Midnight Mass and Candy Cane Cupcakes

On Christmas Eve, I went to midnight mass.  I abandoned Catholicism long ago, for a variety of reasons, but there's something about the solemnity (or potential solemnity, anyway) of Christmas midnight mass that strikes a chord in me, and reminds me of my old-world Catholic father, who died eight years ago this February from stomach cancer.  Though "midnight mass" when I was growing up happened at 9:00 p.m., I can still remember him singing Christmas carols in French and Latin in his booming baritone, burying his head in his hands as he knelt in prayer.  

There is a Catholic church just a block from where we live, so since I was awake anyway, I walked up the street, listening to the silence, looking at the stars, tasting the crisp wintry air, and feeling the quiet in my soul.  When I got to the church, I sat in the back, watching the parishoners filter in, looking for friends and family, admiring each others' Christmas finery (and four inch spike heels).  I was wearing my ratty green maternity sweater and clogs, looking very pregnant.  No one greeted me, and few people looked my way.  But I had to laugh as I thought to myself, sitting there, that in a strange way, I was physically the closest person in that church to Mary at that moment.  I smiled, thinking about the difference between this church and the UU fellowship that we attend, where everyone greeted everyone with hugs and kisses at our Christmas celebration, and no one was looking at what anyone was wearing.  A 20th century Mary and Joseph would have been welcome in our midst, and would have been offered a cup of coffee.  Still, though I didn't make it all the way through the midnight mass --I lost steam about halfway through, I was glad to be reminded of my father, for all of his faults, and the way he embraced the spirit of renewal and possibility that was Christmas.

In that same spirit, I finally got around to a baking project I'd intended to try for weeks, inspired by a blogger friend who'd had a dream, while she was still pregnant, that she was eating candy cane cupcakes.  Melissa was originally due to give birth to her third child just after I was, but had her baby girl at just shy of 30 weeks, 3 lbs. 11 oz.  Kiari has been doing remarkably well in the NICU; she's been a fighter since before she was born.  I've been wanting to send them something; I'm in charge of what's fondly referred to as the "casserole brigade" in our fellowship (though I refuse to call what I make "casseroles"): when there are new babies or illnesses or other crises in life, I organize the group of people who bring food and comfort to the doors of our friends.  Candy cane cupcakes sounded like they might offer some promise of traveling well, if I sent the frosting separately, and I knew that a part-buttercream would keep with no trouble in transit, given the weather out this way lately.

So I made my standard vanilla cupcake using half peppermint extract in place of the vanilla (if you're going to try this, don't just settle for something called "mint extract," which is half spearmint, and really won't work at all) and tinting half of the batter with red food coloring, layering the two colors of batter, and swirling them around just slightly with a toothpick before baking.  I packed a standard vanilla buttercream, made with crushed candy cane bits, and included some extra small candy canes in the package for decoration.  (Here, in the picture, I put some crushed candy cane bits on top.)  Before we sent them off, we tested one to make sure that it was fit for human consumption.  While it was good, it wasn't exactly as good as I was hoping; I think next time I'd be less sparing with the peppermint extract (which I was afraid would be too overbearing), and possibly alternate two kinds of batter, red velvet and white chocolate pappermint instead of vanilla with peppermint.  Still, the end result was pretty, and the stripes inside were even more or less what I'd envisioned.

The best part of this story, though, is that the cupcakes arrived on Melissa's daughter Kelsi's birthday.  Kelsi was one of the three smallest living babies born at the hospital where she entered the world six years ago, and sadly, she didn't survive.  But every year Melissa and her family remember Kelsi's short life, and celebrate the effect she has had on so many people.

So happy birthday, Kelsi ... may 2011 bring us all hope and the human connections that make us better people.  Thank you, Melissa, for letting me be part of such an important day in your family's year.  The bloggers and friends I've met on this journey have inspired me, humbled me, and helped me to keep putting one foot in front of another.  And as much as I wish I was holding a live child in my arms right now, instead of worrying about these last few weeks and all of the things I know could still potentially go wrong, I will take comfort in the fact that I have a community of amazing people rallying around me, cheering me on to my own small miracle.

