Winter Squash and Chili Peppers Bisque

I cooked Christmas dinner for six this year. On the menu: mustard-seed-crusted prime rib roast with roasted balsamic onions and horseradish/mustard/creme fraiche sauce—terrific!. Thanks, Epicurious; steamed broccoli with lemon and butter; baked yellow potatoes, and, in my opinion, the star of the show, this squash/pepper soup.

Loads of roasted green and red chilies, chipotles and  jalapenos combined with butternut squash make a savory bisque topped with a dollop of sour cream, roasted conquistador peppers, and a drizzle of reduced balsamic.

I searched the Web for a recipe, and found several that combined winter squash and peppers. But alas, they were all wimpy. Not enough peppers. Not enough heat or flavor. I had to have a roasted-pepper-heavy dish on the menu because one of our guests recently bestowed upon us a pepper roaster, a hand-cranked unit that blasts the rotating peppers with gas flame. We wanted to demonstrate our gratitude by including a dish dripping with flavor and loaded loaded with roasted peppers. 

PK is roasting Big Jim — New Mexico-type peppers. If only you could smell the pepper perfume!

So I improvised on a squash bisque I've made several times (including for our fundraising farm dinner in September). Before I get to the recipe, I must mention a couple other items on the holiday table: chipotle sauce and PK's ground pepper flakes—our ever-present condiments.  

From left to right: serrano, cayenne, anza, jalapeno, and up top, Italian hot.
PK grinds  his dried peppers  separately then blends them.
We garden together, but the peppers? HIS. His alone.

This is a block of frozen mostly green roasted chilies weighing about 10 ounces.
I added  it, partially thawed,  early in the soup prep. 

Other soup ingredients. Those little black things in the front are chipotles.
Conquistador peppers are in the bag, serrano sauce in the pint jar, jalapenos in the bowl. 

Winter Squash and Chili Peppers Bisque

1 whole butternut or other winter squash - about 3 pounds

1 medium to large onion, minced

2-4 cloves garlic, minced

2 stalks celery, minced

2-4 jalapeno peppers, seeded, minced

3 T butter

32-48 ounces of chicken or vegetable broth or stock

1 1/2 cups half and half or heavy cream (go for the heavy cream!)

1/4 - 1/2 cup serrano sauce (more about this later)

8-12 ounces of roasted green and/or red chili peppers

6-8 ounces of roasted red chili peppers (may substitute sweet), sliced 

2-3 dried chipotle peppers

2 tsp sea or kosher salt

1 tsp ground black pepper

1-2 tsp. ground cumin

1 T honey (optional)

Bake the squash whole in advance at 350 for 60-80 minutes, or until a knife inserts easily into the most dense part. Poke with a knife a couple times before baking to prevent a squash-festooned oven. After the squash cools, it's easy to scoop out the seeds, peel it, and break into large pieces. You can refrigerate the cooked squash for a few days before using, or freeze it. 

Early stage of soup prep. Veggies have been sauteed, squash, broth, seasonings and chipotles added,
but the immersion blender has not been summoned.

In a stockpot over medium heat, saute minced onion, garlic, celery, and jalapeno in butter until golden. Use a food processor to do the heavy mincing. Add the roasted squash to the pot along with the whole dried chipotle peppers, the serrano (or Tabasco) sauce and the veggie or chicken broth. Reserve some broth to adjust thickness later. Cook for about 15 minutes til the chipotles begin to soften. Add salt, pepper, cumin and honey, if desired. If your squash is super sweet, you can skip the honey. But if you use serrano sauce, it's good to add a bit of sweetness to balance the vinegar in the sauce.

Now you have a big decision: to remove the softened chipotles or not? I removed them, but next time I won't.  Cooking the chipotle early in the soup prep and removing it before blending adds a whiff of chipotle flavor. Blending chipotles with the other ingredients would pack a more flavorful wallop. I like those wallops. Make sure your chipotles are stemless. It's OK if they have seeds. Need more info about chipotles? (Link includes a recipe for chipotle sauce.)

Now that everything is cooked, grab your immersion blender or a heavy-duty food processor. Immersion blenders are inexpensive and SO much more convenient in this circumstance. Blend ingredients right in the pot and add seasoning to taste. (serrano sauce, salt, etc.) 

