Wintry Pumpkin Pie

When one has close to a dozen pumpkins stacked in a corner of the kitchen, meal times become a game of finding ways to disguise pumpkin in anything and everything. As delicious as they may be, there are only so many times that I can eat variations of Parmesan-crusted pumpkin wedges (Gruyere and torn basil is an excellent combination by the way), baked oatmeal with pumpkin and maple-soaked raisins or chickpea-hiding-pumpkin-patties before I feel inclined to start pulling my hair out.

I've never had a proper pumpkin pie before (the orange-coloured cream masquerading as said pie at Cotton Duck doesn't count), so I thought I'd give that a go. I wanted a really beefed up version full of warming spices and wintry nuances so I scoured through my books for a few ideas which I mashed together into a single recipe.

Spices from a traditional American diner dessert - sweet potato pie were added and the amount of sugar scaled back to let the natural sweetness of the pumpkin sing. Instead of making a classic pie with flaky pastry, I cooked the pumpkin pie filling in jars and dished them up with homemade yoghurt, dried lemon peel and some shortbread biscuits infused with lemon and rosemary.


Dried lemon peel

1 lemon
100 g water
50 g castor sugar

Peel lemon with a vegetable peeler.
Remove white pith from the peel with a small, sharp knife.
Cut peel into thin strips about 2 mm wide.
Place water and sugar into a small pot and bring to the boil.
Add lemon peel and bring back to the boil.
Allow to simmer for 2 minutes.
Remove pot from heat and cool to room temperature.
Strain out the peel and drain well.
Spread peel onto a flat tray lined with baking paper or a silpat mat.
Dehydrate at 55ºC for 3-4 hours or until crisp.
Cool to room temperature.
Store in an airtight container.


Pumpkin pie

1 kg pumpkin, unpeeled
30 g olive oil
134 g castor sugar
3 g salt
2 g ground ginger
2 g ground cinnamon
1/2 g ground nutmeg
1/2 g ground allspice
4 g vanilla paste
7 g all-purpose flour
260 g evaporated milk
20 g water
10 g lemon juice
2 eggs

Slice pumpkin into 2cm thick wedges.
Brush with olive oil and roast at 200ºC for 40 mins or until pumpkin is cooked through and caramelised.
Remove from oven and set aside to cool to room temperature.
When cool to the touch, scrape away pumpkin flesh from skins and set aside in a bowl.
Discard skins.
Place 320 g of pumpkin flesh in a food processor with sugar, salt, spices, vanilla paste and flour.
Blend until smooth.
Whisk together evaporated milk, water, lemon juice and eggs in a bowl.
Add liquids to pumpkin mixture and blend to combine thoroughly.
Transfer to a jug and half fill 5 small 300 ml jars.
Place jars into a roasting tray and fill with boiling water.
Bake at 160ºC for 35 mins or until pumpkin is just set in the middle when shaken.
Transfer jars to a rack to cool slightly.
Serve with homemade yoghurt and a sprinkling of dried lemon zest.

Reflections at 25

If my subconscious could speak, it would probably say this:

Happy birthday! Congratulations! You are now a quarter of a century old. Congratulations for making it through another year. Congratulations on your three high distinctions and 6.75 GPA. Congratulations for not failing. Congratulations for not hurting anyone this year. Congratulations for not living in a twenty-seven storey apartment. Don't you wish you did though sometimes? Don't you miss living alone? Being left alone? Don't you miss that great big window over the city - night lights illuminating everything in sight but that beneath? Feet dangling in the open air, just one step, just one push. Don't you wish you could relive that moment and do things differently? Take a leap of faith instead of picking up that phone. Don't you wish you could repeat all those moments of mistake? No. Don't go. Stay. I love you. What is it like to carry the world on your shoulders? What is it like on every birthday, every Christmas, every New Years Eve to feel a gaping expanse in your heart where her hand should be, connecting you to all of the things that are right in the world? What is it like to never feel content or forgiven, to ache from the emptiness that you created, to wish to rewind time to right the impossible? Today will be filled with meaningless congratulations. Only twenty-five years passed, and still a lifetime remaining.

A bastardised pumpkin recipe

My first was an accident, a mishap, the result of unintentional volunteer seed spreading through unprotected contact. A certain somebody had thoughtfully deposited half of a mouldy supermarket pumpkin into the compost heap which, much to my annoyance, somehow lodged itself onto the prongs of my garden fork every time I turned the heap. After much cursing, It eventually disintegrated and I spread the compost around the base of my chilli plants as mulch. At this very moment, I had become the unwitting propagator of pumpkins.

The Chinese lady next door told me that pumpkins are ready to harvest once the white splotches turn a yellow, creamy colour. My dad the self-proclaimed 'expert' confirmed this but failed to mention that pumpkins require a few weeks to cure before eating. So excited about picking pumpkins was I, that I cracked one open immediately and made a big batch of soup that tasted like total ASS.