The Calm After (and Before) the Storm: Minestrone Soup

The presents have all been opened and put away, the Christmas goodies eaten (and eaten, and eaten ... not that they're all eaten yet, of course, but we're getting there).  My father-in-law and his wife were here since Christmas Eve, and left yesterday morning for their next stop, in upstate New York.  I am sitting, Moby Dick-like (yes, a white whale), on my couch, in my new fleece robe, thanks to my brother, listening to the wind outside, following up on the "blizzard" from earlier this week, which, strangely, brought our county only about four inches ... the storm just missed us, and socked the rest of the state. 

It was quiet on the roads yesterday, given that our state was still under a state of emergency.  There was still too much ice and snow to go running, and I ventured to my yoga studio, hoping that I would find that my teacher had come in--she does, after all, live only two blocks away, and the streets were clear; she was there, and two other students joined me for a very private, intimate class.  It was good to be there, to be in that space of calm after the mad rush and entertaining of the holiday.  I needed a mental and spiritual detox.  (Case in point: I got two items of clothing for Christmas, and broke out into tears because I couldn't try them on to decide whether or not they were even the right size.  Yep, love those hormones.)  At our request, we did lots of hip openers and spent an extra long time in savasana while she came around and gave us each a quick massage.  Have I mentioned how much I love my yoga teacher?  Oh, right, I guess I have.

The big accomplishment this week was finding a postpartum doula.  The one I had last time, kind as she was, just talked entirely too much ... about her kids, about band camp, about anything under the sun.  This one seems very no-nonsense, practical, thoughtful, but caring.  The down side: this one also requires a commitment of a minimum of 20 hours a week, so it will be a pretty significant expense, one we weren't really planning on.  Still, I think it will be good to have someone not related to me help us at the beginning, since we won't have any family coming to stay and help (I will bite my tongue here and not make comments about my mother), so we are going to bite the bullet and sign the contract.  I've started to pack for the hospital, too, which is strange ... I think I'm beginning to realize that that this child could arrive at any moment.  My "due date" is just over a month away.  Some relatives gave us pink clothing for Christmas (not that we need another shred of clothing; this little one will be well-outfitted for the first six months of life, I think).  I feel so not-ready for this ... then again, will I ever feel any more ready?

We've also started to make and freeze some meals, for those nights we don't feel like cooking because we're trying to figure out how to deal with a new infant: a chicken soup, a lasagna.  This week is a good week for that kind of preparation, since we're home on vacation, with some extra time on our hands. As much as I like to read recipes (and look at pictures of food) online, I'm considering getting a copy of World Vegetarian just to have, and maybe making some healthful meals from there.

While this isn't one of the things we're freezing, it is a good "detox from the holiday excess" kind of soup.  It's hearty, and filling, but has lots of vegetables in it, and you can always put in less pasta (or pick around it like I do and leave that part to your pasta-loving husband and son, like I do).

I think the first time I made this soup I was living in Los Angeles.  In fact, I think that the recipe was passed on to me from an ex-boyfriend (which would be strange, given the fact that he is probably the biggest carnivore I know).  I can't be sure.  It reminds me, though, of the time I was first learning to cook, first learning that soup didn't have to come from a can, first learning the versatility of vegetables.  Everyone should have a good minestrone soup recipe in his/her back pocket.

Tell me, what are your favorite things to make ahead and freeze, for when you know the storm is coming?

Minestrone Soup

1/2 c. dried red beans, soaked and drained (or one 15 oz. can)
5 c. water
2 c. shredded green cabbage (or kale, or spinach, or other winter greens)
1 1/2 c. chopped tomatoes (canned are OK if the fresh ones are awful)
1 small onion, chopped
1 celery stalk, chopped
1 carrot, diced
1 zucchini, diced
1 medium potato, peeled and left whole
1 small potato, peeled/diced
3 T. extra virgin olive oil
1 t. salt
1 1/2 T. finely chopped garlic
1/4 c. basil
1/2 c. small shell-shaped pasta (or whatever you like)

Place all ingredients except basil and pasta in a large soup pot or Dutch oven, bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover, and simmer until beans are tender, stirring occasionally.  This takes about an hour.

