Wow, there’s nothing like a humor award nomination to suck all the funny out of your writing. Every sentence I type seems to take a sharp left turn into the darkest, most depressing subjects you can possibly imagine. Ain’t that just life for you?
Well, while I’m already crying, let’s talk about squash. We still have too much of it. When that happens, it’s very important to play favorites. At first, I thought my favorite squash was butternut. As the only squash I ever ate, naturally, it was my favorite. Then, I tried delicata. That became my new favorite because peeling it is optional. But, duh, you can roast any kind of squash in the oven and then eat the flesh right out of its skin to avoid peeling it altogether. Which brings me to acorn squash.
MY GOD. The Farmer really outdid himself on the acorn squash, let me tell you. I don’t know what the hell kind of songs he was singing to those plants (trees?), but I can only assume it was James Brown. And I know I’m not supposed to talk about it, because all the wives/husbands of all the farmers across New England have taken out restraining orders against me, but I can’t help it. Jail me if you must.
All I did was cut them in half, scoop out the seeds, turn them cup-side down in a baking dish with about a quarter-inch of water, and roast them in a 375°F oven for, what, 45 minutes? I don’t even know. Until they smelled good. There was no magic involved. I don’t know if it was the squash itself, or the cultured butter with sea salt we slathered in each half, or the wine we were drinking, or my low standards, but that was GOOD squash. Real good. I’m beginning to wonder whether or not I actually hate squash. I guess only time and 45 more posts about it will tell.
Next on my list is to figure out what to do with the gigantic Hubbard squash I have. I’m pretty sure I lack the necessary tools to open it, but I’m anything if not scrappy. A roll down the 26 or so icy, concrete stairs from our house to the car ought to do it. Then, maybe I’ll back the car over it a few times for good measure. But then what?
I specifically picked the smallest Hubbard of the bunch, but you could still stuff a small pig inside it. Hmmm…not a bad idea actually. I wonder if you could improvise a Hawaiian pit-roasted pig by enclosing it within a Hubbard squash and sticking it in the oven for three days? Another surely fabulous idea that just occurred to me would be to stuff it with the 16 other remaining squashes I have. Squash-stuffed squash.
That settles it, then. Party at my house in 6-8 hours.