I thought I'd done something terribly wrong. Maybe pumpkins and chillies are not fitting companion plants and are instead, bitter instigators. Maybe pumpkins DETEST being watered with seaweed emulsion. I was full of self-doubt and loathing and distasteful pumpkin. I wept silently while the pile of pumpkins slowly grew.

A friend of mine offered me a copy of Plenty by Yotam Ottolenghi after inadvertently ordering one too many online. When I chanced upon the recipe for 'Crusted pumpkin wedges with soured cream', the pumpkins too received a second chance, lest I be left with a mouldy collection as a permanent reminder of inadvertent mistakes. 


Parmesan-crusted pumpkin wedges with yoghurt
a recipe adapted and completely bastardised from Plenty by Yotam Ottolenghi

750 g pumpkin (skin on)
40 g Parmesan, finely grated
30 g white breadcrumbs
25 g unsalted butter, melted
26 g black Tuscan kale leaves, roughly chopped
7 g garlic, finely grated
3 g thyme leaves
1 1/2 g black pepper, coarsely ground
2 g salt
1 g ground cumin
1 g ground nutmeg
50 g olive oil

Cut the pumpkin into wedges 2cm thick.
Toss with olive oil to coat and arrange onto a tray lined with baking paper.
Bake for 20 minutes at 180ºC.
Toss all of the remaining ingredients together and press firmly onto the sliced pumpkin.
Return to oven for an additional 30 minutes until the pumpkin is cooked through and crust is golden.
Serve with a zesty natural or European style yoghurt.

Homemade yoghurt

Clear blue skies and cool winter nights mean creamy potatoes baked in their jackets, slathered with butter and chives; lots of hugs from sexy stiletto-wearing friends to conserve body heat; and yoghurt-making over the gas heater when nippy weather leaves uncovered toes at risk of frostbite.

The results of culturing yoghurt at home can seem wildly unpredictable at times. Like all other aspects of cooking, yoghurt-making is very much a science. Every ingredient has a purpose and every action has a reaction. What is it they say? That the beating of a butterfly's wings can cause a hurricane ten thousand miles away.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a little sentimental when it comes to dairy. I was once utterly infatuated with an adoring Spanish woman whose mother raised goats and produced queso de cabra in Cantabria, along the northern coast of Spain. Whenever she went to visit her mama, she'd return to Madrid nursing three small semi-hard goat's cheeses.

Somehow each of these cheeses would last for weeks despite turning up in creamy steak dressings and tomato salads. Occasionally we'd cut tiny slivers and savor the pungent aroma without distraction. The cheese was produced with lots of love and a precision that only comes with years of experience. There's something about artisan produce that commands absolute respect. The skills and patience required are admirable and often the passion needed to compete with mass production is unwavering.

I often wish that I had the know-how to produce cheeses. I've gotten as far as making curds for a sweet tart and ricotta for hotcakes but I fear that without any training, the only cheese I'd be successful in producing would be a new variety of a toxic, inedible sort used for biological warfare. Luckily I've found that making yoghurt at home is quite simple and satisfying results are always to be had.

Homemade yoghurt

1000 g full-cream milk

30 g dehydrated milk powder

75 g yoghurt starter (a good quality natural yoghurt containing live cultures - I like to use Meredith Dairy sheep's milk yoghurt)

Place milk in a small saucepan, add dehydrated milk powder and bring to the boil and simmer for 15 minutes to kill any bacteria present and denature as many proteins as possible (this results in a more thick and luscious yoghurt later).

Remove from heat and cool to 40ºC.

Add the yoghurt starter and stir well.

Pour the mixture into sterilised jars and seal.

Maintain temperature between 35 - 40ºC for about 6 - 8 hours or until yoghurt has set.

Remove from heat, cool to room temperature and refrigerate overnight before eating.

More starter can be added if you prefer a rather tangy yoghurt and the amount of dehydrated milk powder can be adjusted for a thicker or thinner consistency. Resulting whey can be stirred back into the yoghurt or poured off and reserved for making bread.

Caramelised white chocolate bubble cake

It's been three weeks and barely a dent has been made in my ever growing list of things I'd like to do. The library books I borrowed in February are still collecting dust. I go to bed every night meaning to do more, and every morning I wake with dreams of escape.

If you want something done sometimes you have to do it yourself, but what if this is too much? Can I alone affect even one person? My doubts keep getting in the way, along with my tendency to put off the most simple of things like asking a gorgeous woman to a dinner at her suggestion. Fuck.