Transfer 2 c. soup to a blender (or use your handy-dandy immersion blender) to puree part of it, and return the puree to the pot.  Add the basil and pasta, and simmer until the pasta is cooked through, about 25 more minutes, stirring occasionally.

Season to taste with more salt and pepper, and serve, if you like, with grated Parmesan or Manchego cheese.

Simple Gifts: Gingered Cauliflower Soup

Just over a day from now, members of my family will get together and open what are, really, extravagant gifts.  This is something I've lobbied against openly for a few years, now; while I like giving gifts that I know will make the recipient happy, I hate having to fulfill "lists" just because it's Christmas, and I don't feel like I should have to get an expensive gift to show someone I love them.  In the past few years, I've actually gotten a "wish list" from my 30+ year old brother, and he asks us to send him a list, too.  The whole thing feels contrived.  I don't like getting extravagant gifts, either; they make me feel uncomfortable, especially when they're not exactly a good fit.

The best kinds of gifts are the ones that take us by surprise; they're not often even the largest or most expensive ones (in fact, most often, quite the opposite), but the ones that come from the heart.

Today we went to New York to travel to the top of the Empire State Building, and to show I. the tree, the department store windows, the Rockefeller Center ice skaters.  He loved it all (except for the fact that he had to walk a long way in the icy wind).  As we were standing there in Rockefeller Center, marveling at the height of the tree, I remembered a gift that I'd gotten here over 15 years ago.  It was a day or two before Christmas, and I was with my then-boyfriend.  It had just started to snow, and it was late enough so that the pedestrian traffic had started to dwindle.   Looking up at the start high up in the tree, the snow falling gently all around me in the city lights, it felt almost magical, hopeful somehow; I remember wishing I could capture that feeling and keep it for the days when I felt sad and alone.  The tree-guard, who was watching us, saw me looking up at the star and the tree through the gentle flurries, and approached us, slowly reaching into his pocket.  "I have something for you," he told us.  Smiling at me, he pulled out of his pocket a single blue bulb from the string of lights on that giant tree, one that he told us he'd found no longer worked.  For more than fifteen years I'd saved that bulb.  Today, after we got back home, I gave it to my little boy.  It was a reminder of his trip, of looking wide-eyed for the first time at a tree taller than any houses and most buildings that he knows, a reminder of the way the world can feel magical sometimes.  He held it to his heart, and put it in his "treasure box," for safe keeping.  I hope that he keeps it for another fifteen years.

In our mailbox, there was a package waiting for me.  In it was this: an ornament made by an amazing fellow blogger who knows all too intimately about repeated loss, to remember our lost loved ones.  I don't know if you can see the silver snowflakes in this picture, but they're there.  The gift brought tears to my eyes; it's the kind of gift whose simple thoughtfulness and generosity take my breath away. I put it in a place on our tree where it stands out among the other ornaments; and I noticed, hanging it, that it was the same color as the bulb I'd just given to my little monkey ... as if a reminder, again, of the people and the places and the feelings that are always there, even though we miss them.

The other gift I got this week was a box of cookies from the cookie exchange with another blogger:  I'd sent her some Chocolate Toffee, Sugar Cookie Cutouts, and Jam Pinwheels. she sent me her Triple Chocolate Chunk, Ginger Cookies, and Peppermint Bark.  They were so beautifully packaged, I couldn't help but feel bad about the poor Tupperware I'd sent off (in an attempt to ensure that my cookies arrived in one piece).  And they tasted wonderful.

These were simple gifts, but in so many ways, they've touched me and made me happier than I suspect the pile of gifts from my non-immediate family will on Christmas morning.  This is the Santa Claus that lives in all of us, the one that the editor of the Sun wrote to Virginia about those many years ago..

