Category Archives: Humor

Chef X and Spaghetti Squash Recipe

ffff

Chef X and Spaghetti Squash Recipe

You’re probably heard of spaghetti squash and wondered what everyone was smoking. Let’s face it, the words ‘squash’ and ‘spaghetti’ share no common attributes. Thanks to people with nothing better to do, though, we owe a word of thanks to the people who thought it would be a great idea to make pasta from a gourd. I can’t explain the dark arts behind it – but it works.

Spaghetti Squash, contrary to popular misconception, doesn’t derive its name from the generic name for pasta. It actually was named after an Italian farmer named Guiseppi D’Spagetti. He created a hybrid plant from squash and cucumbers. His efforts were aided by the fact that he lived on the land adjacent to a winery. History has proven that the best cooks invariably drink a heck of a lot. The best people, too, but that’s another story.

As you might have guessed, the part about Guiseppi D’Spagetti’s name is not true. But it’s equally true that cooking spaghetti squash isn’t as complicated as the internet cooking experts would mislead you to believe. Experts make everything complicated in order to be able to maintain their mysterious claims of expertise. It’s also why nothing is spelled like a normal person would spell it. It’s a requirement that we add weird consonants and silent vowels to every food we enjoy. If bumbling fools like me can make this without any fuss, you won’t need to buy a cookbook in order to do the same.

Also, if you’re buying cookbooks, please feel free to do so. Thing new-fangled thing called the internet, however, can supply you with sufficient ideas and option without prying dollars from your purse or clutch.

Just because improper cooking technique can maim you or poison other people is no reason to not give it a try. Many of us drive each day even though everyone knows that we should be forbidden to be near moving machinery much less operating it.

First, go to your local grocer and ask, “Where do you keep the spaghetti squash?” They tend to either place them on glowing pedestals or hide them in obscure and shadowy corners in order to force you to goosestep around all the ridiculous things that adults don’t really need, like floss or air freshener. If your grocer doesn’t offer these squash, don’t ever return there; no one needs that kind of negativity in their lives.

These squash are supposed to be hard. If they’re soft, roll them like bowling balls in the dairy aisle, toward unsuspecting shoppers. They vary in size and weight. In my opinion, they should cost around one dollar a pound. Certainly, you can pay much more. They aren’t prone to shipping damage like so many other vegetables so if retailers gouge us for them, they do so in full recognition of the fact that we’ve lost our collective hipster-food minds.

Preheat your oven to 375-400. The temp is in Fahrenheit, not Kelvin. No need to cause an explosion – unless you’re into that. Don’t worry about precision temperatures. You’re not making a soufflé. Also, if you don’t have a convection oven, stop reading this and visit your local appliance store. Once you’ve installed your new convection oven, feel free to resume reading this. We’re not barbarians, after all. You can use a regular oven of course, but you can play tennis with a stiff armadillo carcass, too, with diminished but hilarious results.

Take a long baking sheet and put aluminum foil on it. (Don’t use a triangular baking sheet. These trigger anyone with OCD.) At risk of offending the parchment paper mafia, don’t fall for anyone recommending that you use a plain baking sheet or paper. Those are the kind of people who wipe off the seat of their restaurant chairs with their bare hands and then use those same fingers to eat. (Because they don’t want to put their derriere on a dirty seat.)

Wash your squash. In the sink. Not the washing machine. Yes, I know they should specify it to indicate “clothes washer.” If you worry a lot about this step, I know a great therapist to help you. You’ll see a lot of reminders about washing the squash. Not from me, though, because I know you’re making this dish with your cat lying directly next to the coffee pot or your kid’s sticky fingers touching every surface in the known universe while you cook.

Next, you need to cut the squash in half, lengthwise. A samurai sword will work, provided you don’t decapitate your spouse while swinging it overhead and downward. You should note that these squash are VERY hard, akin to the hearts of social conservatives. I wouldn’t blame you if you go buy a hacksaw and a new blade specifically to cut yours. If the cuts aren’t perfect, don’t worry too much about that, either. Unless you’ve got great health insurance, be careful cutting the squash. It’s the trickiest part.

Next, scoop out the seeds and loose stuff in the middle. I recommend using an 11″ French Scraping Dragon Spoon. Sorry, I’m kidding again. Use a large, boring tablespoon to scoop each half clean. Your fingers will get really slippery as you do so, reminding you of your elementary schooldays in the wintertime.

