When I was a kid, every Thanksgiving I tried to hide from my mom the fact that my plate was bereft of squash. (Not veggies, mind you, just squash…the nemesis to my 10-year-old self.) My mom didn’t miss a beat though. Before I knew what had happened, she’d have spooned a “no thank you” helping onto my plate that to me felt very much like a “thank you, I loved it so much I think I’ll take seconds”-sized helping.
Now I do love squash and don’t mind a second helping. [Read more…]