Choose the Kabocha

Hard as it is to believe this sometimes - it's 19 degrees outside as I write this - cooler weather does offer some produce delights.  

May I present Exhibit A: Winter squash, the kind of squash that, unlike zucchini and other summer squash, has a hard rind and seeds with hard shells. It can also have a luscious flavor. Winter is a little bit of a misnomer, since winter squash is typically harvested in the fall, but - thanks to the hard protective rind - it is stored and sold in wintertime. 

A winter (squash) wonderrland

Over the years I've eaten my way through a wide range of winter squashes. (Now, there's an image...) I started with butternut, perhaps the most popular of winter squashes, and acorn, and then tried the varieties I found at the farmers' markets: delicata, sweet dumpling (great branding! - who would not love a sweet dumpling?), hubbard, etc. I even tried spaghetti squash, whose pulp breaks down into individual strands when cooked. (Supposedly, with sufficient amounts of sauce, the shredded squash pulp becomes a convincing substitute for spaghetti. I was not convinced. I must not have added enough sauce.) 

I came to this conclusion: choose the kabocha.

Ignore those butternuts on the left!

Many restaurants jazz up their winter squash so much that the individual type's qualities don't matter that much. 

Think of the typical ways in which acorn squash is served: The top cut off, perhaps re-positioned at a jaunty angle, seeds removed and the seed cavity filled with syrup and maybe some dried fruit. Or as an alternative, cut into rings and dusted with cinnamon and sweeteners. Any diner torn between vegetable and dessert would not need to choose - these dishes are both!

Butternut are often presented in a more sophisticated way: ravioli, stews, soups, etc. When I decided to cook them myself, I understood why most gourmet stores with a frozen foods department sell frozen peeled, diced butternut. Everyone, even peel lovers like me, agrees that butternuts must be peeled.  If you're using fresh squash, this task is annoying. The hassle would be justified if the payoff of using fresh butternut were great, but it isn't. Butternuts can be watery and kind of insipid compared to other winter squash, and if you're going to puree or saute the squash, and then add a lot of seasonings, why not just use the frozen cubes? The loss of flavor or texture isn't going to be that significant. And if flavor is indeed essential, I would suggest choosing another variety of squash.

I liked the delicata and sweet dumpling, which had edible skins and seeds that were tasty when roasted. But about half the time I drew duds, watery squash with little taste.

Finally I did what I should have done at the start of my journey: I asked a farmer, What's your best tasting squash?

You can guess the answer: the kabocha. 

The winner!

Actually the answer was a little more complicated. It was, "Well, you might not like the answer if you've been getting the delicata. It's the kabocha. They're by far the best tasting and you don't need to peel them, but buying one is kind of commitment, kind of like buying a whole watermelon. Some people complain about how hard they are to open. Their seeds aren't as good as some other squash seeds if you're buying the squash as kind of a two-fer with the seeds. You have to know how to pick them, so if you don't you might get one you don't like. Other than that, yes, they are the best."

He was one of those laconic farmers.

He was convincing, though, so I bought one. And after that, another. The flesh was dense and sweet and flavorful. Like sweet potatoes, only better. Maybe with a hint of chestnuts.

And that was that for the other kinds of winter squash.

Of course, as anyone who is seeking out a food with a somewhat mysterious name knows, it is important to find out if the food is known by any other name. (A friend visiting in London, seeking to avoid raisins in her bread, was assured that there were no raisins, not even dried sultanas, but got a hit "dried blackcurrants." What's in a name?) 

The name "kabocha" is synonymous with Japanese pumpkin and indeed kabocha loom large in Asian cooking, especially tempura and curries. In the US, kabocha are often labeled buttercups, and buttercup squash are often labeled kabocha. 

Of course you're confused

Buying a buttercup isn't the end of the world - they are tasty too, but a little wetter and less dense than kabocha. The two varieties look a lot alike, with the same colors and stripe pattern. Often the buttercup are more rectangular, but I haven't found that to be true 100% of the time. The main difference in appearance is in their bottoms. Buttercup have the "buttercup" button at the blossom end, and kabocha are flat. 