Rub a little olive oil on each half of the squash. (The inside, not the husk. This reminder is for anyone who might live in Arkansas or Oklahoma.) Don’t overdo it. As you know, olive oil is highly explosive. Again, I apologize: I need to ensure that you’re reading this carefully.

Place each half upside down on the baking sheet.

Put the pan in the oven for 40 minutes.

If you read other people’s recommendations, you’ll see that they all disagree about the specifics. It’s important to remember that we can’t even agree about the importance of oral hygiene, so don’t get sidetracked by cooking arguments either. You’ll figure out what consistency you like best after cooking these a couple of times.

No matter how big your squash halves are, 40 minutes will be almost perfect. At times, the husk of the squash will darken slightly. If you’re the type who believes in climate change or worries about your socks matching, you can leave the squash in the oven for 45 minutes.

Remove the baking sheet from the oven. Unless you have a walk-in oven.

Using wide tongs or a baking glove, turn the squash over. Some people recommend waiting a bit for them to cool. I disagree. Cooking is supposed to be dangerous. The worst that will happen is that you will accidentally fling the strands into your eyes, thus blinding you permanently. That’s what disability insurance is for so stop worrying so much.

Unless you enjoy screaming in pain, use a heat-resistant glove or tongs to hold each half firmly and while using a standard dinner fork, scrape the inside of the squash in long strokes. The squash fiber will release like long spaghetti. You’ll laugh the first time you see it because there’s something fundamentally wrong about the idea of spaghetti strands coming out of a squash. You can fork each half all the way to the husk. As annoying people are prone to say, “It’s all good.”

They tend to produce more strands than you anticipate. After cooking these a few times, you’ll get to be a good judge of how much each size squash will produce. Before I forget to mention it, spaghetti squash holds up well if you make more than you can eat in one sitting. This is especially true if you sauce it.

I’ve seen where some people make the strands and leave them in the husk, inside a similar-sized bowl to stabilize it. They simple season it or put the sauce and/or toppings directly on the squash halves.

Note: if you like marinara sauces, this is the best way to eat spaghetti squash the first time. If you don’t like marinara sauce, I’m not sure you should be allowed to walk around in polite society. It’s true that tastes are totally subjective, though, which explains why some people exit their respective houses wearing clothing that could best be described as “Cheap Halloween in Nebraska,” but still feel confident about it.

I forgot to mention that this food is very healthy unless you top it with 14 slices of cheese. It is very filling and the texture is reminiscent of vermicelli, another one of those invented words to confuse people who would otherwise simply ask for “very thin spaghetti.”

You can cook Spaghetti Squash in about 15 minutes in an Instant Pot if you are one of those incredible people who are smart enough to have one at home.

This is undoubtedly a craze, one which drives up the price of spaghetti squash. We’ll soon be trading it like bitcoin.

I love spaghetti in almost all forms. I love eating, too. I wouldn’t recommend you try this if it weren’t the effort. If you’ve read all this to this point, I also know that you are a glutton for both food and punishment.

Love, Chef X.

Beware: The Singing Robot

marcela-r-432403-unsplash.jpg

 

Three weekends ago, Dawn and I opted to buy groceries at Walmart. It was a fortuitous trip, as several anecdotes arose from that day.

During our visit, we noticed a few instances of people gawking and talking, though we couldn’t see what the tumult might be. Walmart is one of those places where the mundane morphs into the unexpected at the drop of a mouse-filled hat.

After a few minutes, we watched as a 48″ tall robot rolled toward us. Since no cyborgs jumped out to follow it, we assumed the robot uprising hadn’t yet started. This turned out to be one of the robots doing image inventory as it rolled responsively among the startled shoppers and its directed laser counted and cataloged the million things on the shelves.

I could almost picture an elderly lady seeing it and rapidly fanning her face as she uttered, “Well, I do declare!” with a precariously high-pitched Southern drawl.

I went to another aisle and was inspecting the 573 different types of sauces when I saw the robot smoothly roll down my aisle. Behind it, 3 small Latino children were chasing it animatedly, their excited chatter like Spanish-speaking birds. They jumped in front of it to see if it would stop instead of plastering them on the cold floor, which it did. They were asking it questions as if it might answer them. It was adorable.

As they neared me, I had an inspiration.

In Spanish, I told them that it was a SINGING robot and that if they sang to it, it would reciprocate accordingly and perhaps even answer their questions through song.

Just as I said the words, I look up to see their papa approaching. Since it seemed reasonable to double-down on my lunacy, I told them again to sing to the robot.