These last few weeks have been whiled away digging trenches in the garden, planting heirloom King Edward spuds, nibbling on freshly picked roquette salad leaves and providing my young plants with a heavy mulching of shredded pea straw to protect them against the oncoming frost. One more day to endure before I find out how my efforts fared.

I wish I could bury myself amongst the potatoes and somehow fast forward time to tomorrow. Will I pass? Will I fail? Will I be throwing up with excitement or trying to kick myself in the head? This waiting game is excruciating, even with the consolation of a soft and buttery homemade white chocolate cake worthy of cardiac arrest.

White chocolate sponge cake

145 g white chocolate buttons (Callebaut)

60 g unsalted butter

6 egg yolks

10 g all-purpose flour

4 egg whites

5 g vanilla paste

1 g cream of tartar

90 g castor sugar

Melt chocolate and butter over a bain marie.

Remove from heat and stir until smooth. Allow to cool slightly.

Whisk together egg yolks, flour and 20 g sugar.

Add melted chocolate to yolks and whisk to combine.

Whisk egg whites, vanilla and cream of tartar in a large bowl until medium peaks form.

Sprinkle in a little sugar at a time, whisking until all remaining sugar has been used; firm, glossy peaks have formed and sugar granules can no longer be felt in the meringue.

Add 1/3 of the meringue to the yolks and whisk to combine.

Add remaining meringue and fold together gently with a whisk.

Pour onto a heavy baking sheet lined with baking paper.

Bake at 140ºC for 12 minutes, rotating halfway.

Cool completely on the baking tray.

Place a sheet of baking paper over the top and flip upside down.

Gently prise off the first sheet of paper and set aside.

Dehydrated yoghurt

200 g natural yoghurt

Spread yoghurt onto the shiny side of a silpat/non-stick baking mat.

Dehydrate in oven with the door slightly ajar at 50ºC for 5 hours or until crisp.

Cool to room temperature.

Break into shards and store in an airtight container.

Malted milk honeycomb

70 g liquid glucose

185 g castor sugar

60 g water

12 g dehydrated milk powder

15 g malted milk powder

4 g baking soda

Heat glucose, sugar and water in a small pot to 160ºC.

Whisk together dehydrated milk, malted milk powder and baking soda in a small bowl.

Add powder to caramel and whisk until just combined.

Pour malted caramel into a large bowl lined with baking paper. (Caramel will bubble up and expand)

Set aside at room temperature for half an hour to set.

Remove paper and break apart into small chunks.

Store in an airtight container.

Custard buttercream base

300 g milk

4 g vanilla paste

5 egg yolks

240 g castor sugar

450 g unsalted butter, soft

Scald milk, vanilla and half of the sugar in a small pot.

Set aside for half an hour to infuse.

Cream egg yolks and remaining sugar.

Pour milk into the eggs a little at a time and whisk to combine.

Return to the pot and bring to a simmer to thicken, stirring continuously. (High amount of sugar will prevent egg from scrambling)

Remove from heat and cool to room temperature.

Whisk butter in an electric mixer to aerate.

Slowly add cooled custard and continue whisking until light and creamy.

Lemon buttercream

700 g custard buttercream

10 g lemon zest, finely grated (approx. 3-4 large lemons)

Add lemon zest to buttercream and whisk until fully incorporated.

Caramelised white chocolate buttercream

250 g custard buttercream

50 g white chocolate buttons

20 g milk

Spread chocolate onto a silpat mat and bake at 150ºC for 12 minutes, mixing every 3 minutes.

Heat milk with 35 g of caramelised white chocolate and bring to a simmer. (Eat the rest of the caramelised chocolate.. yummy)

Allow to cool to below 55ºC.

Add caramelised chocolate milk to buttercream and whisk until light and creamy.

To assemble:

Cover white chocolate sponge with lemon buttercream.

Crush a little malted milk honeycomb with a mortar and pestle and sprinkle over the buttercream.

Roll, using the baking paper underneath to support the sponge.

Refrigerate until firm.

Cover the sponge exterior with caramelised white chocolate buttercream.

Refrigerate until firm.

Tempered white chocolate bubbles

400 g white chocolate buttons

Melt chocolate over a bain marie, stirring with a spatula.

Bring to 45ºC.

Cool to 27ºC by spreading chocolate on the bench in a thin layer to cool quickly before scraping back into the bowl.

Return to bain marie for a few seconds until it reaches 31.5ºC.

Spread tempered chocolate over a sheet of intact bubble wrap that is large enough to cover the entire sponge.

To finish:

Place sponge into the middle of the bubble wrap sheet and bring the sides up.

Smooth down the bubble wrap, making sure all parts come into contact with the buttercream exterior.

Place on a tray and refrigerate until firm.

Remove bubble wrap carefully and turn upside-down for best presentation.

Serve at room temperature with shards of dehydrated yoghurt.