Mullis: The un-squashable truth about spaghetti

Thanks to my in-laws’ vegetable garden, this city girl has eaten her share of squash. Cutting, cleaning and cooking squash is miserable, but they are tasty. The only variety I hadn’t tried is spaghetti squash.

My in-laws wax poetic about spaghetti squash. They claim once the unappetizing shell is breached and the contents roasted, you get these long, savory, squash strands that look and taste like pasta. It’s healthier than pasta, has fewer carbs than pasta, and, best of all, “You would never know the difference.”

I’m not so sure.

All squash has a slight pumpkin taste. Topping it with marinara sauce seems gastronomically ill-advised. And since pasta already tastes like pasta, why would I risk my fingers for a pasta substitute?

This year I got to answer that question. My in-laws raised spaghetti squash and gave a couple to me.

My family eats pasta regularly. It’s a cheap and easy dinner. Ever since the darn spaghetti squash arrived, my husband would say, “Next time we have pasta, we should use the spaghetti squash.” Whenever he said this, our kids immediately mimed being sick.

They’re a little squash-phobic.

Recently, I bit the bullet and committed to making spaghetti squash for my husband, which meant I would have to make regular spaghetti for the kids.

I decided to see if there was a difference.

The spaghetti squash required me to research ways to prepare it. The Internet did not agree on how to cook it. Oven times ranged from 300 degrees to 450 degrees. Cooking times ranged from 25 minutes to two hours. Methods ranged from roasting to slow-cooking to steaming. After 45 minutes of clicking, I decided to bake my spaghetti squash at the average temperature of 400 degrees for the average time of an hour.

Next, I had to cut it. Having dealt with other squashes, I knew about the formidable shell. I stabbed the squash a few times and shoved it in the microwave to soften it up for the knife. Usually this works, but not on this thing. It came out hissing and nearly bent my butcher knife when I attempted to cut. It took another 45 minutes to hack it into rings, which the Internet chefs claim were best for roasting.

Once that was done, I had to gut the rings of their seeds and strings and slimy ick, which is why my kids want nothing to do with squash. Ick is acceptable if you are making a terrifying jack-o-lantern, not so much if you are making a tasty supper.

Most Internet gurus agreed my squash strands would be soggy if I didn’t remove some water before roasting, which is why I had to salt the rings and wait for these rock-like things to cry. And did they ever. After 15 minutes I had a puddle on the bottom of my roasting pan. After mopping up the mess, I stuck them in the oven.

Over an hour later, they were fork-tender and lava hot. They smelled like squash, which is to say, cooked pumpkin. This aroma mingled with the scent of marinara sauce in a rather unappetizing way.

Once the squash was cool enough to touch, but not so cool as to be cold, I softened the shell with my hands and then forked out what looked indeed to be spaghetti noodles.

Now, let’s jump sides.

The box noodles cost me a buck. There was one set of fail-safe directions on the box. I boiled water with a pinch of salt. I dumped in the noodles. Nine minutes later they were done.

Could I taste the difference? No.

Was there a difference? Absolutely.

Nicole L.V. Mullis is the author of “A Teacher Named Faith.” Contact her at nlvm.columns@gmail.com.