The dad smiled from ear to ear and nodded. He said, “Yes, sing to it.”

As they started singing, I couldn’t help but laugh. The dad laughed too, even as he exhorted them to sing more loudly to ensure that the robot might hear their tiny, lovely voices united in the most unlikely place for joy.

I watched for a moment, noting the beauty of their enthusiasm. In that place of commerce and on that day, all of us shared one of those fleeting moments of blissful laughter.
.

No Worse For The Wear (Or Non-Wear)

This is a true story, one which makes me proud. After you read the story, you’ll be proud to know me too.

This evening, as the darker clouds rolled in to meet the deepening sunset on this beautiful day, I stopped at one of the local liquor stores. (Which, for the uninitiated, is a place one might purchase alcoholic beverages.) My wife remained in the car, probably anticipating more antics from me. Plausible deniability is a virtue after so many years of marriage.

As the magical automatic double glass doors slipped open upon my approach, I entered with a smile. Three employees were near the rear left side of the store. All three proclaimed an enthusiastic version of “Hey, how are you?” to greet me.

Per my usual custom of saying something stupid, I used my cliché “Terrible!” as my reply.

The youngest of the three visible employees, a fresh-faced and enthusiastic man, laughed and said, “You don’t look any worse for the wear, though.”

Smiling even deeper and preparing to raise my voice, I half-shouted back: “You should see me NAKED!”

The younger employee stood with a stupefied expression on his face. The wizened veteran at his side burst out laughing as I continued walking.
.

A Brush With a Celebrity

Five years ago, I was visiting Miami. The taxi dropped me on Collins Avenue. There were people everywhere, which shouldn’t have surprised me. Being unfamiliar with the streets, I couldn’t easily find a good eatery. There certainly weren’t any Subway sandwich shops and the thought of how delectable one would be motivated me to keep walking in the heat.

I turned south and found myself in a throng of people, all of whom were slowly moving. Up ahead, I could see a sandwich shop sign above all the people on the street. Twenty minutes later, I entered the crowded shop and felt the air conditioning on my face.

Ahead of me in line, I could see a group of people standing tightly together instead of in the line. A woman was in the center of the entourage. I could see her talking animatedly with her group. As I inched closer, I realized that I recognized her voice: it was Tina Turner and several of her musicians and dancers.

She turned back to the person making the orders. She asked for 4 turkey clubs, a hero, a couple of pastramis on rye, and 5 vegetarian sandwiches. Because the food preparer was probably a little starstruck, Tina had to repeat herself a few times.

The preparer leaned over the sneeze-guard and said something I couldn’t quite hear.

Tina, in frustration, leaned toward the food preparer and shouted, “We don’t need another hero!”

Get Plenty of Fiber?

One morning, I woke up later than normal. I had taken my wife Dawn to the doctor the evening before and we’d then stopped by to see some friends.

I heard an odd thudding from somewhere. Weirdly, Dawn arose earlier than I had.

I followed the sound through the house and looked into the smaller bathroom.

Dawn was kneeling on the bathroom floor next to the toilet, holding a small hammer. The lid to the toilet was raised. As I watched, she swung the small hammer and hit the toilet bowl. Then again and again.

“Stop!” I hollered. “What are you doing?” I thought she might have lost her mind.

Dawn turned her head toward me, obviously aggravated. “The doctor told me to be sure to check for hard stools this morning.”

Dog!

animal-collar-dog-8700

I got a dog last Sunday and on the way home, it jumped out of the car, barking and running fast. Someone passing by yelled, “You need to go to the dentist!” as he slowly drove be me.

“The dentist?” I asked him. “Why?”

Without hesitating, he shouted back, “Cause you’re missing a canine!”

A New Cat

animal-animal-photography-cat-96938.jpg

My neighbor Matt adopted a new cat last Saturday. He’d always had dogs but wanted a cat for his wife. After a few days, he came over and reluctantly asked me to visit and play with it to see if I could determine what was wrong with it.

When I went inside Matt’s house, I could see the cat’s eyes peering at me from under the sofa, hiding as far under it as possible.

“Here, kitty kitty,” I murmured to it. The cat suspiciously poked its head out and then scampered stealthily around the sofa and table to stare at me through slitted eyes. Each time I raised my arm, the cat retreated slightly, watching every movement in the room.

This went on for about five minutes.

Matt asked me, “X, what do you think is wrong with my cat?”

“Nothing,” I replied. “He’s just purranoid.”