It’s another food post! Should I just bag the whole I Do Things concept and rename this blog “JD’s Dumbass Emporium of Food and Medical Procedures”? You can get back to me on that.
Anyway, for about a hundred years my mom has been rhapsodizing about the virtues of spaghetti squash. I was skeptical, to say the least. To say the most, I was downright nauseous. I like spaghetti and I like squash but combining the two seemed like an abomination of flavor. How the hell does this:
“You just pull the squash tendrils off and serve it like spaghetti,” she’d say. “WITH SAUCE?” I’d ask incredulously. “Yes! It tastes just like spaghetti.”
How is this possible?
(Spoiler: it’s not.)
But then I saw this at the Pioneer Woman’s site:
Yup. THAT is spaghetti squash. It looks good, doesn’t it?
So I made a deal with my mom. Prepare spaghetti squash with butter and cheese, and I will eat it with a totally open mind and open gullet. Spaghetti Squash Sunday was on the calendar, tho I kept postponing it out of terror.
But finally the day of reckoning came.
I scarfed a PB sammy to coat my stomach.
I also brought along some back-up salad.
My mom did all the work while I watched and made throw-up noises.
BLEEEUUURRRGGGH! We’re supposed to eat THAT? I could feel my mind and my gullet slowly closing.
According to the Pioneer Woman’s recipe, you simply “use two forks to lift the strands out.” (Hacksaw and mallet not shown.)
Surely anything tastes good with a pound of butter and cheese? Surely . . . ???
Thank goodness we have cheery pasta bowls!
Hmmm. That’s a lot of work for a very little squash. Maybe it’s just as well.
You can thank me that there were no more photos after this shot. Otherwise you would’ve seen a normally polite and well-mannered JD practically THROW UP at her mom’s kitchen table, eyes watering, face turning red, napkin fluttering, gag reflex . . . reflexing, GROSS OHMYGODWHY? and barely get that innocent-looking bite of stuff down her totally closed-up gullet, followed by emergency doses of back-up salad.
My mom, to her credit, was not completely disgusted with me. “I’ll put yours in the fridge for later,” she said, as she gamely ate her portion. Well, some of her portion. Mostly she ate back-up salad.
And later she threw it all out.
And so, my friends, the moral is this: Enjoy your squash and enjoy your spaghetti. Just don’t let them have sex and make a spaghetti squash baby. But if you do, make sure you have plenty of back-up salad on hand.
Spaghetti squash came from here
Squashes came from here
Spaghetti came from here