That chill in the air

There has been that characteristic nip in the air for the past week.  That slight bite that brings rushes of memories of Saturdays in the Shoe watching script Ohio, the crunch of leaves under foot, and the smell of pumpkin bread baking in the kitchen.

Have I mentioned I love fall?  Oh, I have?  Repeatedly?  I’m sorry, but it is just the most spectacular season–in part because of the food.  Fall in China became even more delightful last year for two significant reasons.  One: the Pioneer Woman convinced me that I could indeed roast and puree a pumpkin.  Two: I discovered small pumpkins were quite common in the marketplaces of my city.

These two discoveries led to an explosion of pumpkin recipes emanating from my kitchen last fall.  And if I have my way about it, the same will be true of this fall.  Which is why today I set about roasting and pureeing pumpkins.

At the beginning, I was eager and excited and feeling quite satisfied with my woman in the kitchen skills.  I took pictures of my lovely pumpkins.

Of cutting them (sidenote: a great kitchen knife is one of the best investments I’ve made).

Getting the pieces set in the pan to roast.  Let me tell you, I was feeling like a real pioneer woman–like I could really cut it out on the frontier before there were such things as canned pumpkin.  And yes, I realize there were no ovens on the frontier.  Or blenders. But by golly I could find a way.  More reasonably, I mused about how even if, someday in the future, I should reside in America where canned pumpkin is easily accessible, I’ll still puree my own pumpkin.

And then several things happened. 1) It started to get dark, seriously impeding the documentation of my pioneering skills. 2) The light in my kitchen burned out. The building fix-it guy came to replace it. The new bulb has a weird yellow orange tint that makes any decent photography quite impossible. 3) Every surface in my kitchen was soon covered with pumpkin, including my hands. Who cares about the light, I wouldn’t be touching my camera anyway. 4) I reasoned if (a) I had an oven large enough to roast more than one pumpkin at a time and/or (b) had a food processor that didn’t require tender care and manipulation like my blender I might still puree pumpkins in the States. 5) Then the process dragged on and on and on and on and on.  And suddenly, I thought the man (or woman) who invented canned pumpkin was a genius who deserved being sainted. 6) My teammate entered the apartment and with a chuckle declared, “It looks like you got in a fight with a pumpkin!  And I think you lost!” 7) Have I mentioned that I might be the messiest cook ever?

There are now 9 cups of pumpkin in the freezer and a cup in the fridge.  Tomorrow, when I make up pumpkin oatmeal raisin cookies, I have a feeling I’m going to say, “it’s all worth it!”  Until then, here’s a glimpse at the carnage (with the oh so lovely yellow glow of my new kitchen light).  I think I’ll hold off on moving to the frontier for awhile.