When you're about ready to serve, stir in the cream, either half and half or heavy cream. You could even add sour cream. Once the cream is added, no more boiling. Place generous amounts of slivered roasted red peppers on top, along with a dollop of sour cream or chipotle sauce, if desired.

This soup is good for a few days refrigerated, and it freezes well for several months. 

I'm so fortunate to have all these peppers in my pantry or freezer—and for a couple months, in the garden. If you're not partners with a pepper maniac, you have other options:

OK. So you don't have him.

Some options if you lack listed ingredients:

• Roasted whole green chilies: Readily available in most groceries. For this recipe, you'll need 2 or 3  cans, minimum. 
• Serrano sauce: If you have access to fresh serrano peppers, consider making your own, or you could use a good quality hot salsa. We live in the sticks, so the concept of purchasing serrano sauce locally is remote. It's likely available in urban areas, and may definitely be purchased online. You may also substitute tabasco-type sauces, but in quiet careful amounts.



Canning serrano sauce. Pungent and delicious aromas and months
of tangy summer-tasting goodness.


• Chiptole peppers: These dried and smoked jalapenos are available at stores that have well-stocked Mexican food departments. 
• Jalapenos: I seed and slice jalapenos to freeze as we have multitudes in the garden. I wish we had more! Grocery store jalapenos are green and available year round. They're ok, but red are way better. Remove the seeds, unless you're after big heat. They're usually not very hot sans seeds, but even then, they add deep peppery flavor.

This is a terrific soup, which with quesadillas or another Mexican-themed side dish and a green salad, could easily make a company-worthy vegetarian meal. Go for it!

Time is .... too short.

My mother, LaVone Strube, in late 1916.

In response to Facebook birthday greetings on the occasion of my 67th freaking birthday,  I posted something like "another year down the drain" in addition to acknowledging that I had an outstanding year. Well wishers shot back au contraire comments such as:

• Down the Drain?? I prefer to look at it as "Another EPIC year filled with amazing times with family and friends, music and art, great food and wine, in the most beautiful part of the world.
• Not down the drain; in the treasure chest of memories!
• We only have now. Live, love, and grow.

I can't argue with any of these sentiments. It WAS an epic year. I DO have a treasure chest of memories. I AM acutely aware that we only have NOW and not to waste a moment—to live, love, and grow.

But I'm not retracting the "down the drain" comment. Where does time go? Well, it doesn't go anywhere. The present just IS, and the past just ISN'T. It hurts my head and my heart to think about Time—with a capital T, which is something I've been doing since I turned 17 and saw my sweet 16th year vanish like the stupid tears I cried over my lost youth.

I continue to work through this issue, which is to be present in every moment, to enjoy the gift of life. I can't believe I've waded into this subject and keep getting dragged further into my own doubts, fears, internal conflicts, and cosmic questions. It's pathetic, really, to continue to grapple with the mystery of time. What's the point? The truth is I can't help myself.

Here's what I know. When I'm living in the present, time doesn't exist. I think that's true for most people. When I'm writing, gardening, dancing, doing yoga, and am engaged in life, the hours evaporate. Where have those seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, centuries gone? I get the sense that they converge into a whirlpool that circles somewhere in the universe and evaporate without ceremony. One thing I believe is true: the universe is cold and uncaring about us poor little people clinging to our moments.

My parents, Floyd and LaVone Strube, when they were young and beautiful newlyweds in 1936. He died at age 93. 

This morning I was with my mother, LaVone, who was 96 on January 1st. I followed her with a wheelchair as she used her walker to navigate the hallways at her assisted living home. She can shuffle along for 50 steps or so before she has to rest in her chair. Then we talk as she gathers strength for the next 50 steps. She shook her head and said with a wry smile, "I am still your perky mother, but I can't  believe I'm so old. I can't believe I'm in a wheelchair." She pointed to her ears, which have failed her, and her eyes, which are going fast. "I never thought I'd be like this," she tells me.

But she doesn't complain. LaVone and I don't discuss time in any way other than personal linear measurements. Her life, my life, the lives of our loved ones. We're born, move forward in time, then we die. In the scope of the universe, and with all those colliding protons driving physicists to distraction, our individual lives mean little or nothing .
As we grow older, we realize, gut level, that life won't last forever, but we cling to it anyway, grasping at seconds.


