Trial and Error

Master chefs have the uncanny ability to taste a new recipe idea in their minds before they even lay a hand on a skillet. It's an enviable talent, especially considering how much food ends up in the compost bin when my "experiments" go awry.

For the past month, I've been developing a recipe that features pumpkin. My messing about in the kitchen led to a couple of interesting but slightly peculiar flavors before finally yielding success.

First, what worked: oven-braised ginger pumpkin. It involves thin slices of pumpkin, parsnips and yellow onion braised in diet ginger ale with a sprinkling of raisins. It is left in a 425°F oven to cook very slowly for over two hours, or until the edges start to brown and most of the liquid is gone.

The idea of braising it in pop came from chef Patricia Yeo -- the modest yet astonishing genius I first saw on Iron Chef America, battling Masaharu Morimoto. I came across an article in which Yeo admitted that her secret for savory sweet braised beef shins is Coca Cola. While she's certainly not the first person to cook with a carbonated beverage, it drew my mind to ginger ale.

Ginger ale isn't nearly as popular as cola, but I've always been a fan of its muted sweetness and natural ginger flavors (yes, it really is made with ginger). Braising with it concentrates the taste and lets the aromas bloom. I guarantee you that the smell alone will make you salivate.

Now for the screw-ups: my first attempt began with a can of pumpkin puree, and that was my first mistake. The canned stuff will save you time but it's as bland as baby food and thick as gruel. I added some cilantro, chicken stock, fat free sour cream and barley. It was actually pretty good up to this point except for the texture. And then I had the bright idea of adding some garam masala (I'll have more to say about that spice blend in another post). In theory, I thought it would work because the hint of nutmeg seemed like a good match for pumpkin. But again, it all came back to the odd taste of the canned pumpkin which clashed somehow with the spices.

My next attempt began with the braising of fresh pumpkin in ginger ale. However, I was still thinking of making a soup at this stage, so the pumpkin and leftover liquid all went into a pot with stock and barley. My mistake was to use regular ginger ale instead of the diet variety, which made the soup noxiously sweet. Perhaps I could have omitted the braising liquid from the soup. In any event, I tried to compensate for the cloying sweetness by adding more ingredients. I added some milk, which didn't do much. Then, thinking of Asian soups that involve fish sauce for some saltiness, I poured in a couple of teaspoons -- I figured salty would counteract sweet. Don't ever do that. It was utterly revolting.

The soup could have worked if it hadn't been so sugary to begin with. However, I prefer the braised pumpkin on its own. I happened to be sipping some full-bodied red wine while cooking it and the pairing was solid. Lamb or steak with couscous would make a great accompaniment. It just took a couple of kitchen disasters to get to this point.