Pumpkin Bars with Cream Cheese Frosting

A January week of wet sidewalks. The shiso is cut back. The garden is dormant. Yoga Tuesday and Thursday at the studio. The classes were full. The body was the body.

Miya, 9, can shape onigiri without falling apart. She uses wet hands. She knows the order without being told.

Kabocha simmered in dashi and soy. The squash sweet. The broth thick. The bowl warm.

I sat at the kitchen window with my tea. The garden was the garden.

Therapy Tuesday. We talked about the wedding. We talked about Barbara. We talked about Fumiko. The hour passed. The work continues.

I read for an hour Sunday night. A book of essays by a Korean-American writer about food and grief. I underlined a paragraph that said exactly what I had been trying to say in the newsletter for months.

Miya is in elementary school. The Saturday Japanese school continues. She still complains. She is still going.

Made dashi at five-thirty AM. Ten minutes in the kitchen alone with the kombu and the bonito flakes. The day's first prayer.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. Wiped the counters. Reorganized the drawer where the chopsticks live. Sharpened the knife. The reset was the reset.

Coffee with a friend Saturday morning. We talked about books, about kids, about the way our forties became our fifties. The talking is the thing.

Yoga Tuesday morning. The studio in Sellwood. Eight students. The class was the class.

Tomi watered the garden Saturday morning. The shiso was head-high. The shishito peppers were producing. The kabocha was running on the fence.

The neighbor's dog barked at nothing for twenty minutes Sunday afternoon. The neighbor apologized. I told him I had been writing through it and the white noise was helpful. He laughed.

Miya's old room is now my office. The desk is by the window. The shiso outside. The newsletter in progress. The afternoons are quiet.

A reader sent me a handwritten card this week. Her grandmother had cooked Japanese food in 1970s Boise. She had felt alone in it. The newsletter, she wrote, made her feel less alone. I taped the card to the wall above my desk.

The cat was the cat. Mochi at fifteen sleeps most of the day. She still eats with enthusiasm. She still sits at the kitchen window watching the back garden.

I wrote at the kitchen table from six to eight. The newsletter was forming. The opening sentence was the hard sentence — they always are. I rewrote it five times. The fifth time was the right time.

I drove to Uwajimaya Wednesday. Kombu, bonito flakes, white miso, a small bag of mochiko for tomorrow's project. The store smells like home.

I made onigiri for tomorrow's lunch. Three triangles. Salted plum in the center. Wrapped in nori. The cling wrap. The drawer where I keep them. The system.

A panic flicker Tuesday evening, brief, manageable. I breathed. I drank water. I went outside and walked around the block. The flicker passed. The body did its work.

I texted Miya a photo of the shiso. She texted back a heart and a single word: home.

The rain in long sheets Tuesday afternoon. I made tea. I watched it from the porch. The cottonwoods on the next block were silver in the wet.

Sunday farmers market in the rain. The vendors knew me. The Hood River apple stand had honeycrisps. I bought four pounds.

The kabocha had been on my mind all week — the way it softened in the dashi, the color of the broth, the particular satisfaction of a bowl that asks nothing complicated of you. When the newsletter was finally drafted and the kitchen was reset, I wanted to stay inside that squash-sweetness a little longer, this time in something I could leave in a pan and cut in the afternoon when Mochi wandered in from her window post. These pumpkin bars are not kabocha simmered in soy, but they carry the same quiet logic: squash and warmth and something worth sharing, even if only with yourself.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 24 bars

Ingredients

4 eggs
1 2/3 cups granulated sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
1 can (15 oz) pumpkin puree
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon salt
Cream Cheese Frosting:
1 package (8 oz) cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
2 cups powdered sugar, sifted
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Instructions

Preheat oven. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease a 15x10-inch jelly roll pan or rimmed baking sheet and set aside.
Mix wet ingredients. In a large bowl, beat eggs, sugar, oil, and pumpkin together until smooth and well combined.
Combine dry ingredients. In a separate bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and salt.
Finish the batter. Gradually add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients, stirring just until no dry streaks remain. Do not overmix.
Bake. Pour batter into the prepared pan and spread evenly. Bake for 22–25 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Remove from oven and cool completely on a wire rack.
Make frosting. Beat softened cream cheese and butter together until fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add vanilla, then gradually mix in powdered sugar until smooth and spreadable.
Frost and cut. Spread cream cheese frosting evenly over the cooled bars. Refrigerate for 20 minutes to set, then cut into 24 squares. Store covered in the refrigerator.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pumpkin Bars with Cream Cheese Frosting — The Squash That Stayed With Me All Week