Rice-Stuffed Acorn Squash

I have not gone back to the office. I put in for three days of PTO on Wednesday morning and my manager, Priya, approved it without asking why. I have not told anyone at work. I am not ready to put this story into a mouth that will say it to someone else.

Jisoo responded on Wednesday — the agency sent the translation. Her letter was short and careful. She said she had been waiting for me to find her. She said she had thought about me every day. She said she was sorry. She said she wanted to meet me on video when I was ready. She said she had a photo of herself from when she was seventeen that she wanted to send me, if I would like to see it. She said her English was poor and she hoped the agency's translator was capturing her tone.

I asked for the photo. It came on Thursday. She is seventeen, sitting on a bench, looking at the camera without smiling. Her hair is in a short bob. She is thin. She is wearing a cream sweater. Her hands are folded in her lap. Her hands — even in a photo from 1986 — are my hands. The same knuckles. The same thin fingers. The same small nail beds. I sat on the couch holding my laptop and comparing my right hand to her hand and could not breathe.

I sent her a photo of me. A recent one — James had taken it in March, me at the kitchen counter making kimchi, laughing at something he said. I wanted her to see me in a kitchen. I wanted the first image she had of adult me to be me in a kitchen. I think she understood. She wrote back: "The way you are holding your wrist — your grandmother held her wrist that way. My mother."

I have a grandmother. She is dead now, Jisoo wrote. She died in 2009. She never knew I existed. Jisoo had never told her mother. The secret of my existence was carried alone by Jisoo for twenty-eight years. She had no one to hold it with her. She wrote this in a follow-up letter on Friday, apologizing, saying she understood if I was angry that nobody in Korea had known about me. I wrote back: "I am not angry. I am just understanding. Keep telling me."

Dr. Yoon saw me twice this week — a regular Monday session and an extra Thursday session she made room for. On Monday she was clinical, making sure I was eating and sleeping. On Thursday she said, "Stephanie, you are doing this beautifully. The correspondence. The pace. The care. Keep doing it the way you are doing it." I cried for most of the Thursday session. Good crying. The kind that does not hurt on the other side.

James has been a steady warm presence. He has cooked every meal this week because I could not bring myself to cook anything. On Wednesday he made Taiwanese porridge — congee, essentially, rice simmered until it collapses into softness, topped with pickled cucumber and a soft egg. It is the food he ate as a sick kid. I ate three bowls across the week. He never said anything about it except to refill the bowl.

I did not tell my parents this week. I will next week. I need another week to hold this alone. Dr. Yoon said that was allowed.

The recipe is congee — Taiwanese rice porridge, simmered for two hours, topped with whatever is mild. A food for bodies that are processing more than they know. A food for people who have just found their birth mother's hands in an old photograph. A food for people who are still learning the shape of the rest of their lives.

James made the congee that carried me through Wednesday and Thursday, and I know I said the recipe is congee — but when I finally got back into the kitchen on Friday evening, hands steadier, needing to do something with them, I made this instead. Rice-stuffed acorn squash: the rice still at the center, still soft and warm and grounding, but held inside something that required me to use my hands to scoop and season and fill. After a week of sitting on the couch comparing my knuckles to a photograph, I needed to feel my hands doing something ordinary. This is the recipe that brought me back to myself, one small careful spoonful at a time.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 50 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 medium acorn squash, halved lengthwise and seeds removed
1 tablespoon olive oil, plus more for brushing
1/2 teaspoon salt, divided
1/4 teaspoon black pepper, divided
1 cup long-grain white or brown rice, cooked (about 3 cups cooked)
1/2 medium yellow onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/3 cup dried cranberries
1/3 cup chopped pecans or walnuts, lightly toasted
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon maple syrup, plus more for drizzling
1/2 teaspoon dried sage
1/4 teaspoon dried thyme

Instructions

Preheat and prep the squash. Preheat your oven to 400°F (200°C). Brush the cut sides of each acorn squash half with olive oil and season with 1/4 teaspoon salt and 1/8 teaspoon pepper. Place cut-side down on a rimmed baking sheet lined with parchment paper.
Roast the squash. Roast for 30–35 minutes, until the flesh is tender when pierced with a fork. Remove from the oven and carefully flip the halves cut-side up. Set aside while you prepare the filling. Reduce oven temperature to 375°F.
Cook the aromatics. In a medium skillet over medium heat, warm 1 tablespoon olive oil. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5–6 minutes until softened and lightly golden. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more, until fragrant.
Build the filling. Add the butter to the skillet and let it melt. Stir in the cooked rice, dried cranberries, toasted pecans, maple syrup, sage, thyme, and the remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt and 1/8 teaspoon pepper. Stir everything together over low heat for 2 minutes until well combined and warmed through.
Fill and finish. Spoon the rice filling generously into each roasted squash cavity, mounding it slightly. Drizzle a little extra maple syrup over the top of each filled half. Return to the oven and bake for 10–12 minutes, until the tops are just beginning to caramelize.
Serve. Let rest 5 minutes before serving. Serve warm, as a light main or alongside a simple salad.

Nutrition (per serving)

Rice-Stuffed Acorn Squash — A Bowl of Warmth for the Week I Couldn’t Cook