Idiot's Recipe: Acorn Sqash Dessert

Acorn squash is nutritious, delicious, and makes the perfect dessert. Acorn squash is one of my favorite parts of winter. Even if you are an idiot, you can succeed at making an amazing Idiot's Acorn Squash Dessert. Except if you are in Cape Town and no one seems to have it anywhere. Wistfully I share with you my dead-easy recipe, which I have written to emulate how I would have liked recipes to read when I first started cooking:

Idiot's Acorn Squash Dessert (serves 2)
one (1) acorn squash
two lumps of brown sugar
some aluminum foil
some vegetable oil
some butter or else olive oil
a baking sheet

1. Obtain squash from farmer's market, store, or other squash-obtaining location. Pick out a good one. You will know which one to pick for it will call your name. Hold them up to your ear one by one. Do you hear it? If not, find one that is not too light; not too big; and both green and orange in color. Call its name. It will answer. (Note: This may involve an exchange of money, so bring your wallet or other money-conveyance mechanism.)

2. Regard squash quizzically. Marvel at its compact deliciousness. Ponder how it might have been the ball for a very strange ancient sport. Invent this sport. Play this sport. Be careful not to drop the squash -- at least not on the cat. Again.

3. Set your oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit, or 200 Celsius. Choose one. If your oven measures temperature in kelvin, you may be in the science lab; go home and start your cooking there. (Speaking of ovens -- you do have an oven, right? I know, I know -- I did not list it in the ingredients section, so you might not have thought to pick one up at the store. In a pinch, visit a neighbor's house and borrow their oven.)

4. Cut the squash in half. This ordinarily requires the use of a sharp knife and the application of a modicum of force. Take appropriate safety precautions (e.g., safety goggles; chain-mail gloves; and finding someone else to do it).

5. Remove seeds from squash. Place them in a bowl. Blindfold a young cousin. Tell him you are growing alien organs in your spare time for fun and profit. Stick his hand in the bowl. Share the amusement with the entire family.

6. Coat the cleaned squash halves with some vegetable oil. The insides of the squash. The fleshy bit. Not the outside. You do not want to eat that. Okay, fine, I will speak for myself on that one.

7. Place squash halves cut side down on the aluminum foil. Place this foil on your baking sheet. (What is that? You say you do not have a baking sheet? But I listed it in the ingred-- okay, fine, fine. Just triple up on the foil and proceed.) 

[Pro-tip: Aluminum foil may be sold as "aluminium foil" in the UK and former British colonies. Do not be fooled -- it is still aluminum foil. In other countries, you are probably not going to get very far on the squash-buying thing anyway so I will not bother translating those for you.

8. The oven should be hot by now, unless you forgot to turn it on. (If you forgot to turn, repeat step 4. But do not accidentally get so caught up in following the steps that you cut the squash into quarters and perhaps even remove seeds that do not exist.) Put the baking sheet (or triple-layered foil) into the oven.

9. Let things sit for thirty (30) minutes. Take a quick nap during this time (set an alarm!) or prepare the rest of your dinner, which I assume you will be heating up in the microwave.

10. Check on the squash. Do not be scared. It is not that hard to do. Please calm down. I will tell you exactly what to look for. Remove the baking sheet/foil/squash combo from the oven, preferably using oven mitts or a folded towel or a high tolerance for pain. Take a fork (you do have a fork, right? I did not list that in the ingredients section either.) and stick in the squash flesh. If the fork goes all the way through with relative ease, move on to step 11. If not, put the sheet/foil/squash back in the oven. (Alternately, lose your cool and forget the whole thing.)

11. Place squash halves flesh side-up back on the foil/sheet. Put a generous dab of butter (or a tsp or so of olive oil) in each half. Rub it around with your hands to coat the flesh. (Ouch! I should have told you to use a spoon to rub it, but I was feeling vindictive after we went through all the yelling about checking on the squash. I know that is not the right answer. But I have feelings too. Fine. Be angry. I will just wait here while the squash gets cold. Okay then.) 

12. Put a lump of brown sugar in each half. Rub it around -- yes, with a spoon this time -- until it gets melty. (Yes, melty is a technical cooking term. What would you know anyway?!)

13. Place squash back in oven, using the foil and/or baking sheet in the manner that you have used it throughout the recipe. (No, not as a funny hat!) Bake for a few minutes. What is that? How many is a few? A few is a few is a few. Okay, 3.72 minutes exactly. Or else it will explode.

14. Remove from oven. Eat, preferably using a spoon.

15. Recoil in pain because you did not let the squash cool down. Drink cold water while you let the squash cool down.

16. Eat again, this time with great gusto and excessive "yum"-type noise-making.


[ Next time on "Idiot's Recipe": oh, let's just eat out. ]

South African English: Now, Now, NOW

As Nelson Mandela once allegedly said, "if you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart." I am going for the jugular with this week’s South African English post.

  “Now”
Americans often have a knack for being overly precise about time and timeliness, especially in business situations. As every career-advancement-for-dummies book tells you, "if you are early, you are on time; if you are on time, you are late." South Africans have a much different sense of time and timeliness that comes to bear in a bewildering way: "now" does not actually mean "now."

