Butternut Squash Parmesan with Linguine

Kevin called with news: he found a business partner for Bridge City Roasters. A woman named Lisa — a school counselor in Portland who also happens to be a coffee enthusiast and has savings she wants to invest. Kevin said, "She's smart, she's stable, she believes in what I'm building." I asked, "Are you dating?" He said, "No. Business partner." The way he said it — definitive, clear, with the boundary-setting of a sober person who knows the difference between business and personal — made me trust it. Kevin has a business partner. Kevin is building a coffee company. Kevin has been sober for almost two years. The trajectory is so hopeful it makes me nervous, which is the adoptee's response to good news: wait for the crash. But Dr. Yoon says the crash isn't inevitable, and Kevin says the crash isn't inevitable, and maybe the crash isn't inevitable, and maybe Bridge City Roasters will be real, and maybe Kevin will be okay. Actually okay. Not the fake okay.

This week I made a dish I discovered in Korea but never tried before: jjimdak — braised chicken with glass noodles, a specialty from Andong. The chicken pieces are simmered in a sweet soy sauce with potatoes, carrots, onions, and chili peppers, and the glass noodles absorb the sauce until they're dark and chewy and saturated with flavor. It's a one-pot dish, the Korean answer to every "what's for dinner" question, and the result is deeply satisfying — sweet, savory, spicy, with the comfort of braised meat and the textural interest of glass noodles. I ate it thinking about a restaurant in Insadong where Daniel and I had jjimdak on our last night in Seoul, splitting a pot between us, the noodles stretching between our chopsticks as we pulled them from the pot. Korean food is social food. It's meant to be shared. The solo cooking I do in my condo is a necessary adaptation, but the food itself wants a table full of people, and I want a table full of people, and the wanting is getting louder.

Dr. Yoon and I talked about loneliness this week — specifically, the loneliness that returns after a trip that was full of people and connection. I said, "Korea spoiled me. I was surrounded by Korean people for three weeks, and now I'm back to being the only Korean person in most rooms I enter." She said, "The community you found in Korea exists here too. You have Sujin. You have the Korean class. You have the church potluck. The community is here. You just have to keep showing up." She's right. The community is here. It's smaller than the eleven million Koreans in Seoul, but it's here, and it's mine, and I need to keep showing up — to Korean class, to Sujin's dinners, to the potluck, to anywhere Korean people gather and eat and speak and exist.

I showed up. Wednesday night: dinner at Sujin's. She made samgyeopsal and I brought jjimdak. We ate on her living room floor (her dining table is still covered in work documents — this is apparently a permanent condition) and talked about Korea, about food, about the difference between being Korean in America and being Korean in Korea. Sujin said, "You went to Korea and came back more Korean. That's how it works. Korea is a charger." A charger. My Korean battery was running low after twenty-four years in America, and Korea charged it. Now I need to find ways to keep the charge — the food, the language, the community, the cooking. The maintenance of an identity is as important as the building of one.

Saturday: Bellevue. Karen made her fall butternut squash soup. I brought jjimdak. Two comfort foods, two cultures, one table. David ate the jjimdak and said, "The noodles are interesting — they're clear." Yes, Dad. Glass noodles. Made from sweet potato starch. You've eaten them in my japchae for over a year. He said, "Oh, is that what those are?" David Park: eating Korean food for eighteen months and just now connecting the dots between japchae noodles and jjimdak noodles. The man builds airplanes but cannot identify a glass noodle. I love him.

Saturday in Bellevue crystallized something I’ve been circling all week: the food we bring to a table says something about who we’re becoming. I brought jjimdak, Karen made butternut squash soup, and David sat there connecting glass noodle dots eighteen months too late — and it was perfect. This butternut squash parmesan with linguine is the dish that lives in that same space for me now, the place where Korean comfort food and Pacific Northwest fall cooking blur at the edges. Noodles, squash, warmth — it’s the kind of recipe that wants a floor picnic at Sujin’s or a crowded table in Bellevue, but holds up just fine on a Tuesday night when the wanting for community is loud and the cooking has to be enough.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

12 oz linguine
3 cups butternut squash, peeled and cut into 3/4-inch cubes
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 cup reserved pasta water
3/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon fresh sage leaves, thinly sliced (or 1/2 teaspoon dried)
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg

Instructions

Roast the squash. Preheat oven to 425°F. Toss butternut squash cubes with 2 tablespoons olive oil, salt, and pepper on a rimmed baking sheet. Roast for 22–25 minutes, flipping once halfway through, until tender and lightly caramelized at the edges.
Cook the pasta. Bring a large pot of heavily salted water to a boil. Cook linguine according to package directions until al dente. Before draining, reserve 1/2 cup pasta water. Drain and set aside.
Build the sauce. In a large skillet over medium heat, warm the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil and the butter. Add garlic, red pepper flakes, and sage. Cook, stirring frequently, for 1–2 minutes until fragrant and the garlic is just golden — do not let it burn.
Combine. Add the roasted squash to the skillet and toss to coat. Add the drained linguine and pour in 1/4 cup of the reserved pasta water. Toss everything together over medium-low heat, adding more pasta water a tablespoon at a time until a loose, glossy sauce coats the noodles.
Finish with Parmesan. Remove from heat. Add the grated Parmesan and nutmeg, tossing quickly until the cheese melts into the sauce. Taste and adjust salt and pepper.
Serve. Divide among bowls and top with extra Parmesan and a few fresh sage leaves if desired. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Butternut Squash Parmesan with Linguine — Two Comfort Foods, One Table