Roasted Pumpkin Seeds

Who doesn't love a nice gourd lobotomy?

It's the end of October, which means that it's that time of year again. That time of year when we have feasts and celebrations, sprinkle the blood of an animal sacrifice on our doorway, and light some bonfires to ensure good luck and keep our cattle alive through the winter. Or at least that's how we did it back in the middle ages in various Celtic countries. Nowadays we celebrate Samhain mostly by freaking out about somebody slipping a razor blade surreptitiously into our kids' M&Ms, and by dressing up as a sexy meerkat. Oh, and pumpkins. We carve human-ish faces into pumpkins, kind of like some sort of grotesque gourd serial killer, and then leave the mutilated pumpkins outside of our houses as a warning to the other vegetables. Which means we're left with the classic serial killer dilemma: what to do with the goopy insides that we methodically removed from our victims.

Ingredients:

1 Pie Pumpkin (A pie pumpkin is a pumpkin typically used for pie making. We've genetically bred them to have characteristics that make them ideal. If sentient gourds from outer space ever visit the Earth, this is what will spark intergalactic war)
1/4 tsp Chili Powder
1/4 tsp Garlic Powder
1/4 tsp Onion Powder
A largish human's pinch of Salt

 The first thing you're going to need to do is dismember an innocent pumpkin. But I've been pretty open about that up to this point and you've made it this far, so I'm going to assume that you're OK with that. So let your pumpkin say goodbye to its loved ones, eat a final meal, and then chop its head off like your name is Robespierre. Or the guy who killed Robespierre. Either way. The point is, pull out all of those gross pumpkin innards. This is where we encounter our first problem. Namely, the fact that pumpkin innards like being innards, and have little-to-no interest in making the leap towards being outards. So, using some unholy combination of kitchen implements, your hands, and more gumption than you can shake a stick at, just do your best. Remember, they say that nobody's perfect. Which just goes to show that there really isn't any excuse for coming in second place. Take your pumpkin guts (Or maybe pumpkin brains? I never really thought about it before) and separate the seeds from the other nonsense. Rinse your seeds off and then get ready for the trouble you're going to have with the rest of the ingredients.

Perfect for snacking while you watch TV, read
a book, or lie to friends about reading books

Haphazardly throw the rest of the ingredients on top of your seeds and mix them together. Not everything has to be a challenge. Spread your seasoned seeds down on a baking sheet. It's important to keep them as close to a single layer as possible. If your pumpkin is abnormally fertile or you're just doubling the recipe, use multiple baking sheets rather than clumping your seeds all together. Bake them in a 300 degree oven for about 30 minutes, making sure to wangjangle them around every ten minutes or so to get even crispiness and no burning. And there you have it! Delicious spiced pumpkin seeds! You also have an entire hollow pumpkin which you can mutilate to your heart's content and leave around neighborhood. Or you can cook it. But more on that next week. Happy cultural appropriation holiday!

Mycenaean Greek Salad

Greece: birthplace of western culture, philosophy, and the
alarm clock, apparently? Life is weird.

Greek salad is interesting. To start with, it's nothing at all like Caesar salad, which just feels kind of wrong. Sure, the Roman and Greek empires were distinct entities, but they share enough commonality that most people blur their culture and deities into each other anyway. But apparently the Romans got super stingy with the salad ingredients. No wonder Caesar got stabbed. Anyhow, authentic Greek salad is noteworthy in that it contains no lettuce, large chunks of cucumber and feta cheese, and usually just some simple olive oil. This isn't authentic Greek salad. Partially because I don't like raw tomatoes enough to base a dish around them, partially because I already had lettuce, and partially because I like a balance of spiciness in my food. So, long story short, this a faux Greek salad. It's got most of the hallmarks of legit Greekness, but it's slightly off, and not really what comes to mind when we envision Greece. Which is why I'm calling it Mycenaean Greek Salad. You're welcome history nerds.

Ingredients:

1 head Romaine Lettuce

1 Cucumber

1 medium sized Tomato

1/2 a Red Onion

6 oz. Feta Cheese

1/2 lb. Kalamata Olives

3 Stuffed Grape Leaves

6 Pickled Hot Peppers (pepperoncini, banana peppers, pickled jalapeno. Whatever floats your capsaicin boat)

1/4 cup Olive Oil

2 TBSP Red Wine Vinegar

2 TBSP Lemon Juice

1 tsp Dried Oregano

1 TBSP Capers

1 clove Garlic

Salt

Yes, that's a lot of ingredients for your food. But fake Greek salads don't make themselves, so step one is to pick yourself up off of the ground, stop hyperventilating, and remember that this is a salad recipe and you don't have to actually cook anything. Step two is chop everything. Start by chopping your lettuce, tomato, and cucumber into large chunks and tossing them in to a bowl. Then finely dice your onion and toss it in there along with your capers. You're already like 50% done with the effort involved in this recipe, so maybe take a second or two now to reflect on how overwhelmed you let an ingredient list make you and maybe sign up for some yoga classes or something. Choppity chop chop your garlic into tiny bits, and then throw it in a bowl with your oil, vinegar, lemon juice, oregano, and an average sized-human's pinch of salt. Stir that nonsense together until it forms a homogeneous gloop. 