In celebration of simplicity, I thought I'd share a simple recipe for soup.  I love Madhur Jaffrey.  I know I've talked about her here and here, but I needed to say it again.  If I had to purchase one cookbook these days, it would be Jaffrey's World Vegetarian.  This happens not to come from that book, but from her Quick and Easy Indian Cooking.  In my house we have been eating one-bowl meals for what seems (to my husband at least) like weeks, and I see many more in our future, especially with this child expected in just about a month.  Because sometimes the simplest of things just seem to fit better.

Here's wishing you a holiday--and a new year--filled with the simple things and the kinds of gifts that give you glimpses --however brief -- of joy.

Gingered Cauliflower Soup

3 T . vegetable oil
1 med. onion peeled and chopped
1 1" piece fresh ginger peeled, slivered
4 cloves garlic -- peeled and chopped
1 t. ground cumin
2 t. ground coriander
1/4 t. ground turmeric
1/4 t. cayenne pepper
2 med. potatoes, peeled, 1/3″ cubes
1/2 lb (2 c.) cauliflower florets
5 c. chicken stock
salt to taste
1/3 to 2/3 c. heavy cream

Set the oil over medium-high heat in a good-sized saucepan. When hot put in onion, ginger and garlic. Stir-fry for about 4 minutes or onion is somewhat browned. Put in cumin, coriander, turmeric, and cayenne. Stir once, put in potato, cauliflower and chicken stock. Stir and bring to boil. Cover and turn heat to low; simmer gently for 10 minutes or until potatoes are tender. Put soup into a blender and blend or use a hand blender to purée. Add cream and reheat gently.

First Annual (?) ICLW Cookie Exchange: Apricot Oatmeal Bars

 (Welcome ICLW visitors!  If you want a brief back story, click here: the short version is that I am chronicling a journey through life and pregnancy after RPL and a diagnosis of secondary IF; I'm just about to round the corner into week 34.  I make, talk about and take pictures of food, because doing so makes me happy and keeps me mostly out of trouble.)

Since many of us are careening full tilt into the holidays, even though it might be more attractive to hide under a table or in a dark room, I thought I'd do something a little different for this ICLW.  About two weeks ago, I joined an online blogger cookie exchange.  The way it was going to work was this: each of us would bake 1-2 dozen cookies, and send them off to a partner (blogger we've never met) that the organizer would assign to us.  It sounded like a neat idea, and I sent my cookies off to my partner Emily from Life On Food last week, with some trepidation, afraid that she would not like my cookies, or think them too plain, or that they'd be stale or crushed upon arrival (I packed them tightly together, thinking maybe that would help).  But she said that they enjoyed them, and that my box is on its way!

I love cookie exchanges, for the same reason I like ICLW: you get introduced to a bunch of new cookies (blogs), get to talk with the bakers (comment), and make new friends over shared recipes (stories).  So here's my invitation to you: sort of like Mel's Virtual Lushary, I'd like to host a virtual cookie exchange.  Post your favorite cookie below, and if you like, include a link to the recipe (or post the whole recipe, or just send it to me).  If it's a special recipe (handed down through the generations, or if there's a good story behind it), include that, too.

Here's what's on the cookie menu at my house (click for links to previous posts and recipes):

Chocolate Toffee Cookies : these were the first cookies I tried from a blog.
Jam (or Whatever You Like) Filled Pinwheels :  
Sugar Cookies : my sister-in-law's recipe
Cranberry Oatmeal White Chocolate Chip : my husband's favorite cookie 
Gingerbread People (Vegan and Regular) : one chey, one crispy 
Chocolate (Mint) Crinkles : from a co-worker, and adapted to make them my own
... and these Apricot Bars (from my neighbor across the street)

And if anyone wants to do a real cookie exchange, just drop me a line ... I'm all for sending baked goods where they're needed.

Apricot Filled Oatmeal Bars

1 c. flour (regular)
1 c. quick-cooking oats (regular oats work OK)
2/3 c. packed brown sugar
1/4 t. baking soda
1/2 c. (1 stick) butter, very soft
1 c. apricot preserves (I use Polaner All Fruit, no sugar added)


Stir together flour, oats, brown sugar and baking soda.  Cut in butter until mixture is crumbly.  (I've also melted the butter once before and that worked OK, too, if you don't have a pastry blender.  You might need just a little bit more flour in that case.)  Pat 2/3 of the crumbs into the bottom of a 13 x 9" baking pan; spread with preserves.  Bake for 25-30 minutes.  Cool and cut into bars, as big or as small as you like them!

