Winter Squash

I'm in the process of typing this entry and before I can even put words to the photos, E is making fun of me from excluding some of the more "shaply" gnocchi from the post. Not that the ones here would win any prize, but I probably haven't made gnocchi since junior high and then it would have most certainly been with help from my mother, Martha. What I'm saying is that each gnocchi had its own signature look, some being more attractive than others.


For the past two weeks, we've had winter squash in our farm share. This is the last week of summer share and I tend to forget that you can have such a mix of fruit and vegetables in late summer and early fall. There's the last few sun gold tomatoes with our delicata, carnival and butternut squashes. For fruit, a few berries were left along with some pears. Additionally, I took a trip to the orchard to pick jonagold and liberty apples, some to eat and some pressed for cider.


In Sunset magazine this month there was a great photo and recipe for squash gnocchi. I ended up using Mark Bittman's recipe for Parsnip Gnocchi, out of How to Cook Everything Vegetarian, substituting roasted butternut squash. (When I came home with this cookbook a couple weeks ago, E asked me with a concerned look if we were becoming vegetarians.) I boiled the gnocchi and then tossed them with some butter, sage, and pine nuts and topped them with Parmiggiano before sliding them into the oven. I enjoyed my individual gnocchi gratin, and froze the ones that I had not boiled so that I'll have an easy dinner for some night after work. I think I prefer traditional potato gnocchi, but these held their own and will certainly become and often-used squash recipe.


I just love this little green pumpkin, as much as you can love fall vegetables that you have no intention of consuming. My photography scarely does it justice, but the metallic looking green color is striking, its just the right size for indoors, and the curly tendrils are so ridiculously perfect I'm sure the commercial Halloween industry would love to study it for some future production of a plastic replica. The proud farmer from the market was telling me all sorts of delicious things to do with it, but I had to break the news to her that this adorable little specimen would not be going anywhere near the kitchen. Its sitting on my end table, greeting me each time I pass through the room with a green, toothy smile.