Posts Tagged ‘thanksgiving’

Breaking the Rules -or- The Great Pumpkin Soup

September 22, 2013


When it comes to preparing recipes, no matter where you look, be it the pages of a magazine to cookbooks to celebrity TV chefs, EVERYONE says the same thing:

“When entertaining guests, don’t prepare something you’ve never made before.”

I realize we’ve got ourselves a double negative there, and perhaps that’s the crux of it; somewhere in my mathematically handicapped brain, two negatives make a positive. (Right?)

So that, dear friends, is why I decided it was a marvelous idea to A) Purchase a whole pumpkin at the Pepper Place Farmers’ Market; B) Hack into said pumpkin, jack-o-lantern style; C) Fill the sucker up with broth and cheese and spicy goodness; and D) Roast the whole thing in the oven until it became an edible tureen. Oh, and E) serve it to company.


I’d seen a recipe years back and had been dying to try it out. So what that I was breaking the essential entertaining maxim of “cook what you know.” I mean, what could possibly go wrong while roasting a 10-pound gourd full of boiling liquid?

Let’s take a moment, shall we, and stop to ponder the amazing amount of potential mischief that could ensue from such an endeavor:

Mischief Nightmare Scenario #1:
The pumpkin could collapse while roasting in the oven, dousing the heating elements with 7 to 9 cups of broth, cheese, and bread crumbs, which undoubtedly would find a way to catch fire, resulting in much cursing and requiring the procurement of a shop-vac.

Mischief Nightmare Scenario #2:
The pumpkin could collapse at the table, resulting in a tsunami of lava broth splashing into the laps of my guests, yielding at least second-degree burns, much yelling, and a potential head injury to a certain cross-eyed feline, who, when scalded by said broth splashdown, would take off like a cat rocket, likely straight into a wall or chair leg.

Mischief Nightmare Scenario #3:
Upon finishing cutting the top off my pumpkin, I could have lifted the lid to discover it full of black widow spiders, which would have resulted in yours truly suffering an instant, massive, and undoubtedly fatal heart attack.*

But none of these things happened. Well…to be fair, the pumpkin did leak a little broth, but not a calamitous amount. The soup was savory, rich, and comforting…a perfect bowl of fall goodness. Here’s what you need, and how to pull it off without injuring your friends and/or visually handicapped pets.

Whole-Roasted Pumpkin Soup
Yield: 4 to 8 servings 

1 (6 to 8-pound) cinderella or cheese pumpkin

¼ cup butter, softened

1 teaspoon ground fennel (or ½ tsp ground cumin)

1 teaspoon smoked paprika

1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper

Salt and pepper, to taste

1 cup shredded gruyere cheese

1 cup grated Parmesan cheese

1 cup finely ground fresh bread crumbs

2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced

5 to 7 cups reduced-sodium chicken broth

Garnish: Parmesan cheese 

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper. Set aside.


2. Cut the top off your pumpkin, and scape out all the seeds and stringy bits (like you would if carving a jack-o-lantern). Note: Do NOT carve a face into your pumpkin. Doing so would result in your pumpkin barfing soup out of its mouth, which is a novel yet impractical method of serving the soup.


3. Once all the stringy bits are gone (from the lid, too), rub the insides of the pumpkin with butter, and sprinkle evenly with fennel, paprika, and cayenne pepper.** Lightly season with salt and pepper. Place the pumpkin on the prepared pan off-center, leaving enough space on the pan for the lid, eventually (we’ll get to that in a minute).

4. Add cheese, bread crumbs, and garlic. Add broth, filling to within 3 inches of pumpkin rim. (At this point, I’ll be honest; it looks pretty nasty. Just push through.) Place the lid on your pumpkin, pop her in the oven to roast for 1 hour.

When filled with the broth and all that cheesy spicy goodness, this pumpkin is HEAVY. Move it mindfully, and use full-on oven mitts if you have them. Imagine the horror of burning your hand on the pan, hollering like a big woman, then flinging the hot-lava-pumpkin bomb into the air, spraying your walls (and your cat) with molten cheese and broth. Yeah. So be careful.

5. After an hour, remove the lid, and place it on the baking sheet, bottom side up.  Continue roasting until the pumpkin is tender, 30 to 60 minutes. (You can test this by poking the lid with a fork.) Here’s how she looks after roasting:


Ta-da! To serve, ladle the broth into bowls. Then, using a spoon and starting near the rim of the pumpkin, gently scrape out spoonfuls of pumpkin, and divide among bowls. Season with additional salt and pepper, if desired. Garnish with extra cheese, of course.


