Homegrown squash, foraged fruit, good friends and an evening that began with absolutely no plans at all.
I’d grown rather a lot of pumpkins and squash this year. By October they were everywhere, tucked amongst the pots and flowers outside, piled together in glorious shades of orange, yellow and green, and gradually finding their way into the kitchen. Some were wonderfully shaped little things, others rather more substantial, but I loved every one of them.
There’s something enormously satisfying about growing your own food, particularly at this time of year. After months of tending and watching things grow, suddenly you’ve got a lovely collection of autumn produce and the rather enjoyable question of what on earth you’re going to do with it all.
One evening last week, I took a fancy to cooking a few of the smaller squash. I hadn’t planned anything special. I simply wanted to try something different, and somewhere between looking at the squash and deciding what to put in it, I had another thought. Why not invite some friends over?
No occasion. No grand arrangements. Just, fancy coming round for something to eat? Which, when I think about it, is probably how some of the loveliest evenings begin.
A squash and a slightly improvised supper
I made stuffed squash with a lovely savoury filling of spicy mince, butter beans, rice, mushrooms and peppers. The squash themselves were almost too pretty to cut into, with their beautifully patterned skins and little scalloped edges. Once hollowed out, filled and cooked, they made rather splendid individual supper dishes, complete with their own lids.
Not exactly haute cuisine, but then I’ve never understood why good food needs to be complicated. Give me something hearty, full of flavour and made with a bit of enthusiasm over a tiny artistic arrangement on a very large plate any day.
October brings with it that wonderful excuse to make everything a little warmer and more comforting. The evenings draw in, the air turns chilly and suddenly a kitchen full of delicious smells feels like one of life’s greatest luxuries. And squash, as it turns out, makes a rather splendid centrepiece for supper.
For pudding, there was apple and blackberry crumble, with custard and ice cream. Both, obviously. I don’t see the point in doing things by halves when there’s crumble involved.
I’d picked the apples and blackberries a couple of weeks earlier, frozen the berries and stored the apples to enjoy later. It’s a lovely feeling, having gathered something when it was plentiful and then bringing it out to enjoy on a chilly October evening. And I can assure you, it tasted even better under a generous helping of crumble topping.
The best evenings rarely follow a plan
Our friends arrived, the wine came out and the evening unfolded in that lovely, easy way that happens when everybody is comfortable. We ate, talked and laughed. There was no timetable and nobody was watching the clock.
After supper, out came the playing cards, and what had begun as an impromptu invitation turned into a proper evening of laughter and nonsense. I do love a game of cards. Not necessarily because I’m any good at it, but because there’s something wonderfully entertaining about how seriously perfectly sensible adults can take a handful of bits of cardboard.
And before we knew it, it was late. Nobody had particularly intended to stay that long. But that’s usually the sign of a good evening, isn’t it? When nobody’s in a hurry to leave.
Making an occasion out of nothing
I’ve always loved the idea that you don’t need a special occasion to make an evening special. You don’t need a perfect house, a beautifully laid table or a menu that would impress a restaurant critic. You need something good to eat, people whose company you enjoy and the willingness to let an ordinary evening become whatever it wants to be.
Sometimes it’s the simplest things that make life feel rich. A hot supper on a chilly October night. Homemade crumble. A glass of wine. The sound of people laughing around the table. And the slightly ridiculous conversations that somehow become even funnier as the evening goes on.
None of it costs a fortune. None of it requires weeks of preparation. But it’s the sort of thing you remember.
I think we sometimes get so caught up in waiting for the right moment that we forget we can create lovely moments whenever we fancy. We wait until the house is sorted, until there’s more time, until we’ve got everything just right. But life doesn’t always arrange itself so conveniently.
And I’m increasingly convinced that some of the best bits happen when you stop waiting. When you invite the friends, cook the squash, open the wine and see where the evening takes you.
Ours took us through a very good supper, a generous helping of crumble, plenty of laughter and several games of cards. Not bad for an evening that started with a vegetable.
I think I might cook another squash.
Keep wandering
A Life Less Ordinary Doesn’t Happen by Accident →
Lamps, fluffy blankets, questionable carpentry and making a difficult situation feel more like home.