The Day the Squash Exploded

The Universe decided it was time for yet another domestic fiasco in the Duggan household.

You may recall that I set some quesadillas on fire a couple of years ago. In the blog post about that #adulting experience, I wrote:

"I should probably add ovens to the growing list of things I'm not supposed to touch, along with power tools, serrated knives, and open tuna cans."

And microwaves.

I had this really cute patty pan squash from the community garden, but I had issues slicing it while it was raw. So, like all of the kitchen divas I read about in my cooking magazines, I decided to soften it up in the microwave.

I checked the squash after nuking it a couple of minutes, but it was too tough. I microwaved it a little while longer. The squash was slightly tender but, in my opinion, still required unnecessary effort.

"A few minutes more, and it will cut smooth like butter, like butter, baby, like butter, like butter, baby . . . " I said, dancing around the kitchen, channeling my inner A Tribe Called Quest.

All of a sudden, an explosive pop erupted from the kitchen.

My husband, Dan, tiptoed into the room. Upon hearing me swear and seeing the mess of squash seeds and stringy innards dangling from the microwave oven, he announced he was going outside to do some yard work.

Side note: That is the quickest Dan has ever gotten around to mowing the lawn.

I guess it wasn't that big of a deal. I mean, I had to clean out the microwave in a major way.

And it's above the stove and oven, so I had to stand on a stool to reach it. That was a pain.

The squash was pretty much unusable. I ended up composting it.

I was stepping on seeds forever.

On Monday, I am making butternut squash soup in slow cooker. This time, Dan cut up the squash.

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