To me, pumpkins mean falling leaves, cold evenings & blustery "Winnie the Pooh winds". As I drove across the back roads of Southern Texas mentally formulating a post about a pumpkin stuffed with "everything good", I am found myself caught off-guard by the spotty patches of grass, the palm tree lined driveways with Halloween themed decorations gracing the edge of a gated drive leading to a far-off ranch. In the back of my mind, I am thinking that no person who hails so far North of the Mason-Dixon line should be cruising these roads. And I wonder if they knew, if I would be welcome here.
The scenery of falling multi-colored leaves left behind in NY is replaced with views of long-horns grazing under the backdrop of a chemical refinery. We aren't in Kansas any more, Toto. Not at all.
How is one supposed to focus on pumkins when looking at palm trees and grazing steer? Seriously.
When I made this, it was a cool fall day. In early October. In Upstate NY. Uh huh.
Sugar Pie pumpkins were just hitting their peak and were popping out of the local farms left and right (at least those farms that didn't lose their crop to Irene & Lee).
Oh pretty pumpkins.
(Pssst - I found one that weighed exactly 3 pounds. It was like a scavenger hunt.)
Pumpkin seeds were scooped out & tossed in a light coating of oil and were sprinkled with paprika, salt and cayenne - then were toasted in the oven until they were crunchy. (The seeds are the best part of the pumpkin, after all...)
Left over bread heels were cubed and tossed with cream, bacon, cheese... Topped with chives. And baked. And baked. And baked. (It kind of took a while)
Sorry - I didn't take any pictures of the
carnage pumpkin after it was cut into. I served it in wedges (didn't read the trick about squishing everything up together until much later). But I think I liked it as a wedge - the filling was like a topping. Kind of like a loaded potato. Except it was pumpkin. I am sure that makes sense, right?
This post participates in French Fridays with Dorie.