I guess we'd better try to eat this.

I'm not much of a cook. In fact, my foibles are legendary. I have such culinary catastrophes in my past as, Pop-in-Fresh-Cinnamon-Roll-Soup and Tator Tots with French Fries on the side, a dish my two daughters remember...I'd add fondly but that would be a bit too far. I've left a trail of burnt heat and eat foods in my wake. Lately though, I've been trying to figure out some stuff and I think I've managed to redeem in some small way, my tarnished reputation. I have found success in baking bread. Yes, I fell victim to the lockdown rage of bread baking. I came late to the party and it took a long time to acquire the yeast and flour. While I waited, I read a book that explains the science of baking, thus making the whole endeavor more fun than drudge work.

But I digress, back to the story teased by the title. It has to do with those 3 small Turk's turban squash that we grew. We only harvested them because we'd had an overnight near total wipe out of the squash crop. The squash were no longer receiving nutrients because their vines had turned pale yellow over night and shriveled right off the poor squash babies.

They were perched rather decoratively on the counter for a little over a week before I decided to roast them for our dinner. I read up how to do it. Preheat the oven to the correct temp? check, cut and remove seeds? check, brush with olive oil? check and double check. The only deviation from the recipe was to cut them into smaller chunks in hopes of decreasing the cooking time as this was a warm summer evening.  So I popped them in the oven, set the timer to check them at 35 minutes as opposed to the recommended 45 because I'd cut them smaller.

Well, 35 minutes and 45 minutes and an hour came and went and still the little chunks were rock hard. All the while during my fussing, Tom read aloud a book we're sharing. I was following along with the story but growing a little concerned and so at 90 minutes I called it and pulled them out. Upon further inspection, and a deeply furrowed brow, I found that the nuggets of squash were both hard AND liquified. And when I say, "liquified" I do mean just that- not in the way of cooking to a point of softness but more like an anaerobic attack on a cellular level. I then uttered those words that would become an oft repeated refrain..."I guess we'd better try to eat this."

We sat at the table and I was growing ever more averse to actually consuming these confused orange blocks. Tom added butter and salt and dove in. I watched him for a moment before telling him I noticed he was chewing oddly. He was determined to eat the fruit of our labors...I told him he did not need to eat it...in fact, we had a frozen pizza and the oven was still quite warm. Yet still he chewed (and chewed) I then implored him, "I don't want you to get sick!" and then barely a whisper, "you could get diarrhea." [cue sound of fork dropping on plate]

Now, I don't know that for sure but I just had a feeling that it would be better to add them to the compost than our digestive tracts. The pizza was delicious.