Butternut-chestnut soup

One reason that more people do not chose the vegetarian option is the work involved. Eating vegetables for your nourishment and pleasure requires more time and effort than most people have. Job, family, school, etc. take up so much of daily life that it is tempting to get your grub from energy-packed sources that are pre-processed. Hungry? Need a quick jolt of proteins? Meat, bread from the bakery, frozen peas, and so on are the answer. The vegetarian, on the other hand, must assemble nourishment from a variety of sources, and it is even more difficult for the organic-only vegetarian. Not only are you faced with the labor of turning a pile of legumes into a balanced lunch (proteins and vitamins, minerals and fiber), you have to find an affordable source of makings which are organically grown.

These are the thoughts that will occupy you while cutting up a butternut squash. In fact, the prep is not an onerous task at all, and with a little practice (and with iPod earphones inserted properly and suitable music playing) it can become a moment for meditation. On this occasion, I am happy to report, my thoughts turned from the question of vegetarian labor to the colors and textures in my hands, the scents rising to my nose. Suddenly I realized that I was cutting up a melon. No kidding. And I think it was the aroma that encouraged this line of thought. A little whiff that carried my mind to a summer day and a melon brought back from the bio grocery down in Claira. Once this image had lodged itself in my awareness, I began looking for more signs of the butternut's kinship to the melon. The flesh is the same color, or nearly. This is especially true of the less-ripe parts, especially the neck, but the ripe center, where the seed cavity is found, turns a darker shade of melon, nearly red. The mush that comes out with the seeds is pungent, and the seeds themselves seem, to my memory, the same as melon seeds. Now it is July in December and I am tapping my toe to "Three Little Birds."

working on this . . .