Yesterday, Zelia and I go shopping at Fairway. I pick up the ingredients for this recipe. I’ve never bought a spaghetti squash before, so I have to ask for help in identifying one. But I find a store clerk who knows his vegetables and I end up with a 3-pound squash. Enough for at least six servings. I envision dinner for two, and then four portion-sized servings for the freezer.
Tonight is Alexander’s last night of break. I decide to surprise him with my new recipe. This morning I bake the squash for an hour to soften it. Later in the day I cut it open, discard the seeds, and rake out the insides. I put the squash in a baking dish and then layer chopped tomatoes and low-fat mozzarella cheese on top, then repeat the layering process again and top with parmigiano cheese. I bake it until it bubbles, just like I’ve been told. It emerges from the oven looking delicious.
Before I serve dinner, Alexander sees the discarded squash and becomes suspicious. “I’m not having that,” he says. He reluctantly admits that it looks good, but adds, “I know that something awful is underneath.” We sit down to eat and he announces, “I’ll just have the garlic bread and salad.” I insist he at least try the main course. He takes a bite and immediately starts gagging. His eyes tear up and he spits the food back onto his plate. “That’s horrible,” he says. I tell him it’s a spaghetti squash lasagna, with emphasis on the spaghetti. “That’s like saying I’m making fish for dinner and then I serve fish-shaped chicken nuggets.” He does have a point.
I eat a small portion and toss the rest.
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