Butternuts keep appearing in my poetry. As if, I am not done with them, and it is not enough to grow them, eat them. I must write them too. When one cracks on the vine, I am not there to see or hear the split and I wonder what it sounded like.

I sat still one morning last week, watching a pill bug climb the contours of one of those cracks. The pill bug the color of black olives, slightly grey and dark, was such a contrast to the pale yellow skin of the squash. I was fascinated, drawn into the leathery edges, curving inwards. I wanted to go inside, not so much as me, but to see how large the world was to the bug. To watch it consume or nestle down into the sun orange fruit.

Just seconds before, I was inventorying all the withouts, the nots in my life. Even crying as I wrote. All the stuff I want and need that has to wait. And there, scrambling in dusty soil, the pill bug was trying to climb into a meal.

When it slipped inside I felt wholly content.

There is always enough and a way. Flowers never run out of pollen before bees get their fill, both bellies full at the right time.

 

Most gardeners quickly remove decaying or spent fruit. I don’t know what is it about me, but I don’t. I like to sit with things a while and know all about something. Often I think about my garden as my small piece of wild, of natural. Not just nature, but natural. If there was no me and no one thinking and feeling that this little patch of earth must always be tidy and ready for Sunset magazine, how would it grow? Naturally.

What I get most from gardening is the balance and cycle of things. The allowing of pendulums to go and return. That’s what I want with my little patch, for seeds to send out and be received as they are. I want the full cycle of things, as much as possible while still allowing for good health.

 

Something sort of magical happens when you let a garden cycle. Things start to return, regrow, overwinter, survive, and adapt. Seeds get blown or stepped into soil on walkway. A path is no longer a path when lettuce grows wild there. You don’t walk it carelessly, you stop, and rub the leaves between your fingers, perhaps pinching to release oils or fragrance. You taste, if you are braver than me, and discover that without trying there is food appearing to feed you.

I know the pill bug is hungry too. The ants and hoppers and mantis praying. The bees want pollen and butterfly’s nectar. I don’t want to be a vain gardener, a greedy one caring only about my families’ bellies. I wish for enough for all of us. Silly, I know. But digging dirt and pulling weeds makes you feel more kin with those creatures who live in the place. You sort of fall in love with all of it. Spiders, snails, lizards and all.  

 

When you learn to show love with food, butternuts work well. One healthy squash makes eight servings, and a dinosaur of one could double that. Once the skin has hardened, wash it well with your fingers rubbing soil off, dry it, and it stores for months. A summer’s gesture of love for winter, when socks and long sleeves feel good on our skin. A summer’s poem of fruit in January. If I was writing a butternut poem, it would say things like that.

For our first butternut meal of the season I thought I’d try Ravioli. All the heavy and warmth we could take in at the end of an August monsoon. I wanted, too, to feel fresh pasta dough in my hands. I can get taken and fall hard with a good dough that feels like something substantial on my hands. A dough that makes me feel like my hands are eating too. What better way to learn the feel of pasta dough then to have to form ravioli.

I didn’t expect to feel so rich, so with great things from a meal that cost nearly nothing. There is flour, white and semolina (the only true splurge) and olive oil, butternuts from our garden, spices and herbs, nutritional yeast, and bread crumbs. A bed of kale for the ravioli to rest and leftover sauce to puddle, and our hearts and stomachs are full.

 

Fresh Vegan Pasta

1 c. all-purpose, unbleached flour

1 c. semolina flour

½ c. water

2 tsp. olive oil

½ tsp. salt

Optional seasonings:

¼ tsp turmeric

¼ tsp dry mustard

¼- ½ tsp of thyme, sage, nutmeg, rosemary

Only my first time and I could not stand the idea of leaving the pasta nude, unseasoned or unadorned without spices. With such a simple filling and meal, without the distractions of heavy bold flavors, I wanted the pasta to sing its on song too.

Perhaps my next dough will be simpler, but this served the butternut well.

Directions:

Add the flours, salt and seasonings to a large bowl. Whisk to combine. Stir in the water and oil, forming a stiff dough. Knead until smooth, five to seven minutes. Form into a ball, and cover. The dough needs to rest a good twenty minutes. This will allow the gluten to relax, making it easier for your dough to stretch thin.

When you are ready to roll the dough, flour your surface if you are rolling with a pin. Divide the dough in half, keeping one half covered, roll half into a thin sheet about ¼ inch thick. Set aside, repeat with second half. Follow the directions for making and filling ravioli below.

 

Butternut Sage Filling

3 c. roasted butternut squash

3 slices of bread processed into bread crumbs

¼ c. butter

1 tbl. olive oil

1 tsp. sage

½ tsp. mustard

½ tsp thyme

½ tsp. rosemary

1-2 tbl. nutritional yeast

salt to taste

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Cut the butternut into cubes, rub with olive oil and sprinkle with salt. When squash is fork tender, about 30-40 minutes, set aside to cool. While the butter cools, process the bread into bread crumbs. Add the dry seasonings, blend. Add the butter, oil and cooled squash. Blend till smooth. Season to taste with salt. Set aside.

Assemble Ravioli:

Place one of the large strips on a lightly floured surface. Place a tablespoon of filling in rolls of two, a few inches apart, down the strip of dough. With wet fingers, moisten the dough around the edges. The dough needs to be wet enough to Place the second strip of dough on top, matching edges.

Lightly mound the top piece of dough around the filling, making sure there are no significant air pockets. When boiling, the pockets cause the ravioli to open. Press firmly to seal the dough, then cut the dough into squares. Once cut, you can crimp the edges with the back of fork, or pinch and turn them like pie dough.

Set aside to dry, uncovered, for twenty minutes. Meanwhile, bring a large pot of heavily salted water to a rapid boil.

Spiced Sage Sauce

1/2 c. all-purpose flour

1/2 c. nutritional yeast

1/2 tsp. each of sage, nutmeg, mustard, thyme, rosemary

1 tsp. salt

1/4 c. vegan butter

2 tbl. olive oil

2 tbl. balsamic vinegar

2 c. broth

Cooking and dressing the Ravioli

Heat a large sauce pan wide enough to cook the ravioli. Place the foil in the skillet, dry and hot, toast until flour lightly browns. Add the nutritional yeast, dry seasonings. Put the ravioli in the boiling water, and cook for 5-7 minutes. Meanwhile, add the butter, oil, broth, and vinegar. Cook over medium high heat, stirring often while the ravioli boils. When the ravioli is done, but before add them to the sauce, ladle in pasta water to thin the sauce till desired thickness (1/4-1/3 of a cup is plenty). Add the ravioli to the sauce, cooking together another minute or two.

Serve over a bed of sautéed kale and sprinkle with vegan Parmesan cheese and freshly grated nutmeg.

 

If you are like me, you have read through the ingredients and directions, trying to decide if this is a recipe to make, and now or later. It all reads complex, but it isn’t. It is special. Like butternut, somewhat plain and somewhat fancy, it is the sort of simple dish often made special and magical with finishing touches, plating, or fancy names.

Go ahead, toast some pecans or walnuts, chop, and sprinkle them on top. Grate some fresh nutmeg. And if wine is your muse, add it. Though meager in cost, there is nothing but rich flavor here. 

Wishing you a warm meal and balanced week. 

Peace and Love, 

Ki