And that, friends, is it. Do I recommend that you tackle this project for a major event without practicing the recipe first? If I were editing this recipe for Taste of the South magazine, I’d caution no. But you know what? This is Kitchen Mischief, so why the hell not? It’s really not that hard. Just follow the instructions, and be careful.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, this soup is 110% baby approved! Precious Moment herself, Miss Harper Elaine Walker, commandeered her mother’s portion, exclaiming “More! More!” until there was nary a drop left. Mischief accomplished. J


*So, about the spiders. A long time ago, somebody told me a story about picking up a discarded jack-o-lantern from their yard, only to find it infested with black widow spiders. Oh, the humanity!!! That horrific image is SEARED into my imagination, hence my irrational fear that any seemingly innocent pumpkin could be a WSD (Weapon of Squirrel Destruction).

**Don’t feel hemmed in by my spice choices. Curry powder would be great, as would a good rich chili powder.


The Tale of Tammy the Turkey

November 17, 2011

For those of you who don’t know, my partner David lost his job the other day. Well, he didn’t so much lose it as they ripped it away from him. (Boo! HISSSSSS! If you need a fantastic video editor, let us know!) But that little melodrama got my mischief wheels a-spinnin.’ For the first time since my turn in the unemployment line, I picked up a Publix Weekly Deals booklet and began hunting for the best money-saving deals.

Imagine my delight to find that turkey was on sale for .59 cents a pound! Dog food isn’t that cheap! Hot diggity dog — my decision was made. I, Josh Miller, would march into Publix, buy a dirt-cheap bird, and feast like a king for pennies on the dollar. I practically bruised myself from all the back-patting.

My Sunday Plan was all set. I’d bake my bird, then prep all my ingredients and fixins for a “Leftover Palooza” — a series of recipes for Kitchen Mischief showing all the great things you could do with your Thanksgiving remnants. However, in my attempt to manufacture mischief, I ran headfirst into genuine mischief…

That bird was frozen solid. We’re talking an iceberg of poultry that could have pecked a hole in the Titanic. I dashed off to consult my friend Google, who confirmed the turkey packaging: My Big Cold Bird required a 6-8 hour spa treatment. Yes, Tammy (that’s the turkey) demanded 7 hours in cold (not warm!) water, changed out every hour on the hour. She was nagging for a pedicure, but I was like, “Bitch, you ain’t got no feet,” to which she would have had to nodded in agreement, but she also had no head. Consequently, communication was difficult. So I just gave her a bath.

Six years later, when Tammy was FINALLY finished with her spa treatment, it was on to the next step — which turned out to be a much more invasive procedure. If you’re sensitive, scoot along now. Tammy’s tale is about to get graphic.

After her Spa Treatment, it was time for Tammy the Turkey to visit the Lady Doctor. I always forget how gross this part is. If I did remember, I would buy gloves. But I did not. So I scrubbed in and prepared to do the dirty duty. Usually, it’s over pretty fast, but that stubborn bird was still icy inside, so instead of quickly removing the neck and getting Tammy back into a more ladylike position, I had to use both hands. Dear Lord it was so obscene.

Dear Lord — what happened to my neck?

Ten minutes later, Tammy’s procedure was complete. But the mischief was far from over. Tammy’s packaging clearly stated “Frozen Turkey with Neck and Giblets.” The problem was there were no giblets to be seen. So I got closer to that poor, violated bird.

Nothing. No bag of giblets, no icy giblets stuck to Tammy’s cavernous interior, no sneaky giblets hiding out under her neck flap. Tammy was Gibletless. I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Did the other turkeys make fun of her? Call her names? Tease her in the turkey locker room? Poor, sad Turner-Syndrome Tammy.

Aside from the nagging horror that either — A) I had missed the giblets and would end up baking their plastic bag into the turkey, resulting in some REAL mischief, or B) that I had gotten distracted and put the giblets somewhere random I wouldn’t notice until they started smelling, like the dryer or something — I was relieved. I know traditionalists and especially pretentious “Whole Animal” Foodies are all about eating the nasty bits, I say “No Thank You.” You can keep your organ snacks. Blech.

Bless Tammy’s heart (oops, nevermind, that was in the bag of Missing Giblets) (wait, does that make her the Tin Man?) (Would you stop with tangents and wrap up this damn post, please!) — she needed some pampering after her manhandling. So naturally I offered to give her a Butter Massage. Basically, I mixed unsalted butter with lots of salt, pepper, and minced garlic (add whatever herbs you like), then gave Tammy the best rubdown of her sad, gibletless life.

No photography allowed in the massage parlor.

I was thinking that Tammy was looking kind of pale, so I sent her to the tanning bed. I figured 3-4 hours in at 325-350 degrees would give her a nice browning that said “California Classy” instead of “Jersey Shore Trashy.” A little tin-foil umbrella half-way through kept her from getting too sunburned.

And then, after all of that drama, Tammy was done. And just look how beautiful she turned out.

Maybe beautiful's not the right word. Let's just go with "done."

After all that, quite frankly I’m worn out. Tune in next week and I’ll tell you about all of the fun culinary trips we took Tammy on. Well, parts of Tammy, anyway…

PS: Matthew is not dead. He has been traveling for work like a crazy person. We’re cooking up some fun together tonight, so look out for some fun posts from him to come!