Italian Spaghetti Squash

December and the news says the vaccine is coming — not here yet, not in my arm yet, but coming, which is a word I have not allowed myself to feel for nine months but which I am now feeling cautiously, the way you feel a bruise to see if it still hurts: carefully, experimentally, not trusting the good news entirely because good news has been unreliable this year. But coming. David, the doctor, says it's real. David says it works. David says I will be eligible early because of my age and because I am a teacher and because Marvin is a vulnerable person in my household, and all of these qualifications for early vaccination are qualifications I would rather not possess, but I will take the needle if the needle means I can hold my grandchildren again. I will take any needle for that.

Hanukkah begins on Thursday — December 10th this year — and I have purchased the candles and the potatoes and the oil and the sour cream and the applesauce, and I will light the menorah and make the latkes and say the blessings and the house will smell of oil and potatoes and the particular warmth of a holiday that celebrates light in the darkest part of the year, which is what Hanukkah has always been about and what it is especially about this year: the light lasts. The oil that was supposed to burn for one day burned for eight. The miracle is persistence. The miracle is the refusal to go dark. I have enough oil. I have enough potatoes. I have enough persistence. Let the light begin.

I made a carrot soup — pureed carrot with ginger and orange, bright and golden, the color of optimism if optimism had a color, and this week I am allowing myself optimism, just a little, just enough to flavor the soup, not enough to choke on if the optimism turns out to be premature. The soup was good. The vaccine is coming. The menorah is on the table. December is here. We begin.

That carrot soup was golden and bright and just enough — just enough optimism, just enough warmth — and once I had that color in the kitchen I did not want to let it go. Spaghetti squash has always been one of my reliable winter standbys, and when you roast it properly it comes out the same shade of amber and hope as that soup, which felt right for a week when I was allowing myself, carefully, to feel something like forward motion. This is the dish I make when I want the table to look like it believes in something.

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

Ingredients

1 medium spaghetti squash (about 3 lbs)
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
1/2 cup sliced black olives
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
Salt and black pepper to taste
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, torn
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Heat oven to 375°F. Line a baking sheet with foil. Cut the spaghetti squash in half lengthwise and scoop out the seeds. Brush the cut sides with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil and season with salt and pepper.
Roast the squash. Place squash halves cut-side down on the prepared baking sheet. Roast for 40–45 minutes, until the flesh is easily pierced with a fork and the strands separate readily.
Make the sauce. While the squash roasts, heat the remaining tablespoon of olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook, stirring, for 1 minute until fragrant. Add the diced tomatoes, olives, oregano, and red pepper flakes. Simmer uncovered for 10–12 minutes, until slightly thickened. Season with salt and pepper.
Shred the squash. Remove squash from the oven and let cool for 5 minutes. Using a fork, scrape the flesh into long strands directly in the shell, or transfer to a serving dish.
Combine and finish. Spoon the tomato sauce over the squash strands and toss gently to coat. Top with torn basil and grated Parmesan. Serve immediately, directly from the shell or plated.

Nutrition (per serving)

Italian Spaghetti Squash — A Golden Bowl for the Darkest Month