So this pumpkin is a foraged one (yes) that's been my kitchen table centrepiece for months, her orange dappled bits getting brighter and sweeter as time passed by. Why months? Because her voluminous size requires not quite hammer and tongs, but a meat cleaver, meat tenderiser, a skin-removing strategy (she's a biggie and a toughie), a mini cooking marathon because she's surely not going to fit in the fridge and, finally, freezer space (so we had to eat, defrost and share plenty).
Now chunkily wedged, lightly microwaved so I could prise her skin from her flesh, pumpkin-souped and frozen (yes, pumpkin soup freezes beautifully), she is the last of the pumpkins in a long-running pumpkin saga that started last April, made me cry, and was shared (both pumpkin and story wise) with family and friends from one end of Melbourne to the other.
And it's not over yet.
I have bowls of story-infused soup to steam into my soul for some months to come.
(Julia Hebaiter in Another Life)FoodLit Writer, Feel-Good Food Lover & Storyteller
Because Food Sans Story is Bland