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Butternut Squash Mac and Cheese — The Bridge Between Winter and What Comes Next

February is ending and I survived it, again. The anniversary passed, the nightmares came and went, the sertraline held, the therapy held, the boundaries held. Jason held — quietly, steadily, the way he said he would. He showed up with pizza and silence and his hand on my knee and the specific non-invasive presence of a man who has been trained to assess and respond without asking unnecessary questions. I am grateful for him in a way that I express through cooking and he understands through eating and neither of us has said "I love you" yet because we are two people who work in emergencies and are cautious about declarations.

I made ginataang kalabasa — squash in coconut milk — because it's March and the transition from winter cooking to spring cooking requires a bridge, and coconut milk is always the bridge. Butternut squash, cubed, simmered in coconut milk with shrimp and string beans, the coconut becoming sauce and the squash becoming soft and sweet and the shrimp adding their briny depth. It's a weeknight dish, quick, the kind of meal that exists because the fridge has squash and the pantry has coconut milk and the cook has thirty minutes between arriving home and needing to eat.

The blog continues. Two posts this month: the February cooking-for-the-dead post, which got thirty-two comments and made strangers cry, and a lighter post about Filipino breakfast — the silog combinations, the sweet meats and garlic rice and eggs that constitute the most aggressively flavorful breakfast in world cuisine. The breakfast post was fun to write — no grief, no depth, just the pure joy of describing tocilog and tapsilog and longsilog to an audience that had never considered putting sweet cured pork next to garlic fried rice at 7 AM.

March light is returning. Eight hours now. The gain feels like interest accumulating — small daily deposits that compound into something meaningful over time. My light box is still on the kitchen table but I use it less obsessively. The real sun is coming back. The substitute has served its purpose. Like therapy, like medication, like cooking — each tool does its work until the thing it's replacing returns. The trick is knowing which things return and which things you carry forever.

The squash was sweet. The coconut was rich. The shrimp were perfect — pink and curled and tasting like the ocean Joseph fishes. I ate the ginataang kalabasa at the table and the evening light through the window was brighter than last week and will be brighter next week and the brightness is the promise Alaska makes every March: the dark was temporary. The light was always coming. You just had to survive long enough to see it.

The ginataang kalabasa I described above — the squash soft in coconut milk, the shrimp pink and briny, the whole thing assembled in thirty minutes between arriving home and needing to eat — reminded me that butternut squash is the most patient vegetable I know. It holds sweetness through any treatment you give it, coconut milk or cheddar sauce or nothing at all. This butternut squash mac and cheese is what I make when I want that same sweetness translated into something Jason will eat three bowls of without commentary, which is, in our language, a declaration.

Butternut Squash Mac and Cheese

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 40 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 6

Ingredients

  • 1 lb elbow macaroni or medium pasta shells
  • 3 cups butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes (about 1 small squash)
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 3 tablespoons unsalted butter
  • 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
  • 2 1/2 cups whole milk, warmed
  • 1/2 cup low-sodium vegetable or chicken broth
  • 1 1/2 cups sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
  • 1/2 cup gruyère cheese, shredded
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
  • 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
  • Salt and black pepper to taste
  • 1/2 cup panko breadcrumbs
  • 1 tablespoon butter, melted (for breadcrumb topping)
  • 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped (optional, for garnish)

Instructions

  1. Roast the squash. Preheat oven to 400°F. Toss butternut squash cubes with olive oil, salt, and pepper on a rimmed baking sheet. Roast for 20–25 minutes until tender and lightly caramelized at the edges. Remove from oven and set aside.
  2. Cook the pasta. While the squash roasts, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook pasta according to package directions until just al dente. Reserve 1/2 cup pasta water, then drain and set aside.
  3. Make the cheese sauce. In a large saucepan over medium heat, melt 3 tablespoons butter. Whisk in flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 1–2 minutes until the mixture turns pale golden. Gradually whisk in the warm milk and broth, continuing to whisk until the sauce is smooth and beginning to thicken, about 4–5 minutes.
  4. Add the squash and cheese. Reduce heat to low. Stir in roasted squash cubes, pressing some gently against the side of the pan to help them meld into the sauce. Add cheddar and gruyère a handful at a time, stirring until fully melted. Season with nutmeg, garlic powder, salt, and pepper. If sauce is very thick, add a splash of reserved pasta water to loosen.
  5. Combine and finish. Add the drained pasta to the cheese sauce and stir gently to coat. Transfer to a greased 9x13 baking dish. Toss panko breadcrumbs with 1 tablespoon melted butter and a pinch of salt, then scatter evenly over the top.
  6. Broil the topping. Set oven to broil on high. Broil for 2–4 minutes, watching closely, until the breadcrumb topping is golden and crisp. Remove from oven, rest for 5 minutes, garnish with parsley if using, and serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 520 | Protein: 21g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 61g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 420mg

Grace Santos
About the cook who shared this
Grace Santos
Week 101 of Grace’s 30-year story · Anchorage, Alaska
Grace is a thirty-seven-year-old ER nurse in Anchorage, Alaska — Filipino