Can I confess?

Confession is good for the soul or so Brenda Leigh says on The Closer…and being connected to that show through my lover’s career I MUST and certainly DO agree…so I will confess…I’m an addict.
I’m addicted to butternut squash.
Who knows when the addiction actually started…an addict forgets everything except the current fix, the anticipation, the desperate attempts at procuring the substance that makes their eyes roll back into their addled heads.  Perhaps it’s genetic.  Both my parents love it, my father even eats turnip…:( which I’ve never been a fan of but every Thanksgiving there it was and he was inevitably the ONLY one who ate it.  But next to that bowl of blah was the gorgeous butternut squash, the orange color practically knocking the turnip on its head in sheer color alone.
This makes me think of the upcoming movie Burlesque…if there is anyone out there who does NOT think Cher will knock Xtina off the table please reexamine your rhinestones and break out a copy of Dark Lady and think again.  I’m not saying Xtina IS a turnip…but…
Addicts often jump around, lose their train of thought and even use distraction techniques to sway one from looking at the real problem.
I just ate a bowl of butternut squash for breakfast. I am actually considering another helping.  I will resist if only to continue writing in sheer honor of self discipline and control.
I got two medium size squash in my CSA box last week and they sat staring out of my fridge for about a week before I could even consider cooking them.  Believe me there is nothing more I would rather do then stay home and roast vegetables all day but alas they sat and I let other menial things like LIFE get in the way.  That’s not to say that I did not look up recipes, how-to’s, and videos all week in anticipation of finally doing the deed.
Because I did.
There were videos on how to cut them, roast them, bake them, peel them and all were helpful as I am the type of cook that no matter how many times I do something I always feel the need to make sure I am doing it correctly, especially when it comes to cutting an odd shaped vegetable like butternut squash.
You cannot even begin to know how long it took me to actually break down and cut and prepare the huge, white pattypan squashes that haunted my CSA boxes all last summer.  I swear the squash actually stalked me! But that’s another story.
It was in the middle of a rather hectic day when I decided to roast the squash and whipped the dish together in a matter of seconds, I’m still not entirely sure a magic wand was not employed.
I split the squash with what I call my “Fatal Attraction” knife because every time I pick it up I am reminded of the final scene where Glenn Close is standing behind Anne Archer in the bathroom mirror.
I did NOT act out the scene with the doomed cucurbita moschata’s resting just next to the sink faucet.  But I did split them right down the middle and in a wild not entirely un-Glenn Close manner split them again so there were 8 wedges of squash when the massacre was over.  I’m not a fan of scooping out the guts of a squash.  I hate the smell of the inside of a pumpkin and even more the scraping sound of spoon against shell but us writer types are sensitive to that kind of thing and it has come up more then once in my writing.
I am fascinated by the act of reading fruits and vegetables for consumption.  I find something slightly erotic about pushing ones thumps through the pulpy depths of a papaya to remove the shining black seeds, the splitting of a peach, the wet thwack of a knife cutting through the tender flesh of a melon, even coring an apple has some sort of satisfaction to be had and is there anything sexier then the pomegranate?  I have NO doubt that it was this fruit and not the apple that was used by that serpent in the garden…who wouldn’t be tempted?
The squash is ready and I have wisely gathered my weapons of choice.  Cinnamon, nutmeg, butter are all ready and at the willing.  I spray a little cooking spray on the bottom of a heavy stoneware casserole dish and lay the 8 pieces next to one another and then it begins…
I believe you can tell if someone is a good lover by the way they eat.  I guess this could also be said to be true by the way one cooks.  I begin by rubbing each piece of squash generously with butter (Ok I admit I use a butter spread…Smart Balance.. but who can really afford to douse everything with butter? And frankly I like the taste.) I add an extra dab of spread to the shallow bowl part of the wedge just in case it needs extra love which it most certainly does!  I then pop open the cinnamon and sprinkle each piece with just enough to make the tender orange flesh take on an slightly mulatto appearance and then add the nutmeg with a gentle hand, a smidge on each just to cut through the sweet complex smoke of cinnamon.
Then I add the final ingredient…brown sugar.  Why not?  I know that when it melts and combines with the buttery spread, the cinnamon and nutmeg it is going to make an almost caramel like syrup that I will do everything except bath in and that is NOT completely out of the question either.  So on it goes..do this to taste.  I have faith in your abilities as kitchen alchemists to distinguish how sweet you like things and honestly I’m not sure you could really add too little or too much because you could certainly add more later if needed.
So the darlings are ready to meet the fiery depths of hell and being a completely unfair junky I commit the squash to hellfire with little more then a nod and a wink.  I bake them for about 20-25 minutes with a tent of foil over them at about 400 degrees (preheat your oven) and if at 20 minutes they are not fork tender leave them a little longer (cit side up please!)
I have thoughts of grandeur (oh I’ll make a soup, I’ll make ravioli) But the addict in me knows better.  I’ll eat them just as they are and scrape the candied goodness off the bottom of the dish with the edge of a spoon and douse the already sweet tender flesh with even more buttery sweet g.
The squash came out amazing, succulent, yummy, great, you fill in the appropriate adjective.  I barely wait until they are cool (if Im being honest I didnt wait but a minute) and I scoop the tender flesh from the now almost paper thin skin and did I add more butter?  Yes!  Did I scrape the aforementioned sweet caramel cinnamon scented goodies off the bottom of the dish and spoon it over the squash?  YES!
I admit it I have a problem.
And isn’t admitting your addictions half the battle?
Vitamin C, Fiber, Magnesium and Vitamin A are all inside so why not eat a bowl for breakfast? Lunch? Snack?




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