Lately I’ve been coming to terms with the fact that for all my free-wheeling, easy-going,live in San Francisco and own nothing more formal than office casual (well except for my prom dress collection) lifestyle, I’m really a bit of an uptight perfectionist. This comes out especially when I’m cooking — every dish must be opulent, delicious, and done to perfection, all with an air of off-the-cuff insouciance.

All week, I’ve been planning on making the same stuffed pumpkin recipe I made two years ago:

my pumpkin and me

It’s yummy and delicious, and looks like something a fairy godmother Martha Stewart might make. Unfortunately, it also takes the better part of a day to make.


that’s one big pumpkin

So, this morning, after spending a few hours agonizing over the fresh toasted breadcrumbs I needed to be toasting and the pumpkin flesh I really needed to start seasoning, I finally screwed my courage to the sticking post and asked Brian and Hope if they’d mind stuffed pumpkin for Saturday dinner, since we were already making salad and tofurkey and mashed white stuff and pork loin and beer bread and it’s just the three of us and Jason, who’ll be coming from another dinner. And they were all, “Duh, can we take a walk now?” And so we did.