Delicata Squash Salad

September. The light turns. The kabocha arrives. The year begins again, the way years in my kitchen always begin: with squash and rain and the slow transition from cold noodles to hot soup, from salads to simmers, from the open-window cooking of summer to the closed-window cooking of fall. I am an autumn woman. I have always been an autumn woman. The introspection suits me. The gray suits me. The soup suits me.

I made kabocha nimono for the first time this fall — the simmered squash, the ritual, the return. Carol's booth at the farmers market, the first kabocha of the season. I held it in both hands and the weight was familiar and the color was familiar and the smell when I cut it open — vegetal, sweet, earthy — was the smell of every September since I started cooking Fumiko's food. The nimono was good. Not "good for me" — good. The squash was perfect. The dashi ratio was right. The simmering time was exact. Five years of practice. Five years of Fumiko's recipe card guiding my hands. The practice has made it good. The practice always makes it good, eventually.

I enrolled Miya in Saturday Japanese school. She is five. She is not happy about it. She said, "Do I have to?" and I said, "Yes," and she said, "Why?" and I said, "Because Obaachan's recipe cards are in Japanese, and someone in this family needs to read them properly." The explanation is both strategic and true. The strategic part: she will learn Japanese, she will be bilingual, she will carry the language the way I carry the cooking. The true part: Fumiko's recipe cards are in Japanese. Fumiko's handwriting is in Japanese. The inheritance requires the language. The language is the key. The key opens the door to the kitchen that Fumiko left behind, and someone needs to walk through it, and Miya is the someone, and the walking starts on Saturday mornings at nine AM, in a classroom in Northeast Portland, whether she likes it or not.

Miya sulked in the car on the way to the first class. She sulked during the class. She sulked on the way home. She ate her onigiri without sulking, because onigiri transcends mood, and then she said, "The teacher is nice but the chairs are hard," which is a five-year-old's review of an educational institution and also, possibly, a metaphor for life. The teacher is nice. The chairs are hard. You sit in the hard chairs because the teacher is nice and the learning is necessary. Welcome to the Nakamura family, Miya. The chairs are always hard. We sit in them anyway.

Not every squash night is a nimono night — sometimes the dashi isn’t ready, or the afternoon is too short for the slow simmer, or you just need the squash in a bowl rather than in a pot. On those nights, I reach for delicata, which asks very little and gives a great deal, and I make this salad: roasted, sweet, grounded, autumn-tasting in the way that only squash can be. Miya, still sulking about the hard chairs, ate two helpings without complaint. The squash, at least, is non-negotiable — even for five-year-olds.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 medium delicata squash, halved lengthwise, seeded, and sliced into 1/2-inch half-moons
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
5 ounces mixed greens or arugula
1/4 cup dried cranberries
1/4 cup toasted pepitas (pumpkin seeds)
2 ounces crumbled goat cheese or feta
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon honey or maple syrup
1 small shallot, finely minced

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Heat oven to 425°F. Line a large rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.
Season and roast the squash. Toss delicata slices with 1 tablespoon olive oil, salt, and pepper. Spread in a single layer on the prepared baking sheet. Roast for 20–25 minutes, flipping once halfway through, until tender and caramelized at the edges.
Make the dressing. While the squash roasts, whisk together the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil, apple cider vinegar, Dijon mustard, honey, and minced shallot in a small bowl. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Toast the pepitas. In a dry skillet over medium heat, toast the pepitas for 2–3 minutes, stirring frequently, until lightly golden and fragrant. Remove from heat and set aside.
Assemble the salad. Arrange the greens on a large serving platter or divide among individual bowls. Top with the roasted squash, dried cranberries, toasted pepitas, and crumbled cheese.
Dress and serve. Drizzle the dressing over the salad just before serving. Toss gently or serve undressed at the table. Best eaten while the squash is still warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Delicata Squash Salad — The Squash That Shows Up When the Light Turns