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.