Pumpkins are the staple fruit of the Fall season—synonymous with Halloween and the festivities that follow it. People love exploring pumpkin patches with their loved ones, making pie and carving faces into the rind—but you can only eat pie and seeds for so long. In reality, a pumpkin is nothing but a menial, degradable member on a small, tiny branch of the gourd family tree.
These pathetic gourds bring shame to their gourd brethren. Not only are there plenty of other gourds that are worthwhile for fall activities but pumpkins were never meant to be used in the first place.
Originally, Irish Celts celebrated Samhain on the evening of Oct. 31 by carving faces into turnips and beets. But only recently—around 200 years ago—they started using pumpkins out of necessity. Apparently, it was the only gourd God got in the New World. Desperate times call for desperate gourds.
The pumpkin tradition stuck. But should we follow a miserable, godforsaken tradition just because someone left the turnips at home?
To be fair, it was important to move away from turnips and beets to explore the wider world of gourds. Anyone who is well-versed in carving faces into food knows that turnips and beets are not hollow at all, they are difficult to stick a knife into. Additionally, you can’t stick a candle in there. Gourds, however, are fairly hollow. Hallow. Halloween—stay with me.
But of all the gourds in the world, why pumpkins? Objectively, pumpkins are the worst to carve. Its guts are thick and stringy like a spider with digestive issues. Pumpkins easily have the grossest of gourd guts.
Imagine each and every Halloween you gather the family and carve a hole into the top of a watermelon and set its guts aside. After each of you carves a face onto your green guy, you have a pleasant little snack—unlike the despicable pumpkin, with its gross strings and wet, stale seeds.
Yet, watermelons are not the proper alternative gourd for the job either, and cucumbers won’t cut it—nor will calabash. No, the gourd to rule them all, the true hero of Halloween, has been right in front of us all along: the squash.
The squash is the ultimate gourd. They come in several shapes and sizes so you can choose one that best fits your personality. We’ve got hubbard squash, spaghetti squash, turban squash, crookneck squash, acorn squash.
Zucchini.
Whether you’re looking for something round or thin, green or yellow—there’s a squash for that.
It just makes sense—think about it. People love to smash pumpkins on Halloween. What’s another word for smash? Squash. It isn’t just a gourd—it’s a verb, an action, a lifestyle.
Squashes stand tall as masterpieces of form and function. When was the last time you saw someone excitedly smashing a butternut squash? Exactly. Because squashes command respect.
And don’t even get me started on the cultural misrepresentation of pumpkins. It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown? Really, Linus? In my mind, there are no great pumpkins—that pumpkin was just big. Meanwhile, all squash are great.
Now I know what you’re thinking: “Hey pumpkin hater, you ignorant fool and bombastic idiot, you pompous jackass, you silly goose—pumpkins are winter squash.”
To that, I say: Don’t bring your technicalities into this.
The squashes I’m speaking of embody everything that pumpkins have failed to be. The squashes I’m talking about are elevated and royal, not some lowly, obscene orange orb that people tolerate three months a year—if that!
Pumpkins, you’ve had your time. But it’s time to squash your streak and make room for a gourd that people will respect. This Halloween, ditch the pumpkin patch and find a squash patch, try a squash pie, stop putting fire inside of pumpkins and start putting pumpkins in a fire.