Buttercup bottom

Kabocha bottom

I have to admit I took the farmer's concerns to heart. Buying a whole anything big makes me a little nervous. Last summer I bought some whole watermelons at the farmers market, and some of them would not have merited a second glance had they been cut open. The flesh was mealy and pale, but the watermelon looked great from the outside.

I tried to crack the code of choosing a good kabocha. One market vendor had me thumping kabocha like a shaman so I could hear the special thud that a perfectly ripe kabocha would make. I became a little skeptical of the Kabocha Whisperer, however, when two squash that he pronounced "perfect" were waterlogged and almost inedible. I devised my own, simpler system.

First, I look for a kabocha that looks ripe. An orange blush is appealing.

A winsome blush

I also look for a kabocha that is heavy for its size and has a thick, tough rind. A rind that feels too thin or soft suggests that the kabocha was cut from the vine prematurely.

That pretty much covers the woe of immaturity. On the other end of the spectrum lurks the specter of over-ripeness or even rot. If you see kabocha like the ones below, do not buy them! I took this photo at the stand of one of my favorite vendors at the Union Square Farmers' Market. Yuck! Don't rely upon reputation alone. 

Just about ready for the compost heap, but instead being sold (presumably) with pride

A much better bet

Two weeks ago a friend just asked me for tips in buying kabocha, and I said, "I hate to say this, but I've had better luck with the kabocha imported from Mexico than I have had with the ones from the farmers' market." This view was confirmed by a Union Square Market farmer, who responded to my question about avoiding oozy, waterlogged kabocha, "This time of year I probably couldn't find you a 'dry' kabocha. They've been in storage and they're attracting moisture from the air."

I haven't been able to confirm this assessment is accurate, but it's a good enough tip to drive me to the trucked-in kabocha.

Next problem: kabocha are hard to open. Solution: some upper body strength + a decent chef's knife or cleaver. Find a point, make an initial cut, and slide the knife in. Rocking the squash gently to expand the slice might be helpful. If necessary, trace the point on the other side and finish the slice on that side too. It might be easier to turn the kabocha upside down to make that initial slice. Ask for help from a strong, kind friend if you need it. As a last resort, you could bake the kabocha whole to soften it, let it cool, and then cut it up.

Part of the solution

Kabocha occasionally have yicchy growths on them. If the lichen-looking patch is small and isolated, it should not prevent you from buying the kabocha. Now is a good time to use your sharp knife to cut it off.

Hey hey, ho ho, this yicchy patch has got to go

The cut kabocha looks like this:

Cut kabocha

Use a spoon or your fingers to remove the seeds. 

Where are my offspring?

There are many ways to prepare kabocha. I usually go the simplest route. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Spray a cookie sheet lined with foil with olive oil spray and then spray the kabocha inside and out with the olive oil. Place the kabocha cut side down on the cookie sheet and roast for at least 20 minutes. I've written elsewhere about my iffy oven, so I'll give loose roasting times. After 20 minutes take a peek and test for tenderness. I like a bit of char on the kabocha, but that's a matter of taste.

Getting ready to roast

I don't add anything in the way of seasoning, not even salt, but again this is a matter of taste. Sometimes I roast the seeds. Since the seeds are just a pleasant extra, not a deal-maker, I make no particular effort to scrub or season them. I add them to the tray, pulpy strings and all. The pulp burns off during the roasting process. Spread them out (better than I have below). I recommend checking in on the seeds after 10 or so minutes - they will certainly burn before the kabocha is fully cooked.

Not much effort here

You could also cut the kabocha halves into quarters, 1-inch slices or even cubes before roasting; if you do, expect the cooking time to be shorter. You can also cut the kabocha into slices or cubes after cooking, as I have done here.

Yum

I haven't gone back. Will you?