Every August, when the garden starts handing over more squash than a family can politely eat in a week, I get a little adventurous. That is how I ended up standing at my kitchen counter with six fresh patty pan squash, a bottle of root beer, a tin of chicken liver pâté, and a jar of dried mugwort leaves that had been sitting in the pantry longer than I care to admit. I will tell you right now: this was not one of those quiet little supper experiments that turns into a treasured family recipe. This was one of those “well, now we know” afternoons, and sometimes those are just as useful.
I pressure-cooked the squash completely submerged in cold root beer, scattered in whole dried mugwort leaves, and added a generous dollop of pâté where I might normally have used herb butter. I let it go for 55 minutes, which is an eternity for tender summer squash. What happened was part kitchen lesson, part cautionary tale, and part reminder that old-fashioned cooking wisdom usually exists for a reason. If you are curious about the flavor, the texture, the smell, the science of why it went wrong, and whether any piece of it was salvageable, I will walk you through every bit of it.
1. The exact setup I used
I started with about 2 pounds of fresh patty pan squash, all picked that same morning from the garden. They were small to medium, roughly 3 to 4 inches across, still glossy and firm, with pale yellow skins and a few green shoulders. I washed them, trimmed the stems, and left them whole because I wanted to see how they would hold up under pressure.
Into a 6-quart electric pressure cooker, I poured one 12-ounce bottle of cold root beer and enough water to bring the liquid level high enough to fully submerge the squash, about 4 more cups. I added roughly 2 tablespoons of whole dried mugwort leaves and one heaping tablespoon of chicken liver pâté, close to 1 1/2 ounces. I locked the lid, set it to high pressure, and cooked for 55 minutes, followed by a quick release because by then I was too curious to wait.
2. Why I thought this might work
Now, on paper, I can explain my thinking, even if my thinking was flawed. Root beer has sweetness, wintergreen-like spice notes, and a little caramel character. Mugwort has a bitter, herbal, almost medicinal fragrance that in very small amounts can remind me of wild meadow herbs. Chicken liver pâté brings richness, salt, and fat, so I wondered if it might stand in for butter and give the squash some savory body.
In my mind, I was imagining something rustic and unusual, maybe like a sweet-savory braise with a woodland edge. I have cooked vegetables with apple cider, broth, brown butter, bacon drippings, and cream over the years, and many odd combinations can surprise you in a good way. But summer squash is delicate. It does not have the sturdy nature of turnips, carrots, or winter squash, and that was the first mistake in this whole chain of decisions.
3. What happened the moment I opened the cooker
The first thing that met me was the smell. It was sweet in the wrong way, like warm soda left in a car, but layered with an aggressively bitter herbal note and that unmistakable iron-rich liver aroma. None of those smells had blended. They had simply crowded into the same space and argued with one another.
The liquid itself had turned a murky brownish olive color. The pâté had broken apart completely, leaving little greasy streaks and cloudy bits floating through the pot. The mugwort leaves had swollen and drifted everywhere, sticking to the sides of the squash and to the pot insert like wet tea leaves.
4. The texture of the squash after 55 minutes
This was the real disaster. Patty pan squash generally needs only 0 to 2 minutes at high pressure if cut, and perhaps 3 to 5 minutes at the very most if you are trying to keep larger pieces intact. At 55 minutes, these poor things were beyond soft. They had collapsed into themselves.
When I lifted the first squash with a spoon, the skin split immediately. The flesh underneath was waterlogged, pale, and stringy-soft, almost like baby food held together by a thin outer membrane. A paring knife met no resistance at all. If you have ever overboiled zucchini until it turns to mush, imagine that, but sweeter, soggier, and perfumed with root beer and bitter weeds. There was no pleasant bite left in it anywhere.
5. How the root beer affected the flavor
Root beer is not just sweet; it is flavored sweet. Depending on the brand, you are dealing with vanilla notes, sassafras-like spice, wintergreen character, caramel coloring, and a good deal of sugar or corn syrup. In this case, the squash absorbed some sweetness, but not in a clean, welcome way. It did not taste candied. It tasted confused.
The natural mild, green flavor of the squash was smothered. Instead of tasting fresh and buttery, it had a syrupy edge with a strange medicinal finish. Pressure cooking drives liquid into food more aggressively than gentle steaming or roasting, and in 55 minutes there was no chance for subtlety. The root beer became the loudest voice in the room, and not one I wanted at the supper table.
6. What the mugwort contributed
Mugwort is one of those herbs that needs a careful hand. A pinch can be intriguing in certain traditional preparations, but 2 tablespoons of whole dried leaves in a pressure cooker was much too much for a mild vegetable. Under pressure, that bitterness did not soften into anything graceful. It turned the broth sharp, woody, and lingering.
I have known older folks who used mugwort in medicinal teas or tucked small amounts into seasonal dishes, but it was never handled carelessly. Whole leaves also become cumbersome in a wet preparation. They clung to everything, and because the squash had softened so much, every bite picked up little damp leaf fragments. The result was not just bitter; it was texturally unpleasant.
7. Why the chicken liver pâté made matters worse
Butter melts cleanly. Herb butter, especially, gives a vegetable gloss, aroma, and a little richness without fighting it. Chicken liver pâté is dense, earthy, and already a complete flavor statement of its own. It can be lovely on toast, with onion jam, cornichons, or crackers, but it is not a neutral fat.
In the pressure cooker, the pâté dissolved into the liquid and made it muddy. The liver flavor did not coat the squash in any silky way. Instead, it seasoned the liquid with a minerally, faintly metallic depth that clashed with the sweetness of the soda. If I had used even 1 tablespoon of softened butter with parsley, thyme, and black pepper after cooking, I would have had a far gentler result. That swap alone changed the whole direction of the dish, and not for the better.
8. The science of why this failed
Summer squash is made up mostly of water and has delicate cell walls. High-pressure cooking raises the boiling point of water to around 240 degrees Fahrenheit, sometimes a bit higher depending on the cooker. That environment is wonderful for dried beans, tough cuts of meat, and dense root vegetables. It is far too aggressive for tender squash over a 55-minute stretch.
Then there is the liquid. Sugar in the root beer did not protect the squash; it simply flavored the cooking medium. The mugwort introduced bitter compounds, and the pâté contributed emulsified fats and proteins that broke apart in the heat. Instead of a clean cooking liquid, I created a sweet-bitter-savory suspension that penetrated the vegetables while they were physically disintegrating. There was no route to a balanced final texture or flavor.
9. Was any part of it salvageable?
Only in the most stubborn Midwestern sense of the word. I hate waste, and after a lifetime of farm kitchens and lean years, I will at least try to save something before I admit defeat. I strained off the mugwort leaves, scooped out the collapsed squash, and mashed a small portion with a little salt and cider vinegar to see if acidity would perk it up.
It helped just enough to prove the point, but not enough to serve. The mash was still too sweet and too medicinal. I considered thinning it into soup with stock and cream, but the root beer note remained oddly persistent. In the end, the best salvage lesson was not a successful rescue; it was learning exactly when a dish should be let go.
10. The one useful lesson about pressure cook times
If this experiment gave me anything valuable, it is a reminder to respect ingredient timing. For patty pan squash, I would use one of these methods instead: steam on a rack for 2 to 4 minutes under pressure with a quick release, sauté slices in butter for 6 to 8 minutes on the stovetop, or roast halves at 425 degrees Fahrenheit for 20 to 25 minutes.
Those methods preserve some structure. You can still taste the vegetable itself, which ought to be the point. The pressure cooker is not the villain here; the cook time was. Fifty-five minutes is suitable for a pot roast, not for August squash tender enough to slice with a butter knife.
11. What I would do instead with fresh August patty pan squash
When patty pan squash is young and fresh, my favorite treatment is simple. I halve or quarter 2 pounds of squash, toss it with 2 tablespoons olive oil or melted butter, 1 teaspoon kosher salt, 1/2 teaspoon black pepper, and a handful of chopped fresh herbs like dill, parsley, or chives. Then I roast it cut-side down until the edges brown lightly.
If I want something more old-fashioned, I slice it and cook it in a skillet with sweet onion and butter for about 10 minutes, then finish with a spoonful of cream and a dusting of cracker crumbs. That kind of cooking respects what summer squash actually is: tender, mild, and best when paired with flavors that support rather than overpower.
12. Better flavor pairings for squash than root beer, mugwort, and pâté
Squash likes dairy, herbs, alliums, gentle acidity, and a little nuttiness. Think browned butter and sage, lemon and parsley, basil and tomato, cheddar and scallions, or cream with thyme. It also does nicely with corn, bacon, garlic, and toasted breadcrumbs. Those are combinations that have stood the test of time because they build on the vegetable’s sweetness rather than distorting it.
If you want a hint of sweetness, use 1 to 2 teaspoons maple syrup in a glaze with butter and cider vinegar, not a full bottle of soda as the cooking medium. If you want depth, add miso, Parmesan, or a spoonful of stock concentrate, not liver pâté. There is a difference between creativity and chaos, and this pot taught me where that line sits.
13. A word on old kitchen wisdom
My mother and the women before her were not fancy cooks, but they understood proportion and restraint. They knew that a fresh garden vegetable in August is already halfway to delicious before you touch it. Salt it properly, cook it briefly, give it a little fat, and let it shine. That is not boring cooking. That is wise cooking.
I think sometimes we modern home cooks, myself included, can get charmed by the idea of turning every ingredient into a stunt. But the best meals in a rural Midwestern kitchen have always been built on listening to the ingredient. Patty pan squash was never asking to swim in root beer with mugwort and liver spread. It was asking for butter, heat, and maybe a little onion.
14. My honest final verdict
What happened after 55 minutes was total structural collapse, a muddy broth, and a flavor combination I would not repeat for company or for myself. The squash became mushy and waterlogged. The root beer made it oddly sweet and medicinal. The mugwort turned it bitter and leafy. The chicken liver pâté brought a heavy, metallic richness that did nothing kind for the dish.
If you were tempted by this same kind of experiment, let me save you the bottle of soda and the summer produce. Pressure-cook patty pan squash only briefly, and pair it with ingredients that are gentle enough to let it remain recognizable. Not every kitchen adventure becomes supper, but every kitchen failure can still teach you something. This one taught me to trust the August garden and not try to outsmart it.