My toddler grandson has no concept of Time, and is the perfect model for Be Here Now. The Moment is all he knows, and all he needs to know. Too bad he'll forget it before he rediscovers, like my mother, that the present is all we have.  

LaVone and great-grandson Noah in late 2011. She's almost 96. He'll be two in June. 

I did a little research into time. Turns out that, surprise!, it's been a hot topic  throughout the ages, debated and dissected by religious practitioners, philosophers, scientists, and everyday people. Basically, it boils down to the linear view or the circular view. Christians, Jews, and Muslims tend toward the linear. (Can you believe we all seem to agree on something!?) Time has a beginning and an end. Eastern religions tend toward the circular. Time repeats.


Whatever. I'll go with the It's a Beautiful Day lyrics to their great song, Time Is, which starts like this:

Time is too slow for those who wait
And time is too swift for those who fear
Time is too long for those who grieve
And time is too short for those that laugh.

I have so many memories about that song. But the dominant one is the last: My father died in November 2006, and in March 2007, I took my mother on a Princess cruise, a first for us both. I loved being on a ship that was plunging through deep troughs. One sunny but windy afternoon I plugged into my iPod and walked/trotted around the deck. Time Is came on and I began to run and leap with ocean spray in my face and the ship bucking and diving. Time is too short for those that laugh.
Keep on laughing, and don't think too much about those fleeting but precious moments between when you exist and when you don't.

Southwest Turkey Stew

Southwest turkey stew topped with a drizzle of serrano sauce and a chiptole pepper on the side. 

I'm not sure the difference between soup and stew. I think because this dish requires boiling a turkey carcass with onions, garlic, and celery, it qualifies as "stew." Also, it is more substantial than I think of soup as being. Whatever. It is fabulous. As always in my menu suggestions, improvise with what you have on hand. Let's start with a turkey carcass,


Making turkey stock—the base for any great turkey soup, stew, or gravy.
Plunk that carcass and leftover drumsticks, wings, or whatever into a large stock pot. Do NOT cover with water, but add about 3 or 4 inches of water, one large cut-into-eights onion, several stocks of rinsed and quartered celery, four large cloves of quartered garlic. (If you're making a turkey soup NOT leaning toward the southwest, add rosemary and thyme to the stock pot.)
Cover the pot and boil. Turn the bones a few times. After about an hour, turn off the heat and remove the solids to a colander over a pan to catch the drippings. When the carcass is cool enough to handle, strip the meat from the bones and discard stuff you wouldn't want to eat: gristle, fat, bones, slime, etc. Drain all the juices back into the stock pot. Set the meat aside. Discard the large chunks of celery and onion. Mash the garlic cloves.

SW turkey soup ingredients - serves four to six
One to one-half carton chicken broth
2-3 cans diced green chilies (I have the luxury of chilies (frozen) from the garden. )
1 can kidney beans, rinsed and drained
1 can corn, drained
1 can green enchilada sauce (larger size)
1 cup brown basmati rice, added about 45 minutes before you want to eat (or other rice)
1 qt. pkg. frozen green beans, cut into 1/2 inch lengths (great way to use your frozen produce)
1 can (about 8 ounces) El Pato salsa de chili fresco. (Or use leftover prepared salsa or pepper sauce)
3-4 whole dried chipotle peppers (available at markets catering to Hispanic palates, or upscale markets in cities, or maybe you're lucky enough to have your own.)
serrano (or other moderate pepper sauce) to taste
smoked salt to taste

Cook until rice is done and beans are tender. Add turkey to heat through. Taste and add smoked salt if needed. Serve with chipotle sauce or sour cream mixed with salsa or serrano sauce on the side. The chipotles cooked with this dish are meant as flavoring. They lend a great smoky peppery taste, not necessarily hot. But eating one is another story. Consume at your own risk!