I brought my car into the mechanic the other month. They promised to send a driver to take me to the garage to pick up my car, which proved to be easier said than done:

Mechanic: Our driver is leaving now.

Me: Great. I will go out on the street and wait.

[thirty minutes pass]

 Me: Where is the driver? I have been waiting for some time.

Mechanic: He will be there just now.

Me: You said he was leaving thirty minutes ago?!

Mechanic: He left just now.

[twenty minutes pass]

 Mechanic: The driver got lost and came back to the garage. He is leaving again now now.

The driver has yet to arrive. I have been on foot and bicycle ever since. But I learned valuable lessons about time and urgency.

--

"Now now" conveys urgency. It means “right now at this very moment.” In practice, however, it tells you to lay off the urgency, bru, and that you will get my attention when I please.

Waitron: I will bring the menu now now.

[ Translation: I might come back in 5 minutes. I might not! Only time will tell. I hope you are not particularly hungry. ]

 

"Just now" conveys mild hurry. (For you foodies out there, mild hurry is a type of traditional Cape Malay hurry. It is rich in flavor but not too hot. Takes forever to make though.) It means "in a moment" or "a moment ago." In practice, it tells you to chill out, boss, relax, you can have a seat, I have other things to do.

Friend: I parked the car just now. I will be at the club just now.

[ Translation: I am still at home in my pajamas.]

Settle down, boys. The doctor will be with you just now.

"Now" conveys deliberateness. It means "sometime soon." In practice, it tells you to go take a hike, no, really, do it, you will enjoy the fresh air, I will not be acting any time soon, plus the weather is fickle here in winter so you must enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.

Business colleague: I will call you back now.

[ Translation: You are low on my list of things to do. If I do not get to you in the next hour, I will go on leave for a week, but I will not mention this. You will have to find that out on your own. ]

These grapes will become wine now.

"Later" is not used in practice. If it were, I imagine it would mean "when Hades freezes over." In practice, it would tell you where you can stick it.

Capetonian Acquaintance: I hate to cancel our dinner plans tonight but my goldfish is sick. We must reschedule later. I swear on my mother’s grave.

[ Translation: I do not like you. I never should have agreed to have dinner with you, but I was too polite to turn the invitation down. I would rather sit at home alone. Also, I do not have a goldfish and my mother is alive and well. ]

"Eventually" is also not used in practice, but South African politicians must begin incorporating it in their rhetoric to improve transparency:

Politician: We will stamp out corruption in South Africa eventually. 

[ Translation: Keep up those service delivery protests. ]

I have practiced my South African language on time and timeliness over the past few weeks. I am getting to be quite the professional. Here, look: I made fun of Capetonian standoffishness just now. I will finish writing this blog post now now and will publish it just now. I will read your comments now, think about them later, and respond to them eventually.

South African English: You Must

As George Bernard Shaw (or Oscar Wilde, or Winston Churchill, or perhaps even Martin Luther King, Jr.) never said, the United States and South Africa are two nations divided by an uncommon language. And that language is Xhosa. No, wait, English.

I have had the pleasure to encounter a bevy of delightful South African linguistic quirks in Cape Town, and it would be my pleasure to introduce them to you every week. With only minimal further ado:

-

“You Must”

Locals in Cape Town often implore you to see a good film (usually an American one) or to visit a new restaurant (oddly enough, also usually an American one).

South African Friend, Eagerly: You must visit the Eastern Food Bazaar.

Me: Is it closing down this week?

SAFE: You must try the pizza.

Me: Why the urgency? Why are you ordering me around?!

SAFE: When you go you must get the pizza with lamb mince.

Me: All right, fine! I’ll go and try the flippin' pizza. Just let me be.

After several weeks of being intimidated into particular food, drink, and cultural choices, I discovered that my friends were merely making cordial recommendations. They were deploying “must” where I, Captain America, would venture a meek “should” or “may wish to think about considering the benefits.” “You must try the pizza” simply connoted that the pizza is good.

You may wish to consider getting out of the way of the President's convoy of large, fancy cars.

The excessive “must”-iness appears to come from two places: lack of urgency and frankness.

Lack of Urgency: South Africans in general, and Capetonians in particular, seem to constitute a relatively laid-back lot. There may simply not be anything sufficiently urgent to warrant the use of “must” as an imperative. One shudders to think what happens to things one “should” do here:

• I should respond to your calls and emails? Perhaps tomorrow – or weeks later!
• I should have your car ready this afternoon? I meant next week. We should order a part.
• Government officials should stop funneling public funds to renovate their huge mansions? But those are the benefits of being in government!

Frankness: South Africans have a penchant for frankness. They will cut to the chase and ask you the hard questions (especially when trying to sell you a used car – oy vey!). They criticize Americans for beating around the bush too much and for being too polite. (Americans too polite? Could have fooled me.) So in the unlikely event that there were something sufficiently urgent to warrant the imperative, it would not be sugarcoated with “must” and would be at very high volume, e.g., “Try the pizza tonight or face certain doom!”