Martje's Pumpkin Cheese Pie for Harvest

Mean Fhomhair is around the corner, and that means it is time for pumpkin pie.

Baronous Hodge on the use of pumpkins in Frewyn: Gourds are a curiosity on the southern content. They cannot grow well in Gallei due to the inclement weather and the unpardonable soil, and while they grow very well in Frewyn, Frewyns seem rather indifferent to them. Some of the winter varieties are used in soups, but as a supplement to carrot, which I find almost too bad, and the chosen few do make their way into pies and biscuits during the late harvest, but Frewyns are little enchanted with what Marridonians term a staple fruit. Marridon admires the melon and squash, lauding the various species for their own virtues and cultivating their seeds and fragrances for their own rewards, but above all the other dismissed fruit of the vine sits the pumpkin, charming the farmsteads and ornamented the steps of every country house. Frewyn grows them in several varieties, preferring to leave all those with little flesh to the crows when the first of the winter storms come in. If a fruit be not heavy or vivid, Frewyns want little to do with it, and if the fruit be not easily bashed and boiled down, then its only use is look nicely as a party piece at the dinner table. Any pumpkin that is not carved or painted on for the festival must be used for something, and therefore the Frewyn pumpkin pie, which is really more of a tart, was created. The current theory of how gourds came to Frewyn in the first place is by way of old King Farriage. He brought many things to the southern kingdom, including the races and several breeds of dogs, and even lent his name to the northeastern port town built after he took his leave of the place. The legend states that he brought the pumpkin hither as a seed, and when the plant grew and the fruit ripened to full size, no one was entirely certain what to make of it. It was left as a decoration until someone remarked that it could be hollowed, but once the flesh was cut and the rind carved, no one had any idea what to do with it. The first accounts of pumpkin being eaten in Frewyn do not happen until Brave King Breian’s time, and even then the annals of Westren tell that the fruit had, “Nae taste, nae sweetness, but the colour is gud.” The fruit is so disliked in Frewyn that it remains left out of the seasonal offerings to Chune. She is given corn dollies, wheat sheaves, sweet bread and spices, but the Frewyns would rather leave a field fallow than offend their deities with a useless gourd. For centuries, Marridonians have tried to impress our love of the squash onto our southern neighbours, but it takes butter and honey to make the fruit tolerable, and if there is nothing else to be got, a Frewyn might, upon perceiving they need some nutrients for their day, spoon some in with their porridge. Do not tell them to roast pumpkin, as we do in the north; that will warrant a bewildered look and a “What fer?” All their affection is for drupes and pomes, and with a race so immovable on this point, Frewyns should starve before they acquit themselves their pumpkin prejudice. May the Gods help you if you ever try to convince them of the sweet potato—for years I have tried to ween them on yams, and they protest against any such nonsense as a sweet potato. They still believe the Thellisian purple taro is a myth.  

Martje's method: In the weeks leadin’ up to our last big harvest, we do a lotta cookin’ to get ready for
Mean Fhomhair, the end o’ the farmin’ year. Early Fhomhair’s a time when the brassicas are comin’ in, then we gotta dig up our root vegetables, and all the fruits gotta be taken in before the first frost gets ‘em. Most o’ our greens and potatoes’ll keep through the winter, but what won’t’s gotta be used up to make room in the stores. With the heat o’ the summer gone, we can finally start doin’ our soups and stews, but the seasonal thing we love best is a pie. We save our savoury pies for Alineighdaeth time, but in the middlin’ months, we do our apple pies or any topless tarts. Cheese pie is a great base for any fruit pie, but our cheese pies don’t seem to be liked nowheres else. In Marridon, they call topless dessert pies ‘cake pie’, and the only cake pie they seem to like makin’ is a pumpkin one. They do a pumpkin pecan, because they like their pecan sugar pie so much, but we prefer to keep our teeth where they are and make pumpkin cheese pie or pumpkin shortbreads instead. Pumpkin don’t got much flavour to it, so it’s good as an additive but not as a main flavourin’.  We don’t use gourds a lot in Frewyn cookin’—it’s not that it’s not native and all—we eat many fruits and vegetables from the north like tomatoes and such—it’s just that the taste don’t know what it is. It’s not sweet even when ripe enough, and you can’t really call it a vegetable. Some folk try to get creative with it if they got it to cook, doin’ a mash with potatoes and onions, or usin’ the rind as a trencher, but that’s too much trouble for what it’s worth. Pumpkins aren’t good for much else other than decoration. On the farms, we grow the little ‘uns to put on the table or place round the house and dress ‘em with leaves to make it festive and all. Not much meat on ‘em for a family. Never had squashes in general grownin’ up—they’re hard to grow in the south and they don’t make much money for the traders. They’re not native vines, but sure we made ‘em native enough anyway, puttin’ ‘em into the one dessert we here do best.  

You do yer pumpkin cheese the same as you do yer lemon cheese. If you don’t remember the recipe, which you should by now, ‘cause I wrote it for you in a previous chapter, I’ll short hand the base for you: two eggs, lemon curd, cream cheese—shise shin. Easiest base to remember, if you ask me, and I know you are askin’ me so I’m tellin’ you. Whip those up, then add in the contents of a whole pumpkin—just remember to take out the seeds and save ‘em for after. Now all we need is the spice: I put in ginger, cinnamon, mace, and a splash of lemon juice if there’s any left, just to give it a bit of a citrus hint. You can put orange zest in too, if you got any on hand. Mix it all in together and then get yer pie tin or a skillet, either one—anythin’ what’ll keep the heat in and the pie cookin’ for th’while. Line your tin with a shortenin’ pie crust or you can do a biscuit crust instead with a bit o’ crumb, butter, and sugar. Get yer crust nice and thin along the tin, and then pour in yer pumpkin cheese mix. Flatten it down with a spoon, and make sure it don’t go over the crust edges—keep it to the inside o’ the tin. Prepare yer oven for high heat, and bake the pie evenly for thirty mins. If yer top doesn’t brizzle a bit, you’ll know it’s done by the crackin’ in the pie’s surface—means the eggs are baked in. Take the pie outta the oven and let it cool. Might still worble a bit, but if it’s baked through, it’ll set well enough. Some folk put a gelatine in the mix to help it stand, but I don’t bother—the pie never lasts longer than a day when I make it. Dress the pie with whatever yer wantin’. I do mine with a bit of cinnamon and a sprinklin’ of soft brown sugar, and put a bit o’ candied peel to finish if there’s any around.