An Autumn Cornucopia

As an unseasonably cool summer gives way to an already unseasonably wet autumn here in San Diego, our local farmer's markets show no sign of slowing with fresh produce, and those of us lucky enough to live on the 33rd Parallel against the Pacific can count on the appearance of newly seasonal fruits and vegetables as we begin our slow descent into a gentle winter.

Over the last few days, my wife and I have been lucky enough to sample or experiment with a number of foods that were either new to us or through presentations we hadn't previously been aware of. Some of this may be old news to home chefs and food enthusiasts. But I've heard enough anecdotal evidence to suggest that many others might be equally surprised by what we've found.

1) Roasted Butternut Squash Seeds Are As Tasty As Roasted Pumpkin Seeds

I've long suspected that one of the many reasons autumn is by far my favorite season has something to do with the smell and taste of roasted pumpkin seeds - a treat that the eight year old Jason would gladly bypass tubs of ice cream and bars of chocolate for. In the years since, heavily-salted crispy handfuls of pumpkin seeds have continued to ascend in my estimation. I cannot explain why it took so long to apply the most basic logic to the scientific facts surrounding pumpkins and question the direct relationship between pumpkins and what we Yankees call "winter squash". The fact that Australians and the British refer to winter squash as "pumpkin" should have been the tip-off that all members of the cucurbita genus (one of the highest gifts on offer from the New World) are filled with decent-sized seeds just waiting to be washed, dried, drenched in seasoning and roasted.

So, I'll ask - how many of you out there regularly sort out and save the seeds from a butternut squash for future roasting? If you've tended in the past to merely discard the seeds along with the stringy gops of squash flesh surrounding it, I caution you to set down your instruments and step away from the gourd. The only thing standing between you and a scrumptious small bowl of salty goodness is an oven cranked to 350, a handful of salt (and maybe a sprinkling of chili pepper or similar hot seasoning), and no more than 5 minutes roasting time. Turn the seeds to keep them from burning. And listen for the distinctive pop as they cook.

2) The Distinctive Pleasure of Fresh Black-Eyed Peas (The Legume, Not the Chart-Topping Pop Act From East L.A.)

This past Sunday, as we picked up our weekly CSA farm box, we were stopped by the farmer in charge of the entire J.R. Organics operation, who wanted to make sure we had a fresh clump of black-eyed peas in our plastic bin. Farmer Joe also wanted to pass along a recommendation on how to prepare the peas, an easy method involving only a few ingredients, all of which were helpfully already included in that week's crop. I've spoken before of the importance of speaking with the individuals who grow your food, but how cool is it to also receive cooking recommendations from these individuals as well? What follows is Jane's adaptation of Farmer Joe's recipe.

I suspect that 99% of Americans come into contact with black-eyed peas through the canned or dried variety. These being fresh from the fields, I had to set about shelling them, a task which wasn't nearly as arduous as I'd feared.

The freshly-shelled peas were a lovely shade of light green - a pleasant departure from the pale white hardness of dried varieties.

The large heap of leftover shells were destined for the compost pile.

Next, the shelled peas were simmered in a bit of water until they were just softened, then removed to drain.

In the meantime, we diced up fresh grape tomatoes, one garlic clove, a few green onions, added salt and pepper, and squeezed some fresh lime juice over the top. A little stock would be a nice addition, too, although we just used a bit of water.

Just before serving, we added the black-eyed peas back into the tomato/garlic/onion/lime juice mix, and stirred until heated throughout. The result was a small, simple yet flavorful dish.

3) The Attack of the Three-Foot-Long Armenian Cucumber

So, over the past month or so, we've been spotting these elongated, green, cucumber-like objects snaking their way around the produce stands of some of the local farm tables, and it didn't take long to start inquiring as to what exactly they were. "Armenian cucumbers," we were told, although we quickly discovered they weren't exactly Armenian and were not really cucumbers. Dubbed the "snake melon" for obvious reasons, this crisp fruit can grow upwards of 40 inches in length and is actually a type of melon (they cannot be cross-bred with regular English or garden cucumbers). We've found them to taste much like a mild cucumber, and have tended to consume it sliced (and peeled, although the skin is quite edible) and raw with a few tomatoes, basil leaves and/or chunks of feta. More difficult to grow than the regular cucumber, this may be another one of those rarer produce types that we're lucky enough to easily find in our own big backyard. But if you spy any in your produce section, don't hesitate to grab it up and use it just as you would regular cucumber.

The image below features an apple and an avocado for matters of scale. This was one of the smaller individuals.