Sweet Preserved Pumpkin (Calabaza en Tacha)
The Days of the Dead (November 1 and 2) are not only one of the most dramatic of Oaxacan fiestas but among the most family-centered. Altars dedicated to los difuntos ("departed ones") appear everywhere—outside churches, on shop premises, and especially at family grave sites and in the home, where everyone is preparing for the annual reunion with late friends and relatives. At this time every marketplace in Oaxaca blazes with piles—absolute mountains—of fuschia-red cockscombs and intense orange marigolds. Tall sugarcanes with long fronds and huge banana leaves tower like jungles nearby. The flowers will be used to adorn the altars and the giant fronds to mark arched entries for the souls of loved ones to pass through. People buy their late cousin's favorite kind of cigarettes or their departed father's usual beer to place on the home altar. The other offerings usually include fresh fruit, candies in all kinds of macabre memento mori shapes, decorated breads made from a sweet egg-enriched dough like that for Pan Resobado, and this traditional spiced preserved pumpkin. Every home altar holds a plate of Calabaza en Tacha—an offering that represents about four days' labor of love. The pumpkin—I use a regular Halloween pumpkin or sometimes the green West Indian type—is soaked first in a solution of the same cal (slaked lime) used to treat corn for tortillas. The alkali makes it firm enough to absorb the sugar without disintegrating. Oaxacan cooks like to make the preserve very sweet; I have slightly reduced the amount of sugar. It may not be traditional, but I like to serve it with vanilla ice cream. I find that using fresh sugarcane as a support on which to arrange the pieces of pumpkin is a handy and flavorful trick (though not an indispensable part of the recipe). Look for it at Latin American and other tropical groceries; it can also be found as a specialty produce item in some large supermarkets.
The Days of the Dead (November 1 and 2) are not only one of the most dramatic of Oaxacan fiestas but among the most family-centered. Altars dedicated to los difuntos ("departed ones") appear everywhere—outside churches, on shop premises, and especially at family grave sites and in the home, where everyone is preparing for the annual reunion with late friends and relatives. At this time every marketplace in Oaxaca blazes with piles—absolute mountains—of fuschia-red cockscombs and intense orange marigolds. Tall sugarcanes with long fronds and huge banana leaves tower like jungles nearby. The flowers will be used to adorn the altars and the giant fronds to mark arched entries for the souls of loved ones to pass through. People buy their late cousin's favorite kind of cigarettes or their departed father's usual beer to place on the home altar. The other offerings usually include fresh fruit, candies in all kinds of macabre memento mori shapes, decorated breads made from a sweet egg-enriched dough like that for Pan Resobado, and this traditional spiced preserved pumpkin. Every home altar holds a plate of Calabaza en Tacha—an offering that represents about four days' labor of love. The pumpkin—I use a regular Halloween pumpkin or sometimes the green West Indian type—is soaked first in a solution of the same cal (slaked lime) used to treat corn for tortillas. The alkali makes it firm enough to absorb the sugar without disintegrating. Oaxacan cooks like to make the preserve very sweet; I have slightly reduced the amount of sugar. It may not be traditional, but I like to serve it with vanilla ice cream. I find that using fresh sugarcane as a support on which to arrange the pieces of pumpkin is a handy and flavorful trick (though not an indispensable part of the recipe). Look for it at Latin American and other tropical groceries; it can also be found as a specialty produce item in some large supermarkets.
Step-by-step
- Cut the pumpkin into 6 equal wedges. Remove and discard the seeds and stringy pulp, then cut each wedge in half crosswise. Prick the rind all over with the tines of a fork to help the slaked lime solution and sugar penetrate.
- Pour 5 quarts cold water into a stainless-steel or heavy-duty plastic bucket. Add 1/2 cup of the slaked lime and stir with a wooden spoon to dissolve thoroughly. Taste the solution; it should have a noticeably astringent "bite." If not, stir in more lime a tablespoon at a time. Add the pumpkin wedges and loosely cover the bucket. Let stand overnight (about 10 hours) in a cool dark place.
- The next day, remove the pumpkin and rinse well under cold running water. The texture should now be firm.
