By Sarah Baird
With its rigid-to-knobby, fluorescent-green skin and thick, pear-shaped body, the mirliton has wrapped itself around the hearts of South Louisianians for generations as deftly as it wraps its vines along chainlink fencerows and backyard arbors, becoming the de facto favorite local squash simply by, well, always hanging around on the vine. “Mirliton is a pedestrian vegetable,” laughs Dr. Lance Hill, founder of the Mirliton.org project, which supports education and research about Louisiana’s heirloom mirlitons as well as (among other things) the “mirliton classifieds,” where growers can swap mirliton seeds, seedlings and full-grown plants. It’s more commonly known as “chayote” across Mexico and Central America; using the term “mirliton” is unique to mostly South Louisiana and Haiti. Spotting mirliton hanging willy-nilly everywhere around town has become significantly less common over the past couple of decades, due in large part to environmental challenges (Hurricane Katrina practically wiped out New Orleans’ crop in 2005) and the drum of development (mirlitons don’t grow as well in fill dirt). But with major efforts to bring back local varietals, neighborhood festivals that have the vegetable as their theme (like the over 25-year run of the Bywater Mirliton Festival), and chefs, including John Folse, embracing the ingredient with open arms, the mirliton is now poised to be revered as the kind of ingredient that’s versatile, considerate of other ingredients, and equally adept in high-end cuisine or home cooking. “Mirliton has had a kind of hapless life up until now,” says Hill. “In France, there’s actually a cartoon figure from 40 or 50 years ago called Mr. Mirliton, who’s a real doofus. In Brazil, to call someone a “chocho” [shu-shu], which is their word for mirliton, means you’re insipid, flavorless. That’s a bad rap for the mirliton, because it’s not true. First of all, it’s not flavorless. If it’s flavorless, then you’re going to have to say, ‘Cucumbers have no flavor.’ Mirlitons have plenty of flavor; most dishes just don’t tap into it.”
Hill notes that, both inside and outside of traditional Creole and Cajun preparations, mirliton is often treated as an extender ingredient thanks to its inherent starchiness: meant to make a dish heartier, thicker or meatier (without, obviously, adding the meat). But it doesn’t have to only be that way. Finding fresh ways to cook with unique, local-favorite ingredients provides an avenue toward greater kitchen exploration and — maybe through a little trial and error — some really delicious discoveries. Using the funky, underrated mirliton as an example, here are a few ways to approach cooking with a fruit or vegetable you might not be all that familiar with or one you’d like to know more about — just in time for your discoveries to hit the holiday table.
GET BASIC In order to really cook intuitively with a piece of produce, you have to know the nitty-gritty about it: how to choose a quality version, how to clean it, how to peel it (or if you even need to peel it), how to slice it, what parts are edible and what parts aren’t (never discount roots or leaves!) and, of course, how it tastes. In her book Gumbo Tales: Finding My Place at the New Orleans Table, Sara Roahen describes the flavor of the mirliton elegantly: “A raw mirliton crunches like a potato; it tastes like very green cucumber, and a little like zucchini. Sautéed, it tastes like starchy apples; boiled and fried, its translucent green flesh suggests what a honeydew melon would look, feel, and taste like if honeydew melon were a vegetable.” Intimacy with the foundational details of how to treat a fruit or vegetable will go a long way towards inspiring confidence and will, hopefully, produce better dishes. When it comes to mirlitons, they’re not very fussy. When selecting your produce, look for firm, small mirlitons that have no discoloration or residue on them, and if they have a spiny layer, peel that off prior to cooking if possible. They can be prepared pretty much every which way — baked, fried, sautéed, pickled, puréed, diced up raw in salads like jicama, you name it — either with the tough skin on or off. If you’re peeling it raw, do so under running water, or wash your hands immediately after: They secrete a sticky substance that might aggravate your skin. And if you’re thinking about cooking with your own freshly grown crop of backyard mirlitons, Hill advises to wait a little while and use store-bought ones until the plants are better established. “I have to say right now, with every mirliton we grow, I tell people don’t eat them because they’re babies. You need to plant them and get them growing, but most
2 0 S E P T E M B E R O C TO B E R 20 20
