Good gourd
In the bewildering world of winter squash, kabocha stands out as a star.Biodiversity may be our best hope for feeding ourselves in the future, but sometimes it can make shopping for dinner feel like a pop quiz in product identification. For example: winter squash. 
They’re everywhere in the markets these days, massed in a profusion of interesting shapes and rich colors. Sure, they’re gorgeous to look at, but picking out a several-pound vegetable when little about its appearance suggests what it might taste like can be a nerve-racking exercise. Confronted with so many options, I usually turn to the one that I know will shine in almost any setting: the kabocha.
The Japanese word for “pumpkin,” kabocha actually describes a family of squash. It’s part of the Cucurbita maxima group of sweet, dense varieties, which also includes hubbard and buttercup. But in my opinion, kabochas are hands-down the best.
“I like their firm texture and concentration of flavor,” says Ravi Kapur, chef de cuisine at Boulevard. “They’re not water bombs.” Kapur first encountered kabochas about a decade ago, and they’ve come to be his favorite winter squash as well.
Some of the best kabochas in the Bay Area are grown at Riverdog Farm, in Guinda. Riverdog offers four varieties, in colors ranging from dark green to light gray to orange. They have subtly different flavors, but they taste far more similar than they look. The farmers at Riverdog let the vegetables mature on the vine, cut them from the plants, and leave them to cure in the field for three days. After that, the squash is stored for up to five months before it goes to the market.
“The winter squashes, and especially the kabochas, improve after a few weeks as the starches convert to sugars,” says Riverdog’s owner, Tim Mueller. As with all things cultivated, the soil, the climate, and the skill of the grower play a big role in flavor—so when you find the squash you like, stick with that farmer.
If you’re looking to grow your own kabocha, Kitazawa’s wide selection can get you started. The Oakland-based seed company sells plenty of open-pollinated squash for those who want to save their seeds from year to year, but I was surprised to find that the sweet, dry varieties I like best are all newer hybrids. “Open-pollinated squash are more watery, and their texture is stringier,” says Kitazawa’s owner, Maya Shiroyama. Mueller confirms that the kabochas he grows are hybrids.
A heavy squash with dull, unblemished skin is one you want to take home. After you get it there, the best way to showcase its flavor is simply to roast it. I like to cut the squash in half, season the cut sides with salt and pepper, add a little butter or oil in the cavity—perhaps with a few slices of ginger or a clove of garlic—then bake them at 350°F, cut side down, until they’re tender. A warning: Cutting squash requires a sharp knife and a steady hand; some people like to use two-handed cheese cutters. You can also roast the squash first and cut it up later, once the rind has softened. It’ll just take a little longer to cook and won’t have the benefit of being seasoned as it roasts.
Once the squash is done, scoop out the flesh, discard the seeds, and blend it with vegetable stock to make a quick soup—cream, crème fraîche, and mascarpone are all great additions. Leave out the stock, and you’ll have a nice purée. Or, easiest of all, serve warm slices of roasted squash seasoned with salt and pepper, drizzled with olive oil, and showered with grated parmesan. This makes a terrific starter or side dish.
For a quick snack or a garnish for a soup or sauté, you can remove the seeds before roasting the squash, rinse them well, toss them with olive oil and salt, and bake them at 325°F until they’re toasted, about 25 minutes.
Kapur has some delicious ideas for using kabochas. He steams thick slices, then grills them—the squash’s dry texture and robust flavor take particularly well to steaming. But my favorite of his techniques is to pickle cubes of kabocha, a nod to the vegetable’s Japanese heritage. “It’s important to be conscious of the cultural context of an ingredient,” says Kapur, “even if it’s not overt in the dish.”
His pickled kabocha–bacon relish is a brilliant amalgam of East and West. Slightly sweet, sour, and salty, it balances heartland notes of maple syrup and smoked pig with the bright acidity of rice wine vinegar. At Boulevard, Kapur serves it with sautéed scallops and a silky kabocha purée, but it works equally well with chicken and pork. If food this tasty is what the future holds, then maybe spending a few extra minutes choosing a squash isn’t such a hardship, after all.
