The Texas Panhandle doesn’t ease into winter. It just decides one morning that you’ll need a coat. One week, you’re sitting on the porch with a cold drink, soaking up that late October sunshine. Before you know it, your breath is fogging in the chilly air as you dash back inside to grab a warmer jacket. Our seasons here would rather wrestle than politely tap out for each other. Right now, we’re holding onto fall with its burnt orange sunsets and crunchy leaves, while winter is looming with its biting wind and gray skies.
Somewhere in between, we cook.
This is the season for slow transitions and even slower meals. The last of the farmers market tomatoes sit beside a basket of sweet potatoes, and you keep telling yourself that you need to cook them before they mold or begin growing sprouts. You may still catch someone at the grill, but more often it’s the scent of something roasting that drifts through the neighborhood. Personally, I can’t wait for my kitchen to come alive again— my oven heating the air and soup pots bubbling on the stove. The rhythm shifts. I happily trade cool salads for creamy casseroles, paper plates for pottery bowls, and picnics in the shade for late-night dinners that stretch into languid conversation.
Fall is when we start pulling recipes from the back of the drawer. You know, the ones with splatters and smudges that tell their own stories. As the days shorten, I find myself craving those meals that fill the house as much as the belly. Maybe it’s your grandmother’s stew or that pumpkin bread recipe you swore you’d “make next year.”
For me, it’s either a hearty roasted vegetable soup or a skillet of green chile cornbread to go with an award-winning Texas chili recipe I inherited. We stir, we taste, we adjust. That’s how we live through the in-between.
Winter will come soon enough. It always does. But for now, I like this edge of the season. It has an incredible way of asking us to slow down, settle in and take stock. I love the way the light slants through the window as the afternoon slides into evening, soft and golden, yet the cold wind cuts on the other side of the pane. The secret to surviving this place isn’t fighting the cold; it’s feeding it.
So here’s to the in-between. To the season that doesn’t quite know what it is but reminds us who we are. To the soups and stews, the cozy casseroles, and the coffee that never seems to stay warm long enough. To the wind that howls outside and the laughter that fills the kitchen anyway. To the Panhandle, where fall and winter collide, and we manage to make it delicious.
Butternut Squash Garam Masala Soup
1 butternut squash, peeled and cubed
1 yellow onion, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons coconut oil
4 cups vegetable broth
2 sprigs fresh thyme
Sea salt and fresh cracked pepper
1 can full-fat coconut milk (solid portion only)
1 to 2 teaspoons garam masala
Heat a large Dutch oven or pot over medium-high heat. Add coconut oil to melt, then add squash and onion. Saute for about 8 minutes or until the onion becomes slightly translucent. Add a bit of salt and pepper along with a few thyme leaves, and continue to saute for a few more minutes. Pour in broth, cover and simmer on low heat for 15 minutes. Ladle half the soup into a blender. Blend until creamy. Pour the blended soup back into the pot with the rest of the soup. Add more salt and pepper to taste, coconut milk and garam masala; stir to combine. Can be served immediately or lukewarm. Finish with a drizzle of coconut milk and a sprinkle of garam masala, if you like.
Makes 2 to 4 servings
