Not really sure if this is due to it being October, a slight case of nostalgia for a certain very hot pumpkin soup I recently had, being sick and my body crying out for extra vitamins or just the fact that my heart skipped a beat when I saw an irresistibly orange slice sitting invitingly all alone in the front row of our store’s vegetable stand, but I decided on pumpkin soup for dinner.

Having done some web research I found that there must be as many ways of preparing this dish as there are cooks in the world. Subtract those who stick to the best recipe devised by one of their maternal-line ancestors. At least, everyone seems to agree that the end result is delicious and healthy. Apparently, pumpkin is a good source of vitamins and minerals, particularly beta-carotene, vitamin C, and potassium and helps prevent arterosclerosis, or hardening of the arteries, which can lead to strokes and/or heart attacks.

I don’t know about any of that, I just know that Lisa still owes me her own best recipe and that I wanted pumpkin soup. 

I simply cut it up into small pieces, added a small amount of water (an unorthodox move, I’ll get smashed for not having used soup) and let it simmer for some 20 minutes, stirring and mashing in between with a fork. Remembered that I rather like onions and garlic so chopped a shallot and two cloves of garlic and added into the pot. Simmered for a while longer, mashing the pumpkin bits more and more with that fork. Added pepper, salt and basil. Turned off the heat and added some vinegar (don’t ask… I like vinegar!) Turned out yummy! To me, at least. Then again, I was not cooking for Her Majesty. Incidentally, I do like her new horse.

Please note: this is not, I repeat, not the best pumpkin soup ever. It may not even be very good. I suppose most would like to add a potato and/or a carrot as well as sour cream or at least some milk. It did the trick for me, though. Vinegar and all. Although I must confess to having taken a sip of the walnut brandy procured at the Vianden nut festival and to having been exposed to my rediscovered grandson’s palaverous take on the Queen’s visit to Slovenia and the implications of the widely-discussed dinner reception.