About a month ago I got this email from my father:

Sometimes I find material which I think the four kids would enjoy, but waiting for the spontaneous moment to read to them has proven elusive. Therefore, I propose a “reading and ice cream evening out.” The setup could go something like this: Parent(s) bring progeny about 7:00 then may go on home or stay. I read for up to 60 minutes, during which time Shirley serves ice cream, followed by discussion/lounging for another 10 to 15 minutes. Unless parent(s) has stayed, I drive the kids home about 8:30. 

Of course I said yes. I’d have been a fool not to. And now Thursday evenings are reserved for stories and ice cream with the grands.

So far they have read “Nature Man” from Cruise of the Snark by Jack London, Ransom of Red Chief by O’Henry, To Build A Fire by Jack London (out by the fire pit, naturally), A Boy Named Sue, by Shel Silverstein, and “Wully, the Story of a Yaller Dog” from Wild Animals I Have Known by Ernest Thompson Seton.

Last Thursday when I dropped them off, I lingered. The kids immediately made a beeline for their seats (all except for my younger daughter who made a stop by the fridge, to check out the ice cream flavor of the night, I’m guessing). My dad took his seat in the red chair and began reading. At first the youngest had trouble settling—he kept popping up to fold and refold a blanket, and he and his sister had trouble sharing the sofa—but it wasn’t too long before he had nestled into his spot and had the dreamy listening-to-a-story expression on his face.

My mother lit the watermelon candle and then set about dishing up the ice cream: mango, topped with a handful of their own handpicked wine berries. I snatched several pretzel rods from the bag and then slipped out the door and back to my quiet house where I showed my grumpy husband a series of funny home videos because the sourpuss man was in dire need of a laugh.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (10.27.14), the quotidian (10.28.13), the details, under the grape arbor, applesauce cake with cinnamon cream cheese frosting, garden tally 2009, and a pizza creation.

This same time, years previous: in the garden, the quotidian (10.25.11), sweet potato pie, the morning kitchen, brown sugar syrup, buttermilk pancakes, and signs, news, and daydreams.  

Soups made from squash (or pumpkin) have forever eluded me. I’ve experimented with a variety of recipes over the years—in 2008 I even posted the rough outline of a curry soup—but over all I’ve always found them lacking. It’s like they’re too one dimensional in their thick creaminess. Or something. Even when tasty, they’re kind of boring. Plus, I find it pretty hard to ignore the bothersome fact that a bowl of squash soup looks an awful lot like a bowl of lamb poo.

Which is a shame, because, what with that creamy texture and bland agree-ability, squashes and pumpkins seem like they ought to be perfect key players for soup. It’s just that I’ve never managed to hit upon the right wow factor.

Until a couple weekends ago, that is, when my aunt hosted her annual fall soiree and served us a squash soup that stole the show. And it was a good show, too! Curried beef and veggies, rice, lentils, cucumbers in yogurt, na’an, and so on. But that soup! Talk about Wow! 

I wasn’t the only one impressed. In the following weeks, my mother made it, and my cousin, too. It took me a little longer, but I finally got around to it. And good news! It was exactly as wonderful as I remembered.

The soup itself is really nothing fancy (though the coconut milk adds nice oomph): like any other squash soup, it’s good, but predictable. It’s the corn relish that’s the kicker. Juicy from the fresh lime and pungent with cilantro, the barely-cooked kernels snap between your teeth, providing the perfect light counterpoint to the creamy squash. It’s an absolute marvel. 

Winter Squash Soup with Corn Relish
Adapted from Epicurious (via my aunt), and title stolen from my cousin.

A word about the squash. My aunt used Calabaza. My mother and cousin used butternut. And I used Bertha, which was the name we gave to the Hubbard that a girlfriend lugged over to our house.

We roasted Bertha’s bottom half for pies, and then, a couple days later, roasted the top half for the soup. The remaining puree got stashed in the freezer for future Bertha creations. I had never cooked a hubbard before and I was pleasantly surprised by the whole experience.

My aunt used some chicken broth in place of water, but I stuck with plain water and didn’t notice a difference. Also, don’t skimp on the cilantro and lime; they are key players. I used frozen corn and didn’t even heat it up. If using fresh corn, boil it on the cob for a couple minutes.

for the soup:
1 glug olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
¼ cup cilantro stems
2 cloves garlic, minced
6 cups roasted squash, roughly chopped/mashed
4 cups water
1 12-ounce can (or thereabouts) coconut milk
2 teaspoons salt (and probably a good bit more)
¼ teaspoon cayenne

Saute the onion in the olive oil. After five minutes or so, add the garlic and cilantro stems and saute for another several minutes. Add the remaining ingredients, heat through, and simmer on medium-low heat for 10 minutes or so. Puree with an immersion blender (or other kitchen gadget of your choice).

for the relish:
4½ teaspoons fresh lime juice (about 2 limes)
pinch of sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon minced onion
2 tablespoons minced fresh cilantro
2 cups corn

Whisk together the lime juice, sugar, salt, and olive oil. Add the remaining ingredients and toss to combine.

to serve:
Ladle the hot soup into a bowl and top with a generous spoonful of relish. Enjoy!

(Leftovers are fab. The relish holds up for days in the fridge.)

This same time, years previous: our cracking whip, random, the quotidian (10.22.12), a silly supper,  aging, party panic, and apple tart with cider-rosemary glaze.