By New Year's Day 2024. I woke early, as I always do, and went down to make coffee before the house was up. The snow from Christmas Eve was still on the ground, packed and icy now, the yard quiet in the blue-gray pre-dawn. I stood at the window with my mug and did the thing I do on New Year's morning: ran through the year just ended, looking for the shape of it.
2023 was, by any honest accounting, a good year. The memorial garden planted in May. The Helen notebook post that opened something in the family and in the blog. Teddy's stocks curriculum and the Thanksgiving turkey and the thing I saw in Finn's face watching his brother work. Bill's friendship deepening through correspondence to the point where it feels like something I have had for decades rather than a few years. Carol's companionship through the seasons, her apple butter campaign, her steady presence forty miles north. Ted's family whole again on the farm next door. These are not small things.
Sarah and family left the first, Jim and the boys loading the car in the cold while Carol and I stood on the porch. Finn gave me a long hug that only ended because Jim called him twice. Teddy said he would call me about the shellfish stock and I told him I was available anytime. Carol stayed one more night and left the second, which gave us a quiet New Year's Day evening together — split pea soup from the ham bone that had been simmering since morning, bread, and the end of the Christmas cider. We talked about our parents, which we do sometimes in January, trying to hold on to the details before they fade further.
I made a note in my cooking journal — I have kept one since 1985, thirty-nine volumes now in the cabinet beside the stove — that 2023 was the year the kitchen became fully alive again after a long period of being only functional. I am not sure exactly when the transition happened. Probably Helen's notebooks. Probably Teddy. Possibly the memorial garden giving me a place to put her that was not only grief. Whatever the cause, the effect is real. I cook differently now. Not better, necessarily, but with more presence. Which is, I think, the same thing.
I wrote in my cooking journal that 2023 was the year the kitchen became alive again — and I think what I meant by that is the return of small, unhurried tasks done for their own sake. Split pea soup simmering since morning while Carol and I talked about our parents is one version of that. But so is standing at the counter tossing a handful of pepitas in oil and salt and sliding them into a warm oven, not because you need a thing, but because the act itself is worth doing carefully. These roasted pumpkin seeds are nothing complicated. They are exactly the kind of recipe that rewards presence over technique, which is, I have come to believe, what cooking is mostly about.
Roasted Pumpkin Seeds (Pepitas)
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 1 cup raw pumpkin seeds (pepitas), hulled
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional)
Instructions
- Preheat. Heat your oven to 325°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.
- Season the seeds. In a medium bowl, toss the pumpkin seeds with the olive oil until evenly coated. Add the salt, garlic powder, smoked paprika, and cayenne if using, and toss again until the seeds are well seasoned.
- Spread and roast. Pour the seeds onto the prepared baking sheet in a single, even layer. Roast for 18—22 minutes, stirring once halfway through, until the seeds are golden and fragrant. Watch them closely in the final few minutes — they go from golden to too dark quickly.
- Cool before serving. Remove from the oven and let the seeds cool on the baking sheet for at least 10 minutes. They will crisp up further as they cool. Transfer to a bowl and serve at room temperature, or store in an airtight container for up to one week.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 185 | Protein: 9g | Fat: 15g | Carbs: 5g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 148mg