In France, the topic of Halloween pumpkins can become more sensitive than village politics.
“Do you mean to tell me,” [M. Farigoule] said, “that pumpkins all over America are massacred, with all that good honest flesh tossed away, simply to provide a primitive decoration?” He took a deep swig of rosé and shook his head. “Do our American friends know what treasures they’re missing? Pumpkin fritters! Pumpkin and apple sauce — so delightful with sausages! Then, bien sûr, there is Toulouse-Lautrec’s sublime gratin of pumpkin.
But Dear M. Farigoule, none of that compares to America's pumpkin pie. (Madison and her mother just baked the best pumpkin pie I've ever eaten. Half a pie and an incredible amount of whipped cream later, I'm in a pretty divine place right now.)