The BEST quesadillas
One tortilla per person:
1 hand-made style corn tortilla from La Tortilla Factory
grated cheddar or other cheese
cut-up jalapeno or sweet pepper
cut-up sweet onion
good quality salsa or pepper sauce
cilantro for garnish

Pre heat oven to 350
Use a pizza pan, one with holes, if possible. Smear tortillas with salsa or pepper sauce. Sprinkle tortillas with cut up onions, peppers, and cheese.
Heat in oven for 10-12 minutes or until cheese is melted and onions are fragrant.
Top with cilantro, if using.
Cut into quarters. Don't fight over them!

Thanksgiving—Can We Make the Moment Last?

We're a ridiculously festive group at Thanksgiving.  But could we have this much fun every week or two? 
Steve Lambros photo.

Just before turkey day, I met a Columbian woman at an upscale women's consignment shop.  Somebody wished me a happy Thanksgiving, and I responded enthusiastically. The Columbian overheard my gushing and wanted more info. I told her that my family and friends were planning three days, three nights at a remote rented ranch in Southern Oregon, where we would endlessly feast, play games, and party. This got her attention.

Fine-feathered Ferron presents his fabulous fowl.
Steve Lambros photo.

This is what we do in Columbia! she exclaimed. Except we do this every week, not just for special occasions! Upon questioning, it came pouring out that Colombians, at least in her family, live differently than we do. They start work between 8 and 9 a.m., retreat for several hours in the afternoon, return to work around 5 or 6 p.m. and stay til 9 p.m., then they go out for dinner! Families congregate to feast and party most every weekend. The culture, she told me, is geared to the notion that life revolves around family and friends, not around work. Kids are included, and so are old people.

Spirited game of pole bangin' ensues while another group plays baci ball during Thanksgiving weekend.
Steve Lambros photo.

We work to LIVE! Not live to WORK like you Americans!
She said that numerous family members migrated to the USA to attend top-flight universities, but returned with advanced degrees to gratefully live and work in Columbia to be near their families and resume their "work to live" family-centered lifestyles.
You people are crazy! she said. Way too much work without enough enjoyment. She also related, after my questioning, that old people are cared for within the family. Old people don't live alone, and we don't have those retirement homes! she sputtered.
So. I have just returned from that three-day Thanksgiving celebration, which was as wonderful as anticipated. As one of the "family" wrote:

I am always in awe of the unscripted synergy and harmony of this group of diverse, single-minded, creative, intelligent, philosophically quizzical, spiritually hungry and purposeful livers of life. . . .From the bounty of the barnyard, gardens, river and culinary inspiration of the chefs, the endless varietals (homegrown especially) and brews to be enjoyed, the innumerable dance moves (and lack thereof...) to the seamless prep and unscripted cleanup teams, this annual gathering is AMAZING!!!!!!

Ok. There's no question that Thanksgiving is fabulous in general and especially for this group. But could we celebrate in like fashion every week or so?
Yes. We could.
But does the fact that we can't due to geographic distance and obligations mean that our priorities are screwed up and we are living to work not working to live?
No.
I believe that we, and another 20 or so friends and family who were not present, are tuned in to the way of life described by the Columbian. Not that a lot isn't screwed up in the USA. 

We who are retired, or close to it, live a different reality than our kids. We're at least financially stable. We have health insurance. We have pensions and promise that we won't be destitute in our dotage. We have worked hard for decades, but don't feel it's been in vain. 

Our youthful family and friends have no such assurances in a hyper-competitive work culture where job benefits disappear as jobs migrate out of the country. However! They're better off than many of us were at their age. Our two sons certainly are way farther ahead of the game than PK and I were around age 30. The young people we know are fortunate, for sure.

 Mother and son dance action in an accidental triple exposure. Party down!

I'm sure the Columbian idealizes her culture. But I'm also sure she doesn't realize that many of us in the crass and work-crazed USA  have forged friendships and families to ensure that Thanksgiving isn't an oasis as much as a model for multiple gatherings throughout the year. Not every week, perhaps, but we're already planning for the next great time. Our young people can't join us as often as we'd like, because they do have to work and raise their kids and so on—and they live too far away—but I'm confident that we're setting a great example for how to proceed once roots are established and a foundation is set.

Acting goofy on a hike in the hills around Whisper Canyon Ranch, Thanksgiving 2011..

 All I can say is that when I gave thanks at Thanksgiving, I really meant it. And on and on it goes.

