky shape shown here:
When I decided the output was ready for harvest, the stripes had faded to uniform dark green, the distinct ribs were rounding out, and the tops were almost as flat as in their "babyhood." Here's the harvest in company with a small round stripey version -- the sole product of the separate gourd plant I grew from last year's seed.
Searching and searching the internet, I learned the following: (1) Mysteries like this (what is it and is it edible?) have stumped other people who, for example, received a bunch of seedlings from a neighbour and then misplaced the labels; (2) It's not a great idea to plant seed saved from the previous year because often the original plants are hybrids with seeds that might produce "distorted and unpleasant" (!) shapes; (3) The cucurbit family readily cross-pollinates so gourds like my one green stripey one might screw up any nearby squash plants; (4) Gourds are not poison but they're likely to be hard and yucky tasting.
Well, we never shirk from solving a garden mystery, and there was only one thing to do: Bake up the choicest one to see how it would taste. I decided on the simplest approach: Cut in half, scoop out seeds, add butter to each half and water to the pan, and bake for an hour. It took me almost an hour -- well, almost a quarter of an hour -- to cut the darn thing in half. Both the skin and the flesh were rock-hard. Not a good sign.
After an hour, I took the pan from the oven, poked the "squash" with a fork, and found it was still verrrrry hard. I lifted the fork for a taste and.........AWFUL. Bitter, astringent, and not for supper tonight or any other night. Well, la-di-dah. The plant itself was astonishing and the golden flowers were glorious so I've saved some seed to grow it again next year.
Did I hear someone in the back say this was a poor excuse for a food blog? Don't be silly. If you want delectable recipes, you should know where to head by now. Due to inevitable circumstances, the linked post features cucurbit recipes.
Our own dark beauties, such as they were, were destined to continue the tradition set in motion last year with "Danse Macabre":
As the mysterious 'bits were ripening in September, I happened to see this photo in a dance brochure at the library and knew it would be a magic ingredient for 2014's C-bit painting:--
Yes! A lively match that produced "Rogue Cucurbits" (copyright 2014).
And now, back to major Cucurbit Lore. Listen up. What follows is remarkable.
In another kitchen musing of mine, I lifted the lid from a pot of steamed prunes and wondered: What steps are missing that would transform this into plum brandy? My morning teatime conversation with JT shifted to how condensation and distillation work, and he reached for his trusty College Standard dictionary (circa 1960). He turned first to "still" and what to our wondering eyes should appear but a cucurbit!
What's going on here? Quick -- let's look up "cucurbit."
Cucurbit, first definition:-- "the body of an alembic - originally gourd-shaped"
And look at these other useful words nearby: "cucumiform", "cucurbitaceous." You can never have enough of this stuff, once you're hooked. And to culminate the celebration of Cucurbits 2014, let's enjoy my two "store-bought" beauties. Could we rig an alembic out of the over-sized gourd? and a "head of still" out of the Tiger Pumpkin? Will 2015's cucurbit extravaganza feature moon-lit skeletons brewing moonshine?