Hitting the Wall: Chocolate Crinkle Cookies

I need a nap.

On Thursday, I-bug got a stomach virus at school.  Apparently every child and teacher in the school has had it, and it was his turn.  I got the phone call about 15 minutes before a meeting I'd scheduled at work, and the other person was already in transit, coming from an hour away, so I felt I needed to stay for the meeting.  His teacher assured me that she'd be able to keep him until regular dismissal time.  When I got there, he was lying on the floor, covered in his little blue fuzzy blanket, and I found out he'd been sick every half hour.  My mom-guilt kicked in, big time.  How could I be such a horrible parent, to not rush to pick up my sick child immediately?  Stupid hour commute.  I spent the rest of the day trying to make him feel better; poor little monkey was writhing in pain, begging me to do something, and all I could do was feed him sips of water from a teaspoon and rub his belly.  We both spent the night on couches in the living room. sleeping fitfully and waking every few hours.  He didn't get sick again, until today, when he tossed his cookies at lunch.  Suffice to say that he has not been a happy camper.

Of course, my body is now too misshapen to be conducive to sleeping in my own bed, so I'm spending most of the night on the couch, anyway, heading to our room for the last hour because I feel guilty for abandoning my husband.  Not that sleeping on the couch allows for much actual sleeping, of course.  I think I'm running on about eight hours over the past two nights.

We interviewed a postpartum doula today, who said something about always asking clients if they've gotten to sleep.  Half-jokingly, I said, "the answer to that question is already 'no'."  At least she would ask.  Not that my mother has volunteered to come cook and do light housekeeping and help with baby care in those first few weeks (the other day when she was here she told me she didn't put laundry in the dryer because she didn't know what went into the dryer and what didn't), but if she did, I can't imagine her asking me if I need a nap.

How can I be hitting the wall already, when I haven't even given birth yet?

I've been trying to mitigate the effects of sleeplessness (mostly unsuccessfully, of course) with sugar and chocolate, in various forms.  (Doubtless, I will have gained at least 5 pounds this week at my next weigh-in.)  The leftover cookies that didn't make it to the neighbors or get eaten by my undergrads beckon loudly from the kitchen, and I hasten there when I'm called.  These little morsels are particularly tasty, and barely survived a day after the open house for my students.  Eaten within a day or two after baking, they're like soft pillows of chocolate (you won't want to keep them too much longer than that anyway).  Eaten warm, they're simply amazing.

Perhaps they'll get you through the holiday, too.

Chocolate Crinkles

4 T unsalted butter
8 oz. bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
1/2 c. sugar
2 large eggs
2 t. vanilla
1 1/2 c. flour
1/4 t. salt
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. peppermint extract (optional, if you like peppermint-flavored crinkles, or other flavoring if you like)

Topping:
1 c. confectioners (powdered or icing) sugar, sifted

In a stainless steel bowl placed over a saucepan of simmering water, or a double boiler, melt the chocolate and butter together. Stir well, remove from heat and set aside.

In the bowl of your electric mixer (or with a hand mixer), beat the eggs and sugar until thick, pale, and fluffy. (When you slowly raise the beaters the batter will fall back into the bowl in slow ribbons.) At this point beat in the vanilla extract and then stir in the melted chocolate mixture.

In a separate bowl whisk together the flour, salt, and baking powder. Add dry ingredients to the chocolate mixture, stirring just until incorporated. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until firm enough to shape into balls (3-4 hours or overnight).

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F and place rack in center of oven. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Place the confectioners sugar in a shallow bowl. With lightly greased hands (this is really important; I sprayed oil on my hands periodically and it worked quite well), roll a small amount of chilled dough to form a 1 inch ball. Place the ball of dough into the confectioners sugar and roll the ball in the sugar until it is completely coated and no chocolate shows through. Gently lift the sugar-covered ball, tapping off excess sugar, and place on prepared baking sheet. Continue forming cookies, spacing about 2 inches apart on baking sheets. (If you find the dough getting too soft for rolling into balls, return to the refrigerator and let chill until firm.)

