Farm to Table will be a weekly Cork & Knife feature in which one Washingtonian figures out what the heck to do with local and seasonal ingredients in a kitchen the size of a shoe box.

Remember peaches?  Or corn on the cob?  I seem to recall eating so many tomatoes last summer that I actually grew tired of them, even though now I long for one of those perfect August heirlooms, with nothing but a sprinkling of salt.  Spring fruits are almost completely forgotten by now.  Preserves and pickles are the only evidence left that my kitchen has ever seen a strawberry or a stalk of asparagus.

January is a tough time for those of us who try to eat fresh, local and seasonal.

I hardly missed the fresh produce in December, I was so busy eating ham, stuffing and cookies.  When January rolls around, I try to lighten my diet a bit, but fresh fruits and vegetables are hard to come by.  At the Dupont Circle farmers market, I'm confronted with whites, beiges, and a few dark greens.  This is the time of year when we make do with potatoes, carrots, and squash.  Lots and lots of squash. 

Luckily, squash is hearty and versatile.  It can be roasted, baked or boiled, its sweet flesh enhanced with butter and brown sugar, or played against with spicy peppers. When its seeds are scooped out, it becomes a perfect cup for stuffing, or its flesh can be mashed with salted butter, or pureed and sweetened into pie. Although I find myself longing for those far off cherries, I find squash to be a fine place holder, adaptable enough to get me over this hump of winter until I see reds and pale greens at the market once more. (Which is a good thing, because winter took a turn for the colder this weekend, and who knows when those asparagus will ever be able to make it out of the ground.)

I spent only about 15 minutes this Sunday at the market before it got so cold I had to turn back.  Any lettuces were stored in cases, away from the elements, before the delicate leaves could freeze.  The vendors were all bundled up, noses running, and troubled at the thought of spending three hours exposed to below-freezing winds.  I didn't have the luxury of lingering at the market, touching and pinching and smelling and chatting.  For $7 I picked out a fine, heavy buttercup squash and headed home through the icy wind with only one thought: soup.

By the way, I do mean buttercup, not butternut.  A buttercup squash is a round, squat, and ridged winter squash, with a dark green skin and bright orange flesh.  Its flesh is similar in taste and texture to its cousins the pumpkin, the butternut and the ambercup. 

Sure, we've all had squash soup. But when the weather is this nasty, I can think of nothing more comforting. Plus, with the addition of bacon, black beans, and fresh apple, this one is a bit different than the overly sweet squash soups you may be used to.  The bacon gives a smoky-salty base, the sage adds a dusty, earthy element, the apple adds a crunchy sweetness, and the beans add some texture.  The protein in the beans also make it a nutritionally complete meal, perfect for tucking into when the weather is so cold you simply never want to leave the couch by the fireplace.

Buttercup Soup with Black Beans

Makes 6 servings.  Takes 2 hours, 1.5 of which are not active

1 buttercup squash, about 4 lbs (you could use butternut, acorn, ambercup or any other winter squash, or even pumpkin puree in a can)
3 strips of thick-cut bacon, cut into 1/4 inch strips, width-wise (I used black forest bacon, which is a dry rubbed with brown sugar and honey, but any bacon would do)
2 large shallots, diced small (1/2 cup)
1 Tbsp fresh sage, cut in thin strips, plus more for garnish
2 cups of stock, or more if you prefer a thinner soup
1/2 tsp salt, plus more to taste
1/2 yellow apple, cored and diced
1 can of black beans, drained and rinsed
Sour cream, for garnish (optional)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Split squash in half, scoop out the seeds, cover in foil, place on a baking sheet and bake until the flesh is soft enough to run a knife through it easily.  In my case, it took an hour and a half, but in my experience, you can't really overcook a squash, as the flesh just gets sweeter the longer it stays in the oven.  Remove the squash from the oven, and set aside to cool.

Put the bacon in a soup pot over medium low heat, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes.  You want the fat to render out of the bacon, not for the bacon to get crispy.  Remove the bacon with a slotted spoon and set aside.

Add the shallots to the bacon grease, and stir over medium low heat until they get soft and translucent, but not browned, about five minutes.  Add the sage to the shallots, and cook for another minute or two.  At this point, the smell of shallots, sage and bacon permeating your house will be unbearably good.

Keeping your pot on medium low heat, add back the bacon, then scoop the flesh of your squash into the pot.  I got four cups of squash out of mine.  Add the stock and stir.  If it is too thick, add more stock until it is the consistency you want.  I kept mine pretty thick though.  Add the salt.

Using an immersion blender, or by transferring the soup in batches to a regular blender, blend your soup.  Something magical happens to the bacon and your soup will take on a whole new dimension of flavoring.

Return the soup to the pot if using a regular blender.  Add the beans and the apple, turn the heat to medium, and cover.  Heat the soup through, taste for seasoning, and add more salt to taste. 

To serve, garnish with a dollop of sour cream and some chopped sage.

Enjoy with a hunk of baguette, some wine, and a fireplace.

Francoise Galleto is a political consultant by day, a chocolate maker by weekend and a writer who keeps an online journal about life in Washington, D.C. Raised in the Bay Area, Galleto was spoiled with authentic dim sum, wines from Sonoma, really good burritos and no shortage of avocados. She is an avid home cook and reader of all things food-related, and a passionate eater. You can find her on the Hill, at the Dupont Circle farmer's market or making chocolates (www.thecocoagallery.com).