IN 1974, I was lucky enough to be awarded a Churchill Fellowship.

It enabled me to take a study tour through the US, UK and South Africa.

These Fellowships are available to anyone and are aimed at bringing to Australia information and knowledge that is limited or unavailable here.

My role was to study methods of organic growing, modern landscaping techniques, adventure playgrounds and the presentation of gardening programs on colour television.

The US was an eye-opener.

While slowly travelling across this extraordinary country I was occasionally invited to stay at the homes of keen organic growers, which suited me because I had little money.

I also discovered the survival values of cheap breakfasts.

In many places a simple breakfast of one egg, a ham rasher and several small, but thick, pancakes dribbled with maple syrup cost about $2.

This kept me going until the following day - although I remained almost constantly hungry.

After two weeks zigzagging across the US, I finished up in a cheap lodging house in a small village somewhere in the Catskill Mountains.

It was there that one of the locals gave me the most delicious meal I have ever eaten.

Someone had arranged for a member of a local organic garden club to escort me around several organic gardens.

When a grey-haired lady called to pick me up she gave me a quick, keen glance, asked me to wait a little longer and drove off. Shortly afterwards she returned and, smilingly, handed me a large brown paper bag.

Inside was an enormous wholemeal roll stuffed with various salad vegetables and slices of cheese, all smothered with mayonnaise. Beside it was a large slab of pumpkin pie.

I didn't hang about. The flavours were amazing, but there was one chilled, crunchy, slightly spicy ingredient that had me puzzled.

She told me it was finely grated black radish grown in her own garden.

As for the pumpkin pie, I unashamedly consumed every crumb in about four big bites.

Later she told me that it wasn't really a pumpkin but a special kind of old-fashioned winter squash, a rare heritage variety called Thelma Sanders sweet potato.

You may recall me raving-on about this winter squash three weeks ago.

After discovering a source of the seeds, I planted several in my own vegetable patch last October.

Within a week or so I'll be harvesting the first of about 200.

Each plant has been remarkably prolific with some spreading almost out of control through my vegetable patch.

The slightly ridged, heart-shaped, cream-coloured fruit are dense, heavy and beautiful to look at.

Why tell you this? Simply because over the years I've been longing to repeat that 1974 experience of an amazing sandwich and a delicious pumpkin pie.

I have even been growing the same black radish, which grows through the coldest winter.

Nero tondo is large, round and jet black. But beneath the thin skin is that unmistakable crisp white spicy flesh.

At last I'll be able to stuff a big, fresh wholemeal roll with lettuce, tomato, thinly sliced red onion, cucumber, beetroot, sharp cheddar cheese and plenty of coarsely grated radish flesh. All of it plastered with mayonnaise.

And, during the meal, I'll be thinking of the generous, insightful lady who was so kind to me 35 years ago.

Afterwards there will be a pudding. You've almost guessed right, it will be pumpkin pie but with a difference.

This one will be based on the original dish created by the first European settlers who became largely dependent on the pumpkins and winter squash grown for thousands of years by Indian tribes.

The top of a sweet potato winter squash will be sliced off and all seeds scooped from the rest.

The cavity will be stuffed with slices of cooking apple, raisins, currants, plums, nuts, spices, brown sugar and maple syrup.

Finally, as much whole milk as possible will be poured in and the lid replaced.

After a long, slow baking all the ingredients should be cooked and totally absorbed.

It can be eaten hot or cold with ice cream.

And I'll be waiting with a large spoon.