- Prepare a large heatproof earthenware vessel or non-reactive stockpot. You have to make a sort of prop in the center to lean the pieces of pumpkin against. For flavor as well as support, use the optional chunks of sugarcane placed together in a bunch. Or simply place one of the curved pieces of pumpkin in the center. In either case, rest the wedges of pumpkin, skin side out, against the supporting "platform," arranging them like petals coming out from the center.
- Using a hammer, break up the loaf sugar into small pieces (no larger than 1/2 inch) and scatter over the pumpkin. Add the allspice and canela. Add enough water to cover the pumpkin by 2 inches. Bring to a boil over high heat; cover the pot loosely and simmer over very low heat for 5 hours. Remove from the heat and let stand overnight, uncovered or just loosely covered.
- The next day, return the pumpkin to a simmer over low heat and cook for 5 hours. Let stand again overnight. On the third day, return to a simmer; this time any remaining syrup should be absorbed after 2 to 3 hours. Watch very closely as the syrup disappears, since the dish tends to scorch easily at this point. Let cool completely before serving; it will keep in the refrigerator, tightly covered, for up to 1 week.
A Labor of Love: Making Calabaza en Tacha for the Day of the Dead
The air in Oaxaca hums with a unique energy during the Days of the Dead. It's a time of vibrant colors, fragrant marigolds, and the comforting aroma of traditional foods wafting from homes, each carefully prepared as an offering to loved ones who have passed. Among these cherished offerings, Calabaza en Tacha, or sweet preserved pumpkin, holds a special place. It's not just a dish; it's a testament to family, tradition, and the enduring power of memory. For me, making Calabaza en Tacha is more than just following a recipe; it's a way to connect with my heritage and honor those who came before me.
The process itself is a journey, a slow, deliberate unfolding of flavors and textures. It begins with the humble pumpkin, a simple symbol of autumn, transformed through a painstaking process into a sweet, glistening treasure. The first step involves soaking the pumpkin in a solution of slaked lime, a process that firms the flesh and prepares it to absorb the rich sweetness of the sugar to come. This initial step is a testament to the patience and care Oaxacan cooks put into their traditions, a willingness to take the time to do things properly—an attribute I greatly admire and strive for in my own life. The next days are filled with the gentle simmering of the pumpkin, infused with warm spices and the subtle sweetness of cane sugar, the aroma filling the kitchen with a comforting warmth, a homey beacon against the fast-paced world outside.
As the pumpkin simmers, I often find myself lost in thought, reflecting on those who are no longer with me. I think of the women in my family, from my grandmothers to my great-aunts, who carried on this tradition for generations. Their hands, calloused and strong, kneaded the dough for the pan de muerto, arranged the colorful flowers on the ofrendas, and patiently simmered the Calabaza en Tacha, a labor of love passed down through generations. It's their memories, their dedication, and their love that inspire me to continue this tradition, year after year. The act of creating this sweet pumpkin is a quiet moment of meditation, a way to connect with my past and appreciate the rich tapestry of my family history.
Beyond the personal connection, the Calabaza en Tacha itself is a marvel. The pumpkin, transformed by the process, becomes a delectable treat. The subtle sweetness of the pumpkin, enhanced by the warming spices of cinnamon and allspice, creates a delicious balance of flavors. The texture is firm but tender, a delightful contrast to the sweetness that permeates every bite. And when I serve it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, as I often do, it’s a delightful conclusion to a long and meaningful culinary experience.
Making Calabaza en Tacha is a reminder that some things are worth taking time for, worth savoring each step of the way. It's a reminder that the simple act of cooking can connect us to our roots, to our families, and to our traditions, adding a layer of warmth and comfort to our lives. It's a tradition I hope to carry on for many years to come, sharing this sweet, spiced pumpkin with generations to come, continuing the legacy of my family and the rich culture of Oaxaca.
More than just a recipe, Calabaza en Tacha is a story, a tradition, a connection to the past, and a celebration of the present. It is a reminder of the power of remembrance and the importance of honoring those who have shaped our lives.
The sweet taste lingers on my palate, a gentle reminder of the love and dedication woven into each piece of pumpkin. As I reflect on this special tradition, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude, contentment and purpose—a feeling that far outweighs the time and effort involved.
The act of making Calabaza en Tacha is a gift in itself, one that I cherish and that I will continue to share with loved ones for years to come. It's a taste of home, a taste of heritage, and a taste of love.