Bake cookies for 8 to 10 minutes or just until the edges are slightly firm but the centers are still soft. (For moist chewy cookies do not over bake. Over baking these cookies will cause them to be dry.) Remove from oven and place on a wire rack to cool.

These cookies are best eaten the day they are baked.

Makes about 3 dozen cookies.

Comfort (and Joy?): New Mexican Stew

The other day, my yoga teacher began class by asking us all to get comfortable.  She begins class this way every time, of course, but this week she stressed the importance of finding that comfortable space, and settling into it: to really feel what that comfort felt like.  Maybe it's sitting in lotus position, but maybe it's kneeling, with our hinds on a block for support.  The practice of yoga is not about whether we can all do exactly what the person in front of the room is doing, but whether we can find our own ways to achieve mindfulness, using our bodies as a tool,or a pathway.  Patanjali, in the Yoga Sutras, writes that only when experience comfort can we experience true awareness (or joy).  This makes sense to me, as most things in yoga do: if I'm not comfortable, all I can think about is getting comfortable.  But rarely does anyone invite us to revel in comfort, to find it and to explore it, to be mindful of how we feel in that state.  My yoga teacher said, too, that it's important to remember that our experience of comfort may change from pose to pose, day to day, even minute to minute.  So the way I flop on the couch one day may not work for me the next day.  This, too, makes lots of sense, but I'm particularly biased right now, because it takes a while for me to get comfortable; I'm just in my own way all the time.

This lesson about the body is just as applicable, I think, to our environments and our dinner plates.  If you're like most people I know, the holidays can be stressful.  Even if you're the sort of person that cheerfully hauls out the holly in October, there are worries that come with gift-giving and socializing during this time of the year; if you didn't have to do so at Thanksgiving, chances are you'll be invited to a gathering that you'd really rather not attend, feel strangely obligated to give a gift that doesn't come from the heart.  This season, given all of the craziness at work, and the impending arrival of this child, I've been thinking a lot about what makes me comfortable.  While I wouldn't consider myself a grinch, for example, I did skip our division's holiday party this year at work, because I just felt like I didn't want to socialize with that group right now.  And though we don't always have the luxury of opting out, the least we can do is to figure out how to be comfortable where we are, and to allow ourselves to be comfortable, even if what we discover we're feeling isn't exactly joy.

I invite you to soak in the comfort of this winter stew, too.  You can alter it to your tastes (and your diet) pretty easily.  And when you're done licking the bowl and sopping up the broth, you're invited over for cookies (though I didn't win the chocolate recipe exchange contest; it seems I was beat out by, among other things, creme de menthe and spicy sugar in a chocolate cupcake.  Still, fifth place out of 26 entries isn't all bad, right?  And oddly enough, this week's competition, which opens tomorrow, is focused on comfort foods ... maybe this means something?).

New Mexican Stew

1 lb. fresh ground turkey, chicken or pork (I used a 15-oz can black beans for vegetarian/vegan)
1 onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder- hot or mild, to taste
1 1/2 cups peeled butternut squash, diced
2 large yellow or white gold potatoes, peeled, diced (I used sweet potatoes, or you could toss in some zucchini if you prefer to have some green in here)
3 medium carrots, chopped
1 cup roasted chopped green chiles- mild or hot, to taste (I use the canned kind)
1 quart chicken or vegan broth
Sea salt and ground pepper, to taste

Before serving:

Juice from 1 large juicy lime
2-3 tablespoons fresh chopped cilantro (as you can see, I forgot to get cilantro at the store)
1-2 teaspoons raw sugar or raw agave nectar, as needed

If using turkey, brown the ground turkey in a skillet and pour off the fat, if any. Add the turkey to the slow cooker/Crock Pot and add the remaining ingredients- through sea salt and ground pepper. Stir to combine. Cover and cook on low for about 7-9 hours.

