Roasting Squash and Apple Soup for Cold Evenings

The Last of the Harvest

By the time the first proper frosts arrive in the river valley, the water meadows have gone silver in the mornings and the hedgerows have been picked clean by the fieldfares. The allotments are down to leeks, kale and a few stubborn parsnips. But in the shed, on the shelf by the window, there is usually a small row of squashes still going strong, and in the garage a crate of apples that are beginning to soften at the shoulders.

This soup is what we do with them. It is cheap, it is forgiving, and it makes the kitchen smell like the best kind of November evening. A batch on a Sunday will see you through three or four suppers, and it improves overnight in the fridge.

Choosing Your Squash and Apples

You want a squash with dense, sweet flesh rather than a watery one. Crown Prince, Buttercup, Kabocha and a good heavy butternut are all excellent. Leave the big carving pumpkins alone — they look the part on the doorstep but they make thin, stringy soup. One medium squash, about 1.2kg before trimming, is right for a large pan.

For the apples, a couple of Bramleys do the heavy lifting, bringing the acidity that stops the whole thing tasting flat and sweet. If you only have eaters — Coxes, Russets, whatever the neighbours passed over the fence — use three and squeeze in a little lemon at the end. Windfalls are fine, so long as you cut out every bruised bit.

Roasting Does the Heavy Lifting

You could boil the squash, but roasting is what gives this soup its depth. Set the oven to 200°C (180°C fan, gas mark 6). Halve the squash, scoop out the seeds, and cut it into thick wedges — no need to peel, the skin softens beautifully and slips off easily once cooked. Toss the wedges in two tablespoons of olive oil with a good pinch of sea salt and plenty of black pepper.

Halve and core the apples but leave the skins on; they add colour and body. Put everything on a large roasting tin, cut side down, with a few unpeeled garlic cloves tucked among them. Do not crowd the tin. If the pieces pile up, they steam instead of caramelising. Use two tins if you must. Roast for 40 to 45 minutes, turning once, until the edges are properly browned and a knife slides through the squash without resistance.

Building the Pot

While the tin is in the oven, soften one large sliced onion in a heavy pan with a knob of butter and a splash of oil. Give it ten minutes on a low heat — you want sweetness, not colour. Add 25g of fresh ginger, peeled and grated, and cook for another minute until it smells warm and sharp.

• 1 roasted squash (about 700g of cooked flesh)
• 2–3 roasted apples, skins and all
• 1 large onion, softened
• 25g fresh ginger, grated
• 4 roasted garlic cloves, squeezed from their skins
• 1.2 litres good chicken or vegetable stock
• 100ml double cream
• Salt, black pepper, a grating of nutmeg

Scoop the squash flesh away from the skins and add it to the pan with the apples and garlic. Pour in the stock, bring to a gentle simmer, and let it bubble quietly for fifteen minutes. This is the point to taste and season — squash varies enormously, so trust your tongue rather than the recipe.

Blending, Cream and the Finishing Touch

Take the pan off the heat and blend in batches. Never fill a blender more than half full with hot liquid, and hold the lid down with a tea towel. If it is thicker than you would like, loosen it with a little extra stock until it drops slowly off a spoon. Return it to a clean pan, stir in the cream, and warm through gently. Do not let it boil once the cream is in, or it can split.

A grating of nutmeg and a pinch of cayenne wake the whole thing up. For serving, scatter over toasted pumpkin seeds, a few fried sage leaves, or cubes of bread fried in the same pan you used for the onions. A swirl of cream and a thread of chilli oil turns a weekday bowl into something you would happily serve to guests.

Feeding the Street and Filling the Freezer

This recipe makes about six generous bowls. It freezes beautifully — cool it quickly, portion it into tubs, and it will keep for three months. Reheat gently on the hob with a splash of water or milk stirred through.

Soup is also a fine thing to share. Around here, someone usually takes a flask of it down to the bonfire on the fifth of November, and there is often a pot on at the village hall for the quiz night. If you have made more than you can eat, take a tub next door. Squash and apples arrive in gluts, and the quiet economy of the valley runs on exactly this: you cook too much, someone else bakes too much, and everybody eats well through the cold months.