28 January 2009

Second Helpings of Eating Simply

I looked at it.  It looked at me.  If it had eyes, I imagine that it would have blinked as if to say "Oh yeah, take me on.  I'm not scared of you!"  The blade in my hand flashed menacingly in the florescent light of the kitchen.  With a deep breath and a final look at my as-yet-unscathed fingers, I attacked the butternut squash sitting on the cutting board.  I tried to cut it lengthwise.  No go, it was too hard.  I tried to poke the tip of my knife (which is actually meant for bread...my chef's knife went mysteriously missing thanks to Evil Roommate from last year) into the middle and push down, working in halves.  Also a disaster, as the metal bent dangerously and visions of playing the cello with half a thumb flashed through my head.  I tried again.  Finally, progress!  I sliced into the squash lengthwise, but blast!  It had outsmarted me again, cutting not in halves but in about a third(ish) of the way.  No good.  

After a long and tedious battle involving a lot of yelling at a vegetable and some samurai moves, I stood in my little apartment kitchen, my hands covered in orangey pulp, and two halves of a butternut squash lying in defeat in my baking pan.  I looked over at Mari in the living room.  She raised her eyebrows at me, "What are you going to do with it now?"  Well, celebrate culinary victory, of course!  I turned on the oven and grabbed my bottle of olive oil, pouring a bit into my cupped hands.  In lieu of using a brush (like I own one), I ended up rubbing the olive oil on the squash's flesh.  "Hey Mari, this actually feels pretty good!  Come over here and rub my squash!"  
She didn't even look up from her computer.  "No, Cindy.  I am not rubbing your squash."  
"Aw come on, it's really cool.  Rub my squash, Mari!"
"I like you, but I don't like you like that.  I'm not rubbing your squash!"
I may have won the Battle of the Butternut, but Mari was unmoved.  

I finished oiling the squash and tossed it in the oven, waiting to pounce on it when it was done with some honey and brown sugar.  Mmmm, eating simply is tasty.  And maybe a little hazardous.


hrobins said...

Cindy, your creative non-fiction writing amazes me. Truly, I am inspired by your blog every time you post and I feel a little sheepish because I tend to mimick you...tee-hee...

Cindy said...

It's okay. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

p.s. we totally should have taken that class together. Maybe in grad school?