About 20 minutes before serving, stir in the lime juice and cilantro; taste test. Add a dab of sweetener, if needed, to balance the spice. If you prefer it to be more like soup, add more broth. Heat through.

Local Flavor: Four Squash Soup

Over the past year or two, I seem to have become more and more of a locavore.  Fall is turning into winter here in the northeast U.S., and I'm already missing our local farmer's market, so I do love me an excuse to go to the Stockton Indoor Market.  It's not really a farmer's market (OK, it's not a farmer's market at all), but an indoor market of local vendors selling everything from cheesecakes to locally made soaps (love the goat's milk oatmeal soap!) to organic free range chickens to fresh scallops to artisan chocolates to organic locally sourced ice cream to hand-made tamales.  I wish I could take you there with me, because you'd love it, too: they let you sample everything.  There is one vendor that sells absolutely beautiful produce now, too, though, and they always have interesting varieties of things I haven't tried before.  As I was perusing cookbooks last week looking for hearty soups that would feed us for a few nights, I happened across one that called for kabocha squash.

You're thinking to yourself, "she already made squash soup."  Yes, true.  But that didn't have kabocha squash in it.  And it didn't have heavy cream in it.  I don't generally make soup with heavy cream; to me, the point of vegetable soups is that they're good for you.  But this, my dear readers, is worth the cheat; it's not too much cream, and it makes the soup taste like the kind you'll find in high-end restaurants at this time of year.

I've made kabocha squash once before; it has knobbly-looking deep green or orange skin with white stripes, has deep yellow-orange colored flesh on the inside, and is shaped like a squatty pumpkin.  It's exceptionally sweet and almost nutty in flavor, especially when roasted.  It's also not widely available at all times of the year; you may find it in the supermarket during Thanksgiving, but once that week passes, you may have to look at bit harder for it.  I knew, once I struck out at the supermarket, that I'd find what I was looking for at the Stockton Market.

My favorite thing about striving to be a locavore is that I get to talk with the people who grow and produce my food.  Though my experience with the CSA this summer taught me a few things about really living locally, and convinced me that I like the modern day convenience of a supermarket and the luxury of choice (there are no mango trees where I live, nor are there cacao beans), there's something great about being able to ask the guy selling the squash to describe to you the difference between the green and orange varieties, and knowing that he knows, because he grew it.  Local flavors just taste better.

And unrelated: I've entered a Scharffen Berger recipe contest ... please vote here if you like my Chocolate Toffee Cookie recipe!  (Just scroll down to the thumbnail pictures and click "vote" next to #17 Chocolate Toffee Cookies.)  I promise to bake for everyone if I win, even if you're not local.  ;)

Four Squash Soup

3 1/2 lbs. kabocha squash, halved, seeded (one orange and one green if you can)
2 lbs. butternut squash, halved, seeded
1 1/2 lbs. acorn squash, halved, seeded
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 c. water
3 T. unsalted butter
1 white onion, thinly sliced
1/4 t.ground cardamom
1/4 t. freshly grated nutmeg
1/8 t. ground ginger
1/8 t. ground cloves
4 1/2 c. chicken stock or low-sodium broth
1/2 c. heavy cream (half and half would probably also work here)

Preheat the oven to 350°. Season the kabocha, butternut and acorn squashes with salt and pepper and lay them cut side down on 2 large rimmed baking sheets. Pour 1 cup of water onto each baking sheet, cover the squash with foil and bake for about 1 hour, or until tender. Let cool slightly, then scoop the flesh into a bowl.

In a large saucepan or casserole, melt 3 T. of butter. Add the onion and cook over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 8 minutes. Add 1/4 teaspoon each of the cardamom and nutmeg and 1/8 teaspoon each of the ginger and cloves and cook, stirring, until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Add the chicken stock and bring to a boil over moderately high heat. Add the squash flesh and heavy cream and simmer over moderate heat for 5 minutes. Working in batches, puree the soup in a food processor and return to the pan. Season with salt and pepper and keep warm over very low heat.

Serve with toasted croutons, lightly toasted almonds/pine nuts/pumpkin seeds, or other topping of your choice.