I see the changing of seasons as a very fickle time. Like a werewolf during a full moon, I get a little peculiar right before the switch. I tend to wrestle with the clothes in my closet, only to have flung about three outfits on the floor each time Al Roker tells us what the weather is up to in my neck of the woods. Hot, then cool. Sandals, or boots. Transitioning isn’t easy.
But, more importantly, when fall finally decides to stop playing games and make a commitment, the air turns crisp and all I can think of is one thing: pumpkins.
So orange. So pudgy. And they’re just plain delicious.
I liken this to how Ralph in A Christmas Story describes his father’s love (passion) for turkey:
Now it is well known in the midwest that the Old Man is a turkey junky, a bonafide golly turkaconis freak.
I guess I’m what you would call a bonfide golly pumpakonis freak, or, as I discovered two years ago, I am a pepophile: a lover of all things pumpkin, although I use the word sparingly since the word may be misconstrued.
I’ve got pumpkin on the brain, and so for last night’s dinner, CP and I made pumpkin mac and cheese, thanks to the blog, Healthy Food For Living.
Although it turns out as more of a pumpkin cheese sauce, since it’s not baked, it was still oh so delicious, and the pumpkin added a little je ne sais quoi to the dish. We also added bacon because, what the hell, and we have an unnatural obsession with the cured meat. With some red wine, it is the perfect comfort food for the fall.