The Awkwardness of Winter in Summer
From a promotional standpoint, whoever decided that squash varieties such as delicata, kabocha, honeynut, spaghetti, and so forth should be classed as “winter” squash did those veggies a big disservice. It’s all well and good to have zucchini, pattypan, and crookneck classified as “summer” squash, because they do indeed show up and have their seasonal heyday in the summer. But those items we call “winter” squash do not initially show up and have their heyday in January and February, at least not where I live.
Where I live, Philadelphia, I start seeing winter squash in August, a time of sun hats, picnics, and splashing in the pool. Sure, it keeps really well and, here in Philly, may still be found hanging on at markets in January, possibly later. But winter squash starts hitting the scene now, causing people such as my older daughter Anna to say things like “I’m not ready for that,” as if bringing it into our home requires that we must now bundle up before returning outdoors.
A longtime devoted Chestnut Hill Farmers’ Market customer, talking about how much he loved honeynut squash, which he had just purchased, added that it was a little sad to see its return. Far too early, winter squash imposes thoughts of winter, generally considered the least popular season on the Mid-Atlantic calendar.
And then there are those who insist winter squash is cozy food that will warm you up on a cold day, and who wants to be turning on their ovens and roasting things in August? To that I say: do you roast eggplant or potatoes in August? Are you simmering tomatoes to make sauce, grilling or frying peppers? If you’re not making, say, salads, sandwiches, or popsicles with those items, then you are heating up your kitchen as much as you would with winter squash, and likely eating those items as warm as you would a serving of mouthwateringly mashed buttercup squash.
And for those who feel that winter squash is “too heavy” for summer, just recently I cut my delicata squash in half lengthwise, scooped out the seeds, sliced it into 1-inch thick half-circles and baked it at 350, flipping once, until golden. (I leave the skin on; it’s edible.) Yum. In my opinion, the slices were reminiscent of french fries, only tastier. Because she follows the SCD, Anna can’t have french fries so, okay, I haven’t had actual french fries in a very long time. But in what season do people most enjoy eating french fries? No answer? That’s my point.
If winter squash has a problem, aside from the misnomer, it’s that so many markets are already overflowing at this time of year and those squashes are just heaping abundance on top of pre-existing abundance. Some shoppers, consciously or unconsciously, are simply pacing themselves because when items such as tomatoes, eggplant, and zucchini have left the party, winter squash will still be there. Right now, however, it competes for attention. So, if you forgo winter squash in late summer, don’t do so because you consider it a wintry food. Do it because you are filling up on so many other seasonal foods that, before long, could start dwindling.
‘Tis What Season?
Report from the Bay Area, late August: Recently Chris—who currently lives in Berkeley—hosted his visiting sister-in-law and brother for a few days and, in showing them around his temporary city (that even he doesn’t see much of because he doesn’t have a car) they happened upon the Downtown Berkeley Farmers’ Market.
He knew I would want to hear all the details so he told me about the peaches—naturally, it’s peach season—but then “The strawberries! We got so many strawberries!” I held my tongue but my eyebrows shot up and, understanding me as well as he now does, he knew what I was thinking and immediately issued a defense. “A lot of the farmers had them,” he said, with just the hint of a stern tone. In other words: if a lot of farmers had them then they must be local and in season where he is so I needed to stop suspecting nefarious farmers market sellers of preying on innocent buyers, such as Chris and my future in-laws, who may not be aware that strawberries are a springtime product.
It was an effective argument. I had no retort and diverted the conversation over to the peaches. Yet strawberries in late summer felt so wrong, even allowing for California’s different climate. Experiencing a kind of cognitive dissonance, I wondered if maybe he was mixed up—after all, he didn’t take any photos. Maybe he meant nectarines, or cherry tomatoes, or something.
Then, shortly after talking with Chris, I happened upon this new Instagram post from Chef Thomas Keller whose restaurant, The French Laundry, is relatively close to Berkeley. Exhibit A. Chris wasn’t mixed up; I was ignorant. Case closed.
Of course, California does have a reputation as a produce paradise but, when I think of that paradise, I think of expanded offerings—avocados, citrus, olives, and almonds, for example—things that can’t possibly grow where I live. I don’t think of things that are grown locally where I live being legitimately available, fresh and local, at other times of the year. Extended times, yes—such as tomatoes being available earlier and longer—but not something I consider as precious and fleeting as strawberries showing up late into the next season. I hadn’t factored in that when East Coast people buy out-of-season produce at the supermarket, chances are it’s been shipped from California. There’s a reason for that. I get it now.
And, speaking of the East Coast, in her Max series Getting Lost with Erin French, French, while visiting Kentucky, said about strawberry time, “We’ll be waiting till July in Maine for this moment. We are very patient where I come from.” Seasonality varies from place to place. I knew this, yet steeped so long in the local produce offerings where I live, I’d managed to become somewhat narrow-minded or shortsighted. Still, the photo of those California strawberries in late summer is, for me, like Christmas decorations in October: jarring, out of place.
In my mind, strawberries belong in the spring, with asparagus, tulips, cherry blossoms, and Mothers’ Day. When you eat seasonally, these kinds of associations are part of the package. In my ignorance, I hadn’t considered that that package gets wrapped differently in different places. Perhaps Berkeley people connect strawberries with tomatoes, back-to-school, eggplant, and Labor Day. To me, this is strange. Am I jealous of the access Californians have to their late summer strawberries? Not at all. If I had a strawberry in late summer, regardless of how fresh and sweet, my tastebud memories would be all confused.
This past May, Chris, my daughters, and I took a weekend trip to Cape May, New Jersey, packing with us my Taproot Farm CSA-supplied peak-flavor strawberries. Tasting like candy, we couldn’t stop eating them once we started. Next May, whether or not we have a little getaway, I know I will, once again, bite into seasonal Taproot strawberries and taste all the delights of springtime.
It’s Freezing
In case these tidbits are useful to anybody, I just want to share that:
I freeze all kinds of peppers. I simply rinse them, dry them, and put them in a freezer bag. I don’t even cut them up, though that probably would save me some freezer space if I did.
I freeze the squat, round types of winter squash like kabocha and buttercup, but I cook them first. I cut the squash in half, scoop out the seeds, and roast it cut-side down at 350 until it can be pierced with a fork. Then I scoop the squash out of the skin, and mash it. Once cool, I pack it into a container, and put it in my freezer.
I freeze berries. I find that blueberries don’t really need the following method and can just get rinsed, dried, and bagged. But I think strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries benefit from it. I line a baking sheet (small enough to fit in my freezer) with parchment paper, then I lay the rinsed berries, dried as much as possible, out on the sheet. After a couple of hours in the freezer, when they are frozen solid, I move them to a freezer bag. This keeps them from clumping or mushing together.
I’m no expert on food preservation, but the above methods have always worked for me. So if you have the freezer space—some of you are laughing, I know—don’t hesitate to overbuy from the current abundance and then freeze this glorious peak-season produce for when it will no longer be available at markets.
Finally, Thinking About November
Kamala already had my vote, but isn’t it fun to see part of her cookbook collection?