Daniel Patterson is the chef-owner of Coi.
They’re everywhere in the markets these days, massed in a profusion of interesting shapes and rich colors. Sure, they’re gorgeous to look at, but picking out a several-pound vegetable when little about its appearance suggests what it might taste like can be a nerve-racking exercise. Confronted with so many options, I usually turn to the one that I know will shine in almost any setting: the kabocha. The Japanese word for “pumpkin,” kabocha actually describes a family of squash. It’s part of the Cucurbita maxima group of sweet, dense varieties, which also includes hubbard and buttercup. But in my opinion, kabochas are hands-down the best.
“I like their firm texture and concentration of flavor,” says Ravi Kapur, chef de cuisine at Boulevard. “They’re not water bombs.” Kapur first encountered kabochas about a decade ago, and they’ve come to be his favorite winter squash as well.
Some of the best kabochas in the Bay Area are grown at Riverdog Farm, in Guinda. Riverdog offers four varieties, in colors ranging from dark green to light gray to orange. They have subtly different flavors, but they taste far more similar than they look. The farmers at Riverdog let the vegetables mature on the vine, cut them from the plants, and leave them to cure in the field for three days. After that, the squash is stored for up to five months before it goes to the market.
“The winter squashes, and especially the kabochas, improve after a few weeks as the starches convert to sugars,” says Riverdog’s owner, Tim Mueller. As with all things cultivated, the soil, the climate, and the skill of the grower play a big role in flavor—so when you find the squash you like, stick with that farmer.
If you’re looking to grow your own kabocha, Kitazawa’s wide selection can get you started. The Oakland-based seed company sells plenty of open-pollinated squash for those who want to save their seeds from year to year, but I was surprised to find that the sweet, dry varieties I like best are all newer hybrids. “Open-pollinated squash are more watery, and their texture is stringier,” says Kitazawa’s owner, Maya Shiroyama. Mueller confirms that the kabochas he grows are hybrids.
A heavy squash with dull, unblemished skin is one you want to take home. After you get it there, the best way to showcase its flavor is simply to roast it. I like to cut the squash in half, season the cut sides with salt and pepper, add a little butter or oil in the cavity—perhaps with a few slices of ginger or a clove of garlic—then bake them at 350°F, cut side down, until they’re tender. A warning: Cutting squash requires a sharp knife and a steady hand; some people like to use two-handed cheese cutters. You can also roast the squash first and cut it up later, once the rind has softened. It’ll just take a little longer to cook and won’t have the benefit of being seasoned as it roasts.
Once the squash is done, scoop out the flesh, discard the seeds, and blend it with vegetable stock to make a quick soup—cream, crème fraîche, and mascarpone are all great additions. Leave out the stock, and you’ll have a nice purée. Or, easiest of all, serve warm slices of roasted squash seasoned with salt and pepper, drizzled with olive oil, and showered with grated parmesan. This makes a terrific starter or side dish.
For a quick snack or a garnish for a soup or sauté, you can remove the seeds before roasting the squash, rinse them well, toss them with olive oil and salt, and bake them at 325°F until they’re toasted, about 25 minutes.
Kapur has some delicious ideas for using kabochas. He steams thick slices, then grills them—the squash’s dry texture and robust flavor take particularly well to steaming. But my favorite of his techniques is to pickle cubes of kabocha, a nod to the vegetable’s Japanese heritage. “It’s important to be conscious of the cultural context of an ingredient,” says Kapur, “even if it’s not overt in the dish.”
His pickled kabocha–bacon relish is a brilliant amalgam of East and West. Slightly sweet, sour, and salty, it balances heartland notes of maple syrup and smoked pig with the bright acidity of rice wine vinegar. At Boulevard, Kapur serves it with sautéed scallops and a silky kabocha purée, but it works equally well with chicken and pork. If food this tasty is what the future holds, then maybe spending a few extra minutes choosing a squash isn’t such a hardship, after all.
Daniel Patterson is the chef-owner of Coi.
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