Spiced butternut squash stew
The first time I met chef Paul Prudhomme, he was peering over the stove in his narrow test kitchen, a converted shotgun house just outside the French Quarter in New Orleans. Chef was heating oil in a large cast-iron skillet, and when he saw me, he invited me over to watch him fix gumbo.
When the oil was smoking hot, he quickly whisked in flour to form a roux -- “Cajun napalm,” he called it -- the bubbling mass darkening to a deep chocolate brown in minutes. He stirred a trinity of vegetables into the roux to stop the cooking -- onions, celery and bell peppers -- then added the roux to a pot of boiling stock. Chopped andouille sausage and garlic went in as he patiently watched the stew, tasting occasionally, over a slow, quiet hour while it gently simmered away. When the rich aroma was almost too much to bear, Chef added chopped chicken, and soon the gumbo was ready.
I can’t say which I savored more: the depth of flavor from a seemingly simple dish or the unhurried quiet, almost sacred, time spent preparing it.
Unlike a typical weeknight dinner rushed to the table after a long day, stews are patient, as much about the sheer pleasure of cooking as the finished dish itself. It’s the simple alchemy of time and ingredients layered in a pot to form something lush and rich, with a depth of flavor that cannot be duplicated with a shortcut.
I spent a recent rainy weekend fixing Paula Wolfert’s oxtail daube, a provincial French stew. It’s a two-day project, requiring several hours of gentle braising. The weather was cold and wet, a perfect winter weekend for laboring over the dish. A bottle of red wine here, a little prosciutto there, a handful of fresh herbs, the building aroma gently wafting through the house. Sunday evening, I served the finished daube spooned over fresh pasta, the fork-tender meat coated in the most beautiful thick reduction.
While a good stew demands patience, not all of them demand a lot of time. The other night I fixed a spiced butternut squash stew, the cubed squash simmered with browned onions, raisins and roasted peppers. It came together in about an hour, the broth thickened with stale whole-grain bread and cream, the spice rounded out with the sweet notes of maple syrup, cinnamon and nutmeg.
It made a perfect weeknight meal, though I’ll admit it tasted even better as leftovers, after a quiet night in the fridge.
Roast the poblano chiles over high heat on a rack over a stove-top burner. When the skin is charred all over, place the peppers in a paper bag. Leave them for about 10 minutes, then remove and peel the skin -- do not rinse. Discard the stem and seeds, and chop the peppers into a one-fourth-inch dice. Set aside.
In a Dutch oven or small stock pot, combine the butter and oil over medium-high heat. Add the onion and cook until the onion just begins to brown, 6 to 8 minutes. Add the cubed squash and cook, stirring frequently, until the squash begins to soften, 10 to 12 minutes. Add the wine and scrape all the cooked bits from the bottom of the pan, and cook until almost all of the wine is absorbed. Stir in the broth, the diced chiles, the paprika, chile powder, cinnamon and nutmeg, and season with 1 teaspoon salt and one-half teaspoon pepper. Stir in 3 tablespoons maple syrup and the raisins. Adjust the heat so the stew reaches a low but steady simmer. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until the squash is very soft and tender, an additional 10 to 15 minutes.
Uncover the soup, and ladle 2 to 3 cups broth, with some squash, into a blender. Add the chopped bread and blend until the bread is pureed and the mixture is thickened. Pour back into the Dutch oven, stirring to thicken the stew.
Slowly stir in the cream, and gently heat the stew. Taste and adjust the seasoning as desired. Add the remaining tablespoon maple syrup to sweeten, if needed (depending on the sweetness of the squash) and a few dashes of Tabasco if desired. Remove from heat.
Pour the stew into bowls, and garnishing each serving with a little of the sliced green onion. Serve immediately.
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