The Little Pumpkin From Sainsbury's.

I went to Sainsbury’s that day with no plans other than to pick up a few ordinary things. I was not in the mood for anything adventurous. Yet as I passed the vegetable section, something bright caught my eye. It was a small pumpkin, perfectly round and neatly shaped, sitting there like it was waiting to be noticed. The label said Cooking Pumpkin.

It looked friendly in a way. Not the giant ones meant for carving, but a smaller, humbler version. I liked its size immediately. It looked as though it would fit easily into my oven tray without fuss. Its colour was a deep, confident orange, richer than most I had seen. Somewhere in my mind, that colour convinced me it would be sweet. I imagined something close to butternut squash, smooth and full of flavour. I did not overthink it. I placed it in the trolley as if it belonged there all along.

When I got home, I left it on the counter. It brightened the kitchen just by sitting there. The shape was almost perfect, the kind of thing you would see in a painting of an autumn harvest. For a while, I admired it each time I walked past. I told myself I would roast it soon, and that it would be lovely.

When I finally decided to cook it, I took a moment before cutting into it. I had never roasted a pumpkin before. The knife went through with a firm sound, and I was met with a pale, fibrous inside and a web of seeds. It smelled faintly of grass and soil, a clean, quiet scent. I scooped out the seeds, set them aside, and sliced the pumpkin into wedges.

I drizzled oil over them, added salt, some ground black pepper and placed them in the oven. They began to soften and brown at the edges, filling the kitchen with a gentle warmth. It looked promising. I thought it would taste golden and sweet. But when I took the first bite, the surprise arrived. It was bland. Not unpleasant, just missing something. The texture was soft, but the flavour stayed flat no matter how much I wanted it to be otherwise.

I added a bit of butter, a touch of honey, and even some black pepper. None of it helped. The pumpkin remained polite and quiet, like a conversation that never quite finds its rhythm. It looked beautiful on the plate, though, and that saved it from being completely disappointing.

The seeds, on the other hand, were full of character. I had washed and dried them earlier, tossed them in a little salt, and roasted them until they began to pop. When I took them out, they were golden and crisp. The first bite was slightly bitter, but it was a pleasant sort of bitterness, like strong tea. I kept eating them almost without noticing. They were earthy, simple, and far more satisfying than the pumpkin itself.

To give the meal some balance, I made a salad. I used cabbage and carrots for crunch, red and yellow bell peppers for sweetness, and a bit of mayonnaise to bring it together. I added honey and lemon for brightness, and boiled eggs for a touch of comfort. It was colourful and light, everything the pumpkin was not. When I sprinkled the roasted seeds over the top, the flavours suddenly worked together. Their saltiness met the sweetness of the honey, and their crunch lifted the whole thing. The salad became cheerful and complete.

I finished the meal slowly. The pumpkin stayed mostly on the side of the plate, looking hopeful but tasting the same. Still, I felt no regret about buying it. It had been a small experiment, a simple lesson wrapped in orange skin. It reminded me that appearances are not the same as flavour and that colour can be misleading.

Afterwards, as I washed the dishes, I thought about that small pumpkin sitting in its place at Sainsbury’s. It had stood out because it was different, smaller and more vivid than the rest. It had looked so full of promise, and even though it did not live up to it, I was glad I had given it a chance.

The seeds, at least, will return to my kitchen. I can already imagine them sprinkled on soups or salads, or just roasted with a bit of salt and eaten warm. The pumpkin itself, I might leave for someone else to discover. Perhaps they will find something in it that I did not. For me, it will always be remembered as the little orange surprise that looked sweeter than it was, and still managed to make an ordinary evening feel like a small adventure.