Old friends..... like bookends

Here were are with some of our "old" friends after a spring Rogue River trip in 2008 (PK and me on the far right). Some of us are getting grey around the gills, long of tooth, and short on synapse. I'm not naming names, except for me. Our kids are grown and gone, many of us are grandparents, and we're advancing reluctantly into the next stage.

Do you remember this great Simon and Garfunkel song?

Old friends, old friends sat on their parkbench like bookends A newspaper blowin' through the grass, Falls on the round toes of the high shoes of the old friends . . .[ Ls from: http://www.l Can you imagine us years from today, sharing a parkbench quietly?  How terribly strange to be seventy. Old friends, memory brushes the same years, silently sharing the same fears

When I first heard that song (and wept) I was just 20-something living in St. Paul, Minnesota, and my best friend was Marcy. I imagined the two of us as crones in voile dresses with wispy hair staring down the specter of 70. And here we are, lookin' at it.  Marcy lives not far away, although I rarely see her, but I remember and value the intensity of our youthful alliance. I dare say that neither one of us considers ourselves "old." Marcy has developed an incredibly creative life and business, and I can't imagine that she's obsessing about old age. Or is she?

When you enter into a friendship, you never know where it will lead or how long it will last. PK and I have lived for nearly four decades in the same spot (except for 4 years when we  defected to a nearby town to spare our youngest kid the local high school.) Anyway, we've been rooted in rural Southern Oregon since 1973. We didn't mean to stay, and were, in fact, planning an adventure to South America, but baby Quinn! came along, then jobs and entanglements, then baby Chris! and lo, 38 years passed. Thirty-eight years.

When you're young, you have no idea how this can happen, and probably don't believe it will. But it does, in an appalling flash, and the days and months and years form a dark distant cloud to which you have limited access. You look into the mirror, into your photo archives, and the faces of your adult children and say, What?! 

Except, of course, if you have had the same friends for nearly 40 years, and maybe even a few going back to high school, and you can sit around like old-timers and rehash the shared memories of when you were young, your kids were small, or maybe before you had them, or when you did this or that river trip or camping excursion, or when you shared meals and games and adventures that helped to shape the kids into who they are today. And also you into who you are today—we're all still works in progress.

Our now-adult children are amazing, of course. Even kids who have struggled share rich common experiences that helped to lift them into adulthood. I recognize that PK and I and our two sons have been incredibly fortunate to have long-term family friendships and live on the edge of so much accessible wilderness and a piece of land that has fed and sustained us through many seasons.

But there's more to old friendships than reveling in those great times. There's the going forward together, whether we want to or not, and honoring in one another the inevitability of gray hair and wrinkles and, dare I say it? physical decline and maybe even cognitive lapses.
 Old friends, memory brushes the same years, silently sharing the same fears.
There's the continued joy in sharing with one another our adult children's lives and the sweetness of grandchildren, as well as the maturation of our friendships. Same goes for our childless friends. We're all sharing now the transition from middle age to seniorhood, and for me, frankly,  it sucks.
I'm adjusting to this inevitability with my old friends. We're all in various stages of denial and acceptance, and riding our bikes, walking our butts, and doing yoga like crazy. We'll stave this off, right?!

I never thought I'd be here, climbing the hill to 70. Or is that descending the hill? Of course it is descending. I need to stop kidding myself. At age 66, I have lived more than half of my life.

Spending quality time now with my almost-96-year-old mother reveals how it is to be really old. All her "old' friends have died, or have been left behind as she's moved from independent to assisted living over three states during the past decade. Her dearest friend, my father Floyd, died in 2006 at age 93. She has no deep ties to anyone but family, but she has new friends, a handful of wonderful people who do what they can to enhance their own lives and hers. New friends are good!

But there's no replacing old ones. For at least 20 years, PK and I, along with some others, have kicked around the idea of establishing the Purple Sage retirement home, where we could live commune-style, take charge of our aging selves, and kick some butt. Despite lively conversations, we have yet to make a move. It's too complex, and besides, we're not there yet. It seems unlikely the Purple Haze will ever happen. For now, my friends, let's stay connected, hold hands into the future, and ski our withering flanks off this winter.