Who the H*%& Likes Butternut Squash Soup?
PSL’s nastiest relative makes its annual comeback. Why?
Each year around this time, something happens: WASPy moms everywhere transition from adding zucchini and ‘former cauliflower’ products to everything (zoodles are an abomination and should never, ever ruin another Bolognese — it needs to be said!) — and suddenly, the world is cursed with something even more disgusting: diarrhea soup.
That is what my husband calls butternut squash soup, which, for some reason, keeps getting pushed on us. The more we say we hate it, the more people push it on us (along with all things squash-y and orange), as if our preferences are…not correct.
The truth is, we like a spiced, roasted butternut squash, sprinkled with something savory, like goat or feta cheese. But once you’ve tried a similar recipe with a yam or sweet potato, (or the same one, swapping the potato for the squash) you wonder why you wasted your time with a watery, hard to peel and cut-up squash.
The way most butternut squash soup is made, it’s neither spiced, roasted, nor savory. It’s a watery, fibrous gourd, somehow watered down further, dumped into a bowl unappealingly, and the resulting splash and overflow stains (usually in a white bowl) just remind you of…bathroom stuff.
Moms and Dads of a ‘certain age’ love it. My husband and I wondered if, growing up in the 50’s and 60’s, their moms, hair coiffed and lipstick applied, rang the dinner bell at exactly 5 o’clock (I think they had those)..
Dad had pulled in the driveway at 4 PM (after what he considered a long day at work) had his customary 2 scotches, and wanted a meal that wouldn’t kill his buzz. (He’d had a steak at lunch, to help steady him after the martinis).
Solution: Butternut squash soup!! Mom could stay attractive and slim (her main job), Dad’s scotch kept working, and they could both snicker at the idiot kids, because it looked like they were eating diarrhea from the toilet. (Kids are funny, plus, it’s best that they eat cheap food that we tell ourselves is nutritious). Hopefully, the kids stay thin too, because we all know that having an overweight, unattractive (in any way) family member reflects poorly on your parenting. Hide that shit like nice people do!
Obviously, they grew up feeling as if this was the “real” happy meal, based on the undiluted joy they feel as they place orders for this gross stuff at restaurants from Panera to the most exclusive of establishments, and invite you over for some lunch (with a side of judgment), trying to tempt you by saying “We’ve got some freshly-made butternut squash soup here…”
Although I say this tongue-in-cheek, there is a certain amount of genuine sentiment and nostalgia experienced by Boomers that overrides the actual experience of eating this gross meal.
It seems the joy experienced— a seasonal feeling of “getting back to simpler times” or “eating clean” is pure fantasy, but they really are feeling something. The butternut squash soup you get at most restaurants comes from a bag, like the milk that never goes bad. It’s processed food. Corporate types would never pay individual chefs to create meals in each store. That’s expensive, and the results would not be uniform.
Unless you’re roasting the fresh squash and making the stock from scratch — you’re dumping cans of stock and/or frozen pureed mash into a crockpot or pan — that’s processed food too. Not as processed, but, pretty much similar. I’m not blaming or shaming anyone here. But it’s not back to the garden and farm.
Don’t get me started on the dynamics, politics, racism, wars, almost-wars and sexism of the 50’s, 60’s, and 70's. It wasn’t that fun for everyone. Bad stuff was just hidden better.
Simpler times, as something to get back to, as aspirational as it is unrealistic, and in many ways, is as angering as being pushed into something you’ve repeatedly stated you dislike strongly by an older generation, and for the same reason: it never actually existed, in reality, the way they imagined it, the way they talk about it, and was based on:
- the glorification and benefit of some (who felt they merited it), and who enjoyed it very much,
- the silence of others (who did what they had to, to survive, and guiltily understood they couldn’t really complain because they benefited from an unfair system),
- the ignorance of many, who may or may not have benefited (who were blind, either willfully or because of purposeful, dishonest messaging/culture),
- the people who spoke up and were labeled as troublemakers, trying to rob the rest of their ‘good lives’ and very severely punished,
- the free, low cost labor and subjugation of lots and lots of others, who’d love to be able to turn their nose up at this disgusting soup like I am right here, rather than be grateful to have something warm in their tummies.
As Thanksgiving approaches, and my older relatives openly pine for the days when some magically just “made the holidays happen” and some showed up for the feast and truly felt they’d made it a success (because they’d “paid for it,” and that’s the same, to them, as single-handedly accomplishing something) I think of my mother, with sadness.
Some relatives never understood the hours of work — plain old work — as well as stress, preparation, coordination, fear of judgment and slights from the family collective — which is a hierarchical system, and determined where she and her children fell on the survival map and system of help and reciprocity— where she was judged on housekeeping, child-rearing, her appearance, her children’s appearance, recipes, and gift-giving, along with some intangible “pleasantness” and “womanliness” success rating that resulted in an overall ‘family score’ that lasted a lifetime.
I think about this recession and how apathetic many people are that so many women left the workforce in the pandemic, families that were left in financial distress or are downwardly mobile, and the disrespect to ‘service workers’ — a term I don’t like at all.
I consider how quickly maternal and paternal leave and childcare allowance was shelved, the human infrastructure idea that was met with scorn, environmental impact was shredded to bits, and how most men wouldn’t dare take a paternity leave if it were offered, because they’d be shamed and let go at the next round of layoffs for p-whippedness. (You know that’s the unspoken thing, right? If you really care about your wife, and take her/your infant’s health seriously, you’re some sort of simp).
Thank you, Joe Manchin. Your family got yours, (probably always had it) for you all to be in such a comfortable spot, to have afforded your fancy educations and gotten those unbelievable paying jobs with stock options, paid board positions, a cush job lobbying when you leave, and the like.
Make poor people buy two epi-pens so your daughter can have staff create her simpler times.
Everyone can be a minimalist, when all they need to carry is their name and their wallet. That is simple. Why didn’t I think of that?
I have a recipe I think you’ll love.