Yadda yadda history pun

Pour your dressing (or gloop, if you're being scientific) on top of your lettuce mixture and stir that all together. How much of your dressing? Some people like more dressing. Some like less. I'm not here to teach you deep personal truths about yourself, so you'll need to figure this one out on your own. Once you're done, crumble your feta on top of the salad and toss your olives on top. Then slice your grape leaves in half and, using the soul of an artist, alternate back and forth between grape leaves and hot peppers on top of your salad in a big circle around the edges. All the great artists made circles out of grape leaves. I promise. So you probably should too, unless you don't want to stand out and have your greatness recognized. You know, like a Phoenician (you're welcome again history nerds). And that's all there is to it! And who cares that some food snobs will undoubtedly point out that this isn't an authentic Greek salad? You've got delicious salad. What do they have? Probably typhoid.

Apple Fennel Turkey Meatballs

Tastes just like grandma's famous Potato Pumpkin Pie.
There's a reason we don't visit her. 

People are talking about pumpkin spice lattes again, so it must be fall. And that means that it's time for my annual tradition of not caring about pumpkin spice lattes. I just don't get the fascination, both by the supporters and by the haters. I mean, I agree that throwing a fistful of ground cloves at absolutely everything to call it "pumpkin spice" is stupid, but why do people get so emotionally invested in it? At this time, when our country is more absurd and divided than ever by idiots shouting over each other, we can't have food dividing us further. Fortunately, some things are so delicious that they can bridge the divide. Turkey meatballs, with fennel, apple, and other goodness in them is a good start. You can sit down with your neighbor, eat delicious food, and come to realize that all of your problems aren't so problematic after all. And besides, shouldn't you band together and work for your mutual betterment, and the eventual destruction of those ambiguously evil jerks from two blocks over?

Ingredients:

3 lb. Ground Turkey
2 Eggs
2 Fennel Bulbs
1 Apple (There are so many different kinds of apples these days. I don't begrudge that. I love apples and I love variety, so as far as I'm concerned it's the best time to be alive, no matter what those cranberry farmers on the Ocean Spray commercials have to say about it. So what kind of apple do you use? There aren't really any wrong answers, but if you can I'd go for something mildly sweet and a little tart)
1 largish Onion
1 clove Garlic
1 jar Marina Sauce (Most jars of marinara you buy at any supermarket are about the same size. Roughly 25 oz. which is what you're going for here. If you have weird atypically sized sauce, figure it out. Have fun with your math, sucker!)
1/2 tsp Black Pepper
Salt
Oil

The first thing you're going to need to do is clean all of the random detritus leftover from summer out of your kitchen and out of your life. We're talking sand, flower tiaras, songs about "feeling it" and "tonight." It's all got to go. You're cooking delicious hearty food to keep you warm at night. Roll up your flannel sleeves, put on a song about the days getting shorter or about not being young anymore, and get to work choppity chop chopping your onion and fennel. Heat up some oil in a sauté pan and toss them in there along with an average sized human's pinch of salt. Cook that nonsense, stirring occasionally, for about 7 minutes, until everything starts to get kind of golden brown, soft, and smells delicious, Chop your garlic into itty bits and toss it in that party for about a minute, and then turn the heat off.

It tastes as good as it looks. Unlike that wax fruit debacle

Mix together your turkey, eggs, and black pepper in a bowl. Grate your apple, drain at least half of the juice that comes out of it, and then toss it in to your jive turkey mixture. Then add in half of the contents of your fennel and onion pan, and splorp that nonsense together until it's all homogenous, and it starts to make some truly awful sucking noises. Grease up some baking sheets, and then start rolling out balls of your turkey goop, each about the size of a ping pong ball. Getting them all close to the same size is a good thing, because then they'll all cook evenly over the same period of time. Toss them in a 425 degree oven and bake those goop balls for about 15 minutes, or until they start to get a little bit charred, and they're cooked through. Throw your marina sauce in to your onion and fennel pan, and bring that up to a simmer. Salt and pepper it to taste, and then throw in your cooked balls of turkey deliciousness. Get everything coated and, if you've got the time, let the flavors get to know each other for 5 minutes or so. Then eat it. Then thank me. Then shut up about how much you love/hate the summer ending, or dumb food trends, or any politician. Nobody cares. Eat some turkey meatballs.