The Great Pumpkin Cook-Off

The Great Pumpkin Cook-Off

On October 30th, I took a break from studying for midterms and writing term papers to participate in Sunnyside Greenmarket's Great Pumpkin Cook-Off. Armed with *my* favorite pumpkin recipe, a variation of Gay Isber's Canadian Thanksgiving soup, I cooked my heart out to impress the local farmers and passersby. All the entries were delicious, and a pumpkin trifle dessert took top honors. The prize was a bountiful bag of food from the market. Two days later, I was at my internship at the Food Network and someone who happens to be a judge on a popular show commented that my soup smelled amazing. Now that made my day! So, here is my losing pumpkin-apple-cheese soup recipe that I think is just fantastic. Hope you enjoy.

Pumpkin Apple Cheese Soup

2 Tbsp Butter

1 Pound peeled, seeded pumpkin ~2 cups

2 cups peeled, cored, chopped apples

½ cup chopped leeks or onions

½ cup chopped carrots

2 ½ cups low sodium chicken stock

1 Tbsp brown sugar

1 tsp salt

1/4 tsp white pepper

Pinch cinnamon, nutmeg, ground ginger, cayenne

1 cup grated cheese, cheddar or smoked gouda or combo

1. Wash and cut pumpkin in half. Roast in a 450 oven for about half hour.

2. Meanwhile, heat butter in a big soup pot.

3. Sauté leeks, carrots, and apples until tender.

4. Add spices and chicken stock and simmer until vegetables are very tender.

5. Remove skin and puree cooked pumpkin in food processor or food mill.

6. Add pumpkin and cheese to soup and stir to combine.

7. Puree soup with an immersion blender, or using food processor.

8. Strain through a mesh sieve (optional).

9. Add more stock or water for consistency. It should pour from the 
spoon in an even stream, not in clumps.

10. Taste and adjust seasoning.

Street Vendor Hot Dogs

I'm keeping a journal of my experiences while interning as a Community Organizer at the Street Vendor Project, and was thinking the other day about my personal relationship to NYC street vendor food.

I'm a fourth generation native Brooklynite, and the earliest food memory of my entire life is eating hot dogs from a cart with my dad at McKinley Park in Bay Ridge. The twang of the sauerkraut moistened the bun into a soft gluey cradle for the most delicious, salty, spicy boiled hot dog with a mustard blanket. It was special food, not to be confused with anything I might eat at home. And it was "daddy food", a small collection of food that came to my stomach exclusively via my dad that also included sunnyside up "pink" eggs and "protein shakes" made with strawberry ice cream. While these days I'm more likely to buy fruit from a vendor than prepared food, I still eat a hot dog about once a year. Even though I know what’s in them, street vendor hot dogs are food that tastes like memories to me, and no amount of fact-therapy is going to change that.

My dad enjoyed street vendor hot dogs with his father, in the same neighborhood, maybe even on that same street corner. Long before Nathan's was famous, there were German immigrants selling hot dogs all over the city from push carts. Maybe the so-called dirty water in the carts is part of what makes New Yorkers so naturally resilient. There's also implied physical activity to eating street food. You are eating it because you are obviously on the street, not in a car. That implied exercise perhaps absolves street vendor food from ever being labeled as junk food. No matter what you are eating, you are burning calories as you walk away from the cart!

Note: If I've managed to offend any public health or nutrition people, you should know that's why I'm a Food Studies person.

Recipe: Moroccan Millet Burgers

In the photo, these are topped and sandwiched with homemade tapenade. Hummus or ketchup would be equally great.

Ingredients

1/2 cup chopped onion, divided
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 tsp cinnamon
seeds from 5 cardamon pods
1 tsp ground cumin
1 Tbsp fennel seeds
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 cup millet
1 cup water
1 cup canned kidney beans, rinsed and drained
3/4 cup cashews or walnuts
2 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup packed beet greens (or spinach), stems removed
3/4 cup cornmeal
1 egg

Preparation

Cook half of onion with 1/4 teaspoon salt, cardamon seeds, cumin, cinnamon, fennel and cayenne in oil in a small heavy saucepan over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until golden, 5 to 7 minutes. Add millet and water and cook, covered, over low heat until water is absorbed, 15 to 18 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and stir in beans.

Pulse millet mixture, nuts, garlic, greens, cumin, cayenne, a rounded 1/4 tsp salt, 1/2 teaspoon pepper, and remaining onion in a food processor until finely chopped. Before you add the egg, taste it and see how you like it. Add some hot sauce or more spices if you want. Add egg and cornmeal and mix until combined. If it’s too wet, add more cornmeal, a little at a time.

Form rounded 1/2 cups of mixture into 4 (3 1/2-inch-diameter) patties. Chill at least 10 minutes. This will help them stick together better. You can spray each patty with a canola oil or olive oil spray before putting them in the pan. This will give even browning.

Heat 1 tablespoon oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over medium heat until it shimmers, then cook patties, carefully turning once, until golden brown, about 6 minutes on each side.

Makes about 10 patties (serves 5 people, or 2 with delicious leftovers)

Split Pea Soup

I was 18 years old when I worked in the Classical Music Department at the now-closed Tower Records in Greenwich Village. My friends all worked there, too, and every day was a great time. My favorite moments were late nights playing Braham’s German Requiem and Strauss’ Alpine Symphony at full volume and standing underneath the speakers to feel the waterfall of music rushing down all around me. Lunchtime on minimum wage salary usually meant a bowl of split pea soup swimming with crunchy fried croutons from Cozy Soup and Burger. This is Good food – yes, with a capital “G” just like God. Good food, for me at least, is a spiritual experience.

I have no memory of any other pea soup before those bowls at Cozy. Maybe I never had it, and if I did, it never meant anything to me. Like a vessel of green love, you don’t eat the soup for nutrition or for warmth, you eat it because it is soul-satisfying. It is Good food, and when you eat it, you are Good. Fourteen years later, on a cold January day, I went back. Sitting alone at the counter in anticipation, I waited for my little bowl of warm heaven to arrive. With the first spoonful, I was greeted with the memories of lunches long ago and people long forgotten. I thanked the manager on the way out for not changing the recipe in all these years, and left with the satisfaction of having a nice visit with an old friend.