Cheesy Tuscan Spaghetti Squash — The Warm Dinner That Gets You Through Day One

He's gone. Monday morning. 0400. The bus left from the battalion parking lot. Wives and families in the pre-dawn dark, some with children, some alone, all of them doing the thing — the smile, the hug, the 'I'll be fine, you'll be fine, we're fine.' The performed okayness that keeps everyone standing. I stood in the parking lot in my pajama pants and one of Ryan's hoodies and I held him and I didn't cry. I did not cry. I will not cry in front of him because if I cry, he carries that — he carries the image of me crying in a parking lot, and I won't do that to him. He needs to go with the image of me smiling, waving, being fine. So I smiled. I waved. I was fine. The bus pulled away. I watched it until it was a speck. Then it was gone. I drove home. Mom was at the kitchen table with coffee. She didn't ask how I was. She didn't say anything. She poured me coffee and sat with me and we drank in silence and the apartment was quiet — the specific quiet of a home that's missing a person, the quiet that has a shape and a weight. At 1800, Mom made dinner. She made it in my kitchen, on my stove, with my cast iron skillet. She made her pot roast — the deployment pot roast, the 'someone is gone and we need something heavy and warm and grounding' pot roast. She made it the way she's made it for thirty years: with soy sauce and red wine and patience. Jen came over. She was quiet too — Eric left on the same bus. Dylan ran around the apartment in blissful ignorance of what deployment means, and the three women sat at the table and ate pot roast and didn't talk about the buses or the bags or the men who were somewhere over the Pacific right now. Mom stayed an extra week. She said she'd stay two weeks but I think she'll stay three. I don't mind. I need her. I need her in the kitchen at 1800 telling me to eat. I need her on the couch at 9 PM when Ryan's phone call doesn't come because he's in transit and can't call. I need her in the morning when the apartment is quiet and the other side of the bed is empty. The first night alone — truly alone, Mom asleep in the spare room — I lay in bed and put my hand on my belly and said, out loud, to no one and to everyone: 'We're fine.' I'm my mother's daughter. We're always fine. The pot roast is in the fridge. Mom is in the spare room. Ryan is somewhere above the ocean. And I am here. In the quiet. Making it through day one.

Mom’s pot roast will always be the deployment dish in this family—it’s hers, and it belongs to that specific grief. But after she left and I was standing in my own kitchen on a Tuesday night trying to figure out how to feed myself something warm that wasn’t cereal, I landed on this Cheesy Tuscan Spaghetti Squash. It’s got that same quality I was reaching for—something that takes a little time, something that smells good while it’s cooking, something that makes the apartment feel less quiet. It won’t replace her pot roast. But it’s mine, and right now, that’s what I need.

Cheesy Tuscan Spaghetti Squash

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 50 min | Total Time: 1 hr 5 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 medium spaghetti squash (about 3 to 4 lbs)
• 2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 can (14 oz) diced tomatoes, drained
• 1/2 cup sun-dried tomatoes in oil, drained and roughly chopped
• 2 cups fresh baby spinach
• 1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
• 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
• Salt and black pepper, to taste
• 1 cup shredded whole-milk mozzarella
• 1/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan
• Fresh basil, for serving

Instructions

1. Roast the squash. Preheat oven to 400°F. Slice spaghetti squash in half lengthwise and scoop out seeds. Brush cut sides with 1 tablespoon olive oil, season generously with salt and pepper, and place cut-side down on a rimmed baking sheet. Roast 40 to 45 minutes, until the flesh is easily pierced with a fork.
2. Build the filling. While the squash roasts, heat remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add garlic and cook 1 minute until fragrant. Add drained diced tomatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, Italian seasoning, and red pepper flakes. Cook 3 to 4 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add spinach and cook 2 minutes more, until wilted. Season with salt and pepper.
3. Shred and combine. Remove squash from the oven and carefully flip halves cut-side up. Use a fork to scrape the flesh into strands, leaving it inside the shell. Spoon the Tuscan filling evenly over the strands in each half and gently stir to combine.
4. Add the cheese and broil. Divide mozzarella and Parmesan evenly over each squash half. Switch oven to broil (high) and broil 3 to 5 minutes, watching closely, until cheese is melted, bubbly, and golden in spots.
5. Serve. Let cool 5 minutes before serving. Top with fresh basil and serve directly from the shell.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 285 | Protein: 13g | Fat: 15g | Carbs: 27g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 530mg