415-821-7652
The portobello succeeded on many levels: It approximated beef in its heartiness, chewability, and capacity to expand exponentially in your stomach until you're forced to lean back, pop your top button, and groan. But it always lacked in one crucial area -- slab appeal. No meatless version has (until now) been able to emulate the shape, girth, and heft of a piece of sirloin.
Enter the pumpkin steak, the fabulous annual ode to squash at Firefly (4288 24th St., 821-7652). Every year at this time, and only for a few precious weeks, chef/owner Brad Levy takes slabs of fresh, organic jack-o'-lanterns and turns them into a meaty entree to be reckoned with. Over the last nine years, the dish (available through early November) has become a cult hit, attracting hordes of carnivores and herbivores alike, who anticipate its arrival with the same sort of rabid enthusiasm as some do the advent of Beaujolais nouveau or white truffles.
"I don't know of anyone who's tried to eat jack-o'-lantern pumpkin on purpose," laughs Levy. "The produce people I usually buy from don't even stock it. It's less sweet and a lot more watery than sugar pumpkins. And we take it over even further to the savory side. But that's what makes it so good as a steak."
Levy discovered the jack-o-lantern's charms almost by accident one Halloween. "I had all these leftover decoration pumpkins and thought I'd make soup for the staff. I cut them into chunks and baked those with olive oil. And as I was holding the first piece in my hand and taking the skin off, I started thinking how juicy and hefty it was -- a seriously substantial piece of vegetable."
Levy decided instead to dredge it in flour, season it with salt, pepper, and brown sugar, and pan-fry it. The staff went crazy and unanimously voted to make the dish an annual fixture on the menu.
"People find it's similar to steak in juiciness and substance, and because the texture is crusty outside and soft inside," he says. "But flavorwise, the portobello is probably closer to beef."
The pumpkin's constant platemates black beans and roasted corn salsa, plus creamy chayote squash slaw (a vegetable that's cucumberlike, but without the bitterness) tossed in a vegan chipotle mayonnaise dressing, give the dish a zippy boost and a well-rounded mouth-feel that satisfies the need for contrasting texture and flavor. They're the potatoes to the pumpkin's meat.
The trickiest part of this seasonal treat, it turns out, is being able to find enough pumpkins. Since jack-o'-lanterns are not typically cultivated for eating, the usual pesticide rules don't apply, so Levy has to seek out organic ones from retail stores. And then only those of a certain size and shape qualify for steak status (shades of Kobe beef?).
"I start hoarding them the last week of October, before stores get rid of them," he says. "I fill up the whole restaurant with pumpkins and then line 'em up for slaughter."
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