Sexy Vegan Mama: Whatcha Gonna Do With All That Junk, All That Junk Inside That Pumpkin? Four Different Pumpkin Seed Recipes to Try

The Gonzos carved pumpkins this year for the first time in ages. There were a whole lot of pumpkins goin' on at our place, and that meant a whole lot of pumpkin seeds.

A whole lotta pumpkin seeds

I seem to remember my mom salting and roasting pumpkin seeds when I was a kid, but I pretty much shun salt, unless it's crucial to a recipe. I wanted to do something... different. After an online search, I'd found about a thousand ways to make tamari pumpkin seeds, but all the recipes seemed boring.

You know, The Gonzo Mama is not into boring food.

I ended up making four different flavors of roasted pumpkin seeds, and they all turned out so yummy, the kids want to gut more pumpkins so I can make more. The procedure is the same for all four.

Garlic-Ginger "Tamari" Pumpkin Seeds


Seeds from a pumpkin or two
Enough Bragg's Liquid Aminos* to coat seeds
Garlic powder to taste
Ground ginger to taste


*Note: for all these recipes, I used Bragg's Liquid Aminos, which is a natural, low-sodium alternative to soy sauce, tamari or shoyu. I imagine you can use soy sauce, tamari or shoyu, but I don't know how that will affect cooking times, if at all.


Blend all ingredients well before putting seeds in to marinate.




Curry-Nutmeg "Tamari" Pumpkin Seeds

Seeds from a pumpkin or two

Enough Bragg's Liquid Aminos* to coat seeds

Curry powder to taste (I used the Aunt Rhoda's curry blend from my local natural foods store, but you can use your favorite) 

Ground nutmeg to taste

Blend all ingredients well before putting seeds in to marinate.

Wasabi-"Tamari" Pumpkin Seeds

Seeds from a pumpkin or two

Enough Bragg's Liquid Aminos* to coat seeds

Wasabi powder to taste 

Blend all ingredients well before putting seeds in to marinate.

BBQ Pumpkin Seeds**

Seeds from a pumpkin or two

Enough Bragg's Liquid Aminos* to coat seeds

A teaspoon or more of thick vegan BBQ sauce

Blend all ingredients well before putting seeds in to marinate.

**Note: This particular recipe is very prone to burning. Keep a close eye on it while in the frying pan and oven!

Put the pumpkin seeds in a colander and rinse them, rubbing them between the palms of your hands to remove the little strings of pumpkin funk. As you go, toss the clean seeds onto a plate covered with a paper towel or tea towel to drain.

The eco-Nazis are going to kill me for using paper towels, aren't they?

Use one of the recipes above to make a "marinade" for the seeds in a bowl, and dump the seeds in, making sure each seed gets covered.

Make sure no one gets left out... Everyone needs a good coat!

Preheat oven to 250 degrees.

In a wok or large frying pan, heat a small amount of oil (I used sesame oil, but any cooking oil will work) over medium heat.

Use a fork or slotted spoon to remove seeds from marinade (you want the seeds, not the liquid) and drop them into the heated oil. You'll want to keep the seeds moving so they don't burn. You'll know they're done when they start to puff up and look bloated, sort of like The Gonzo Mama after a soy ice cream binge.

They're starting to bloat like fat little Gonzo Mamas stuffed with soy ice cream.

Carefully remove the seeds from the oil and spread them out on a baking sheet. Put the sheet in the oven and roast the seeds for 10-12 minutes. The time will vary, depending on what you coat the seeds with, so keep your nose alert for the aroma of smoke and check on the seeds often!

Allow the seeds to cool (if you can wait!) and enjoy.

Oh, and may I also insist tossing a handful of these tasty things on top of your salad? Crunchy, spicy goodness!

Tricks of the Trade-Off

Getting what you want from your spouse is easy...
if you know how.
(Photo by Dean's Photography, Everett, WA)

You’ll never hear Mr. Wright speak an unkind word against me. Well, from my point of view, anyway. See, I don’t think it’s unflattering to be described as “wily, calculating and manipulative.” In fact, I think it’s just another way for my husband to acknowledge my brilliant creativity.

After ten years with my beloved, I can say with confidence, I’ve learned the best ways to approach him, given any particular situation.

For example, if I find a dress I love at my favorite boutique, and I know he’ll balk at the price, I simply purchase the dress, along with another, less flattering, more expensive dress. When I get home, I say, “Honey, I bought two dresses today, but I’m going to take one back. Which do you like?”

He’ll check the price tags, and invariably insist I keep the one I originally wanted.

Like most men, he responds positively to any promise of Grown-Up Time at day’s end. If I need something painted, some heavy thing moved, or a major purchase, I know if I suggest there’s an act of physical fun in it for him, it will make the chore much more pleasant for him. You know, a spoonful of sugar and all that.

The real trick is, of course, not to promise anything I don’t have a hankerin’ for in the first place. That way, I don’t make extra work for myself, see?

