Cape Town - Trying to find a gem squash when we lived in Chichester, the West Sussex county town, was a fruitless exercise.
You might as well have tried to find a black person in the town’s high street (I saw two in four years, although it may have been the same person and it’s quite possible he was just passing through). Multicultural the place is not, and for a Capetonian that aspect of it felt very odd. Not in any way to knock the place – it’s steeped in history and has many charms – but the monoculturalism of it all did grate as time went on.
It’s very unlike London, with its splendid multicultural vibe and enthralling sense of being at the centre of the world. Chichester’s a regional centre and very Tory, although at that time the local council was run by the middle-of-the-road Lib Dems. If it were in South Africa, Chichester would not be Cape Town. More like Pietermaritzburg with its old-style queen and country feel.
But these towns have great appeal if you look past the local politics. The entire centre of Chichester is cobbled or paved so your car is best left at home or outside of the centre. There are regular markets, from a farmer’s market, in which the stalls are manned by actual farmers and producers of wonderful delicacies, to car boot markets and an occasional oddity, like a French market that comes over the Channel bearing all those delectable things the French like to proffer, like little tins of pate de foie gras, regional cheeses, and even scented soaps.
One thing I appreciated about living there was the standard of vegetables in the local supermarkets, particularly Waitrose and Sainsbury’s. There’d be five or six varieties of potatoes, for one thing, and a much broader range of greens. I seldom find savoy cabbage here, for example, but there I’d always find it, and it’s so much better than the ubiquitous cabbage we get. And mushrooms – chanterelles, girolles et al – although we do now get more variety of fungi here too.
But one thing they don’t seem to be able to get their heads around is gem squash, which I found only once while living there – at a farmer’s market, in a cardboard box on the ground next to the farmer’s stall, with a sticker proclaiming, “Gourds”.
Gourds. Long, extended yellow ones. Calabashes-in-training (still containing flesh, not yet dried out and hollow, not yet able to make a percussive sound). Hubbard squash. Stripey gourds that seem to want to step out and dance a jig. And little round green things. I pointed to them and looked up at the farmer.
“Wow!” I said, as excited as a puppy dog given a bone. “At last!”
The farmer seemed perplexed. “Oh, nobody buys those exotics.”
“Exotics? That’s a gem squash.”
“Is it now? There’s not much interest in them. People like them for their colours, they make a nice display.”
I bought the few he had and took them home where the family greeted them with great excitement. When you haven’t seen a gem squash for two years, let alone eaten one, it is surprising how such a humble vegetable can attain the status of a blue diamond. Somehow their name, gem, attains a special meaning.
What is it about the flesh of a gem squash that we love so much? It is an extraordinarily subtle flavour and a texture pleasing to the palate. It accepts other flavours if given with care. There’s no need to swamp a gem with a vigorous hand when seasoning in any way.
The gem squash as cooked in the picture here is the way I have been doing them since the mid-1990s. That’s not to say I always do them that way, but it’s my favourite recipe and it’s all my own. You can vary it with different flavourings, perhaps a little rosemary, maybe star anise, or some thyme, but the essential method remains the same.
Parmesan gem squash
1 gem squash per portion
2 tbs grated Parmesan per squash
1 clove garlic, very finely chopped
Salt and black pepper to taste
A knob of butter (optional)
1 tbs breadcrumbs per squash
Cut the gems in half neatly, bearing in mind that you need to keep one half of each squash for finishing in the oven.
Steam them, tightly covered, for about 20 minutes until the flesh is super soft. Remove and allow to cool. When cool enough to handle, discard the seeds and spoon the flesh into a bowl.
Add to the squash flesh 1 tbs grated Parmesan per squash, the garlic, salt and pepper to taste and a small knob of butter, and stir well.
Select one half squash case per portion and fill with the flavoured squash. The flesh of a whole squash will fill one half case to the brim. Round off neatly with a knife, spoon or fork. Sprinkle breadcrumbs on top followed by more Parmesan, and put under a grill for a few minutes until the top turns golden.
Weekend Argus