You may have noticed I’m a bit late – okay, a lot late – with my Monday blog post. I went to the memorial service for a good friend this morning and then out to lunch with other friends, and we celebrated the friendships we have and the friendship we just lost. Bittersweet moments. Anyway, I wasn’t even going to do a blog today, then I read this from Slim Randles and it made me laugh. I hope it makes you laugh and brightens your day. Enjoy….
We can blame it all on watermelon and pumpkin pie. Both are delicious and American, and both come from gourds. That’s the problem, you see. Cooks all over the world therefore think that other gourds can be made edible, too.
Gourds, for example, like squash.
Squash. One of the English language’s most painful words, along with maim and trauma and rend and okra and Liberace. Why would anyone want to eat something that sounds as though someone sat on it?
The bottom-line truth is, cooks all over the place love a challenge, and they have tried valiantly to turn squash into an edible dish. To do this, they take one tenth of a portion of squash, boil as much of the squashiness as they can out of it, then immerse it in nine-tenths something that tastes good and hope no one will notice. You know, stuff like chile, mutton, edible vegetables, nuclear waste, cottonwood bark and even chocolate. Then, when you can’t taste the squash in it, and most of the slime has settled to the bottom, they smile and say, “How do you like my ‘Squash Canneloni ala Hershey con Brio?”
They even try to fool people who might consider buying squash into thinking it tastes like something else. Something like butter. Or acorns. Or crooked necks. Hey, I’ll take a crooked neck over a squash any day.
Makes you wonder what crime against mankind Mr. Zucchini committed to be forever more squash-damned in the history books.
Let’s face it; squash is an unwanted growth on an otherwise perfectly good vine. It starts with a pretty little blossom that inspires Navajo jewelry and attracts bees. Then it begins its insidious malignancy into something that should probably be surgically removed.
But it’s fall now. Autumn, that time of year when children play in the lazy sunshine and squash vines go belly up. And when we enjoy our pumpkin pie and jack o’lanterns, we’ll smile quietly, knowing we’ll once again be squash free for a few blessed months.
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