Take yesterday, for example. After I got the little ones off to school, I spent the day in search of distraction to keep me from housework. It was no easy task, either, considering the amount of work to be done. Anyway, nearing the end of the day, I’d done everything but the housework, and I began to suspect Mr. Wright would notice the mountain of dishes in the sink and the avalanche of laundry spilling out of the utility room and into the hallway.

Mr. Wright is not, by nature, a Noticer of Things. Still, there are some things I can’t sweep under the rug – not that I didn’t try it with the avalanche of laundry.

Anyway, I did what any other wife would do… I took a photo of myself, sans clothing, with my camera phone and sent it to my husband, along with a note saying, “Let this serve as official notice I did absolutely no housework today.”

I didn’t even have to mention Grown-Up Time.

What’s that? You don’t do that every time your husband is headed home from work and you “forgot” to clean his house and cook his supper? Really? Perhaps you should. It worked out smartly for me.

Mr. Wright was awfully happy to do all the dishes and laundry last night. Can you imagine? I figure, after a couple repeat photo sessions, he’ll hire a maid and send me to photography school.

For the poor husbands out there, wondering if Mr. Wright got his Grown-Up Time, don’t fret. He did. I simply can’t resist a man in an apron, mopping my floors.

Gosh, what woman can?

Delta Blues

Nothing satisfies me more than things working out splendidly after they go horribly wrong. Take our recent flight to Baltimore, for example.

Mr. Wright accidentally booked me on a flight precisely 24 hours before his. When he realized his mistake, he tried to rebook through Delta’s call center. We figured if the cost of changing was lower than putting me up in a discount hotel for a night, we’d do it. Sadly, it was not to be so. Mr. Wright loaded my carry-on into the car and set off on what would be the first of two trips to the airport for him.

In the car, I used my netbook to check in online and was virtually assaulted with Delta’s invitations to try “mobile ticketing,” which promised to save all sorts of time at the airport by sending my boarding pass to my smartphone. Always a fan of better living through technology, I decided to try it.

We arrived at the airport early, in spite of my attempts to postpone our arrival with requests for Starbucks stops and just as many for potty stops. Unfamiliar and ill-at-ease with the experience of arriving early for a flight, I decided to burn the calories I’d normally expend racing to my gate in a different manner; I made out with my husband in the backseat of our car.

It was still an hour before my flight when we approached the Delta counter and tried one more time to rebook. Sometimes, those counter people are sympathetic and let you rebook for fifty dollars if you, say, forget your asthma inhaler and have to go home to get it, which is the angle we took. No luck.

“Lemme use your computer. I need to book your room in Baltimore.” Have I mentioned Mr. Wright’s thriftiness? He wasn’t about to give up before he found the absolute, none-lower, rock-bottom, cheapest room. “I’ll give up the limo if you don’t send me to some rat-infested alley motel,” I begged. “And my flight boards in thirty minutes. Hurry up.”

But Mr. Wright did not hurry. That’s how, fifteen minutes before my flight boarded, I found myself as the only person in the security line, and without my sunglasses, which I’d taken off my head in the car before hopping into the backseat.

I can't live without them.

I can’t live without my sunglasses. My eyes are very sensitive to light. Sure, it was the middle of the night, but it would be daylight when I landed, and then what would I do? Mr. Wright hadn’t made good on the envelope of cash to go shopping, and how could I even find a sunglasses store when I’d be blinded by the sun’s harsh glare?

Mr. Wright made record time retrieving them. I had five minutes until my flight boarded, which meant fifteen until they locked the door. I was still the only one in the security line. I could make it. I kissed Mr. Wright and trotted up to the TSA agent and showed him my mobile boarding pass.

Delta failed to mention their mobile ticketing image may not be properly sized on some devices. The image Delta sent me was refused by TSA! I was sent to the Delta counter for paper tickets.

I ran – in my socks (I’d removed my shoes for security) – to Delta, skidding to a halt when I saw not a soul was there. It was two minutes until my flight boarded. I called out and waited for someone to help me, but no one came.

I raced down the escalator to Delta’s baggage claim area, where hoards of people waited in the “lost baggage” office – a ringing endorsement of Delta’s service, to be sure. “TSA won’t take my mobile ticketing, my flight is boarding, I don’t have paper tickets, no one is at the counter upstairs, and I need help!” I cried over the complaints.

One of the women behind the counter glanced at the clock and said, “Yeah. You’re not going to get on. Go sit out there on the baggage carousel and wait for someone.”

Well, I called Mr. Wright and cried and made him come back to yell at those Delta ladies until they rebooked me – without a fee – on his flight. Then, he called Delta’s national customer service and yelled at those people until they gave me 2500 frequent flier miles. After all, it was Delta’s bad mobile ticketing image that made me miss my flight, right? Finally, he was able to cancel the reservation for the Baltimore hotel room, saving enough money to buy me a sandwich.

The moral of the story, of course, is:

Don’t make out with your husband in the airport parking lot if he is thrifty and you have sensitive eyes and you’re trusting Delta’s technology.

Photo source