Squash: Musquee de Provence

Many years ago, when we were still in the planning stage for our opting out of the rat race adventure, a good friend warned me about the dangers of winter squash and pumpkin. Not the tripping hazard they become as the tendrils spread over the paths of the potager, or the risk to my already weak and dodgy back of lifting, turning and carrying the six kilo monsters, but quite simply their addictive nature. But no, I am mentally strong. When I've found the one, alright the ones, that I really like and do a good job for me in the garden and kitchen, I'll just stick to those.

So far on the list are Golden Hubbard and Crown Prince, and of course vegetable spaghetti. And Marina di Chioggia, naturally. I couldn't be without her huge green and knobbly presence every year. I'm still looking for a smaller, bake whole variety - chestnut bush was too unreliable, the fruits seeming to rot with more enthusiasm than to set on the vine.

And I'm trying to grow some of the local heritage varieties, too. My neighbour gave me a handful of seeds scooped out of a fruit that his mother has grown for years. I'll give it a go, although as I didn't get to see or taste the source vegetable, it may be a turkey! Cruising through one of the many French seed catalogues last year I came across a special offer for Musquee de Provence, an internet search indicated that this was going to be without any doubt the tastiest courge ever, so I dutifully bought and sowed some seeds. Addictive, pumpkins? Course not!

The growth was vigorous, even by pumpkin standards and yet again it was impossible to confine the plants to their own patch. I grow squash and corn in the same bed, two of the traditional three sisters.

Above is the pumpkin plot five weeks after planting and already threatening the aubergines in the neighbouring bed! Alas, it would seem that foliage was its thing and while my other squash plants luxuriated in the blistering long summer of 2016 setting fruit after fruit, the Musquee struggled. The first few fruit dropped off, but eventually a fruit stuck and began to swell and by harvest time it was a hefty eight kilos. A second, slightly smaller came along, And then a third, albeit rather misshapen. They'd better be good!

This squash is a thing of beauty, the ridged skin turning a deep brown, the colour of a well used and oiled saddle, and I admit I have been saving it, munching our way through the old reliable butternut and hubbards, and the ultra delicious Crown Prince. Finally I tackled the monster, warning my partner that my arthritic wrists would probably not be up to the task of cutting into the beast. It was a pleasant surprise then, to have the knife slide easily through the skin and into the flesh. What joy to not end up with the knife wedged fast and needing two of us to try and wrestle it free without slicing ourselves open.

However, a soft skin instantly had me worried - would it still be good, or had I missed the boat and let the thing rot? I store squash in my study which is on the north west corner of the house, and with the door closed and the shutters down it becomes the ideal chilly larder. Although a rubbish study!

All was fine inside. Well, it wasn't rotting at any rate. But where was that famed scent of mace or nutmeg? The flesh was a beautiful orange, but had a rather wet appearance, so different to the dense dry meat of the Crown Prince. I thought the ratio of seeds and core to flesh disappointingly high as well, but if the taste was as great as all the reviews, it hardly matters.

Well, it wasn't. Instead of the rich dense flesh of the Crown Prince, this was more like the slightly watery and bland meat from a spaghetti squash, but without the interesting strands. And sweet it was not. I tried roasting some chunks as a side vegetable, any left overs would go in a risotto. They never caramelised, simply collapsed into a mush. I do a nice mashed pumpkin podima, so I tried that on curry night. Well, it was spicy and tasty from the fennel, coconut, fenugreek and mustard seeds but the squash brought nothing but a rather wet sludge to the party.

We don't throw out food, even if we don't like it, so I think I'm just going to turn the rest into a big vat of soup with maybe chickpeas for texture and lots of onion, ginger and garlic for flavour. And I will persevere with the others; maybe this was just a rogue fruit? It certainly falls very short of all other reviews online. Very, very short.