In the days before I was acquainted with winter squashes, their bin looked like a formidable landscape of oranges and greens. I had no idea which ones to grab or what to do with them once I was home.

Eventually, I schooled myself in the ways of these colorful nutrient bombs, making dishes such as creamy butternut squash soup and broiled acorn squash with butter. I also learned that Delicata squashes are — as their name suggests — the most tender and delicious of all (at least to me) and that you can eat their thin skins, a definite draw.

Delicatas are like autumnal zebras of squash, with long, forest-green stripes on an oblong yellow body. Slice into one, and you'll find soft, pale-orange flesh. Like their cousins, they're hard to ruin — you can fry them, roast them, grill them, boil them or even bash them with a mallet. They'll still beguile you with their subtly sweet flavor — and probably get gooey and caramelized in the process.

21 Essex Way, Essex, 878-7231

In the spirit of the Vermont International Film Festival, which continues all this week, I thought it only appropriate to grab some big-screen eats.

Sure, I could have feasted on popcorn and candy anywhere, but at the Essex Cinemas, the selections are, well, a little more substantial.

Club Take 2 opened in the theater this summer with an ambitious menu that included house-cured charcuterie. It's been toned down to better appeal to the football fans who poured in last night to watch the game on the 20-foot theater screen in a side room of the restaurant. Still, the offerings are more sophisticated than one might expect and, even if you sit at a table in the dining room, just outside the large theater, you can start with popcorn.

After that, it was hard to choose. Sophisticated local-cheese plate with housemade preserves? Pan-seared salmon over penne? Nope, I opted to start simply, with the chicken tenders.

Last month, a fire damaged Ploughgate Creamery in Albany, Vt., bringing cheese production to a halt. Among the (dairy) casualties were creamy Elmore, the silky Willoughby and Hartwell, a bloomy rind Camembert-style cheese made from organic Ayrshire cow milk that has melted many a cheeselover's heart.

But there's still a tiny amount of it left, and it's in Waterbury.

At the time of the fire, Ploughgate owner and cheesemaker Marisa Mauro wrote that she was "not sure of the next step." For now, Mauro is using her acumen to do the cheese buying at the brand-new Cork Wine Bar & Market, in the middle of Waterbury Village. 

So, it makes sense that inside Cork's cooler are the last wheels of Hartwell, the buttery cheese that won a blue ribbon at last year's American Cheese Society Conference and that tastes subtly of wet earth. Sliced atop hearty Jan's Farmhouse Crisps — crackers made with flax, pistachios, cranberries and pumpkin seeds in Stowe — it's a purely local, and fall-like, snack, as fleeting as turning leaves. 

370 Shelburne Rd., Burlington, 802-652-9828

There are things that you eat because they're good for you and will make you feel good. Then there are meals that you know your body will regret, but the delicious memories will live on, even as you're walking into the light. Union Jack's, in the same Burlington shopping center as Waterfront Video, has both options. But who are you kidding? You want the latter and so do I.

That is why, when you go to Union Jack's, you will order the fish and chips (right). The haddock is meaty, but tender and flaky, with nary a hint of fishy taste. The batter is a crispy cloud of greasy beer flavor.

The slab of fish sits atop enough chubby, crunchy little fries to feed at least two people. All of it is wonderful dipped into the malt vinegar you'll find in bottles, along with ketchup, by the drink fountain. Even better, order the curry sauce.

Last night was my first time doing so. The slightly creamy, tomato-based sauce was clearly based on Indian curries. When paired with the fried fish and chips, though, it became a glorious substitute for my favorite Japanese fried pork chop with curry sauce. Heavenly.

The parking lot of my local Shaw's is swimming in rose hip bushes. All summer, I watched as their papery pink blossoms hardened into tiny fruits that ripened to deep, satisfying red. Each orb packs a zingy, almost tropical flavor, and I've wanted to gather them by the bushel.  

But I haven't, because lord knows what they've been sprayed with. Fortunately, rose hips are not hard to find — they grow all over the place. Their fruits also get softer and sweeter just after the first frost, so now is the time to spring if you want to subjugate them into some kind of edible morsel.

When wresting rose hips from their mother shrub, however, it helps to be masochistic — the bush's thorns can find and prick your tenderest parts. Leather gloves can reduce the carnage. Or, you can use a convoluted system of pulling down high branches with tongs to gingerly pluck the fruit off by hand, as I did. 

Why are rose hips worth the bloodshed? Because they're tangy and slightly sweet. Because they're packed with vitamin C, and because they probably grow within a stone's throw of where you sit. Tea, syrups, jams... you can use rose hips for all of them. The Swedes even make a soup from rose hips called nyponsoppa.

38 Park Street, Essex Junction 802-871-5399

The phone number at Cool Runnings doesn't work and the only table is covered with the staff's belongings. On the shelves, there are boxes of Spanish fly and condoms that advertise genital numbing properties. So this isn't exactly the Kitchen Table Bistro. Get over it.

I took a few sips of my Cola Lacaye banana soda, which tasted exactly how one might imagine banana soda would taste. Think banana Laffy Taffy melted down and carbonated. It's just one of many quirky sodas, energy drinks and juices that the Jamaican store and restaurant in Essex carries in its coolers, which are decorated with stickers of Bob Marley, spliff firmly in mouth.

The eight-item menu is written on a white board attached to an O'Douls clock with the incorrect time. Curried fish, brown stew chicken and saltfish with ackee are all listed sans prices, but I felt secure that I wouldn't be breaking the bank. I ordered my dinner, then waited while the owner prepared the food at a small stove just behind the counter.

While he cooked, I amused myself perusing the shelves of the store. Amid wall hangings depicting Haile Selassie, there were many Jamaican food products I've never seen outside big cities, including several brands of canned ackee, which was illegal in the United States until 2005 (fresh ackee still is). The vegetable, related to the lychee, is cooked and served like scrambled eggs. The plant has only one edible part, which must be properly cleaned and boiled to eliminate poisons.

1205 Airport Pkwy., South Burlington, 802-862-7888

Remember those radio ads in which a man with an obviously fake southern accent declared Pizza Putt's offerings, "the best pizza in town?" I'd always been curious about the family-fun center's eponymous pies, but never gathered the, er, balls to try it until last night.

Once seated, we were handed the rules for all-you-can-eat Monday nights. Apparently, we'd lucked out. Each Monday, diners can gorge on all the large half-cheese-half-pepperoni pies they can force down their gullets for $4 a person. It starts at 5 p.m. and ends at 9 p.m., so theoretically, that's a lot of pizza.

We elected to try the deal, though I was awfully curious about the "Cajun Egyptian" pizza, named for the facility's pyramid mini-golf hole and... something Cajun, which could only have been the blackened chicken on top. For a more diverse experience, we ordered a few extras, too. 

The pizza wasn't half bad. The thin, crisp crust was better than the stuff you get at plenty of Burlington-area favorites. I often complain that local pizzerias skimp on sauce, but it was ample on this pie. The tomato purée was garlicky and dotted with clumps of dried oregano. The cheese, according to the menu, was "Vermont whole-milk mozzarella." It was salty and gooey, as one would hope, though my blotting napkins got a healthy workout.