In Praise of Pumpkins

One advantage of writing a column on a regular basis in a regular newspaper is the various information nuggets one can unearth. And the advantage of reading a regular column in a regular newspaper is the goldmine of information that one can accrue in a month or two or ten.

So, today's gem is as follows: Today is National Pumpkin Day. Now. While you read this. As in the big gap between breaky and snacky – third snacky, for that matter.

You must be awed by that fact (or maybe you're just simply odd). Whatever, I read it in a book, so it must be true. If I revealed my source, that would diminish the glitter of all these priceless tidbits that I deposit before you each week.

This week alone, I have had some intriguing variations of pumpkin use. The most significant one was the soup that I ate out of a pumpkin near Two Hills, at my married daughter's home. It's the type of entre that one eats at an East Side Mario's, not east side Hairy Hill's. I am not the adventuresome type when it comes to my food, so I was less than excited when I discovered breaded chicken in soup was the main course – all warm and bubbly in a carved-out pumpkin. Nor am I, however, a rude dude with food, especially when it comes to my daughter's first meal for us. And I must say, it was delectable (and I am not just saying because she reads this column.)

Unlike zucchini, the chameleon of vegetables, I don't think there is any way pumpkin can be disguised, mistaken, converted, or different from what it really is. On that zucchini note: I can't believe how many ways I have been duped, er, treated to eat what I thought was chocolate cake.

But back to the pumpkin patch. By nature, pumpkins are really the unsung heroes of the vegetable garden. They've gain some infamy in "Peanuts," along with some notoriety in Cinderella, where her beautiful horse-drawn carriage will turn into a pumpkin if Miss Cindy doesn't obey her curfew. In other words, disobey the rules and your punishment is a pumpkin pedal-pusher.

I will not lie to you and tell you that pumpkin pie is my favourite. Almost, but not quite. However, if you want to bake one for me, make sure it has lots of whipped cream. (For the record, my favourite pie is rhubarb-strawberry. I have often thought of opening up a dessert-only - actually, pie-only - establishment. I'd call it The Pie Guy.)

While pumpkin pie is probably its greatest use, pumpkin muffins could be another. Again, best with a generous dose of icing. And kids have a lot of fun making jack-o-lanterns with carved-out pumpkins, though it's something our kids have never done. Even down here at Foremost, at our annual Pumpkin Festival (note the name!) next month, there is a pumpkin contest with a variety of categories.

It's not all glorious in Pumpkinville, however. By their very nature, they are big and bulky – and there is no Jenny Craig help them down-size. They can never be crammed into a vegetable drawer in the fridge, or in any drawer for that matter. In fact, as I write this, my son's two gigantic pumpkins (and they're always gigantic, aren't they?) are sitting on a bureau in our livingroom.

If they are not out of the way, they are in the way.

And then there is the colour. I happen to like orange (but that has nothing to do with my Irish Protestant roots, either). It's bright and vibrant, not like most garden-variety types, with varying shades of green. But some think the greener the plant, the healthier the plant. Others think that the greater the colour variety (hello, peppers), the higher the market value.

It's not every vegetable that has a day named in its honour. Have you heard of National Zucchini Day? National Rhubarb Day? I haven't either, and I didn't see any references my uncle's bathroom reader.

So, cheers to the noble pumpkin. May it come to be a symbol of everything good about Canadians, namely, steady, unpretentious, and earthy. And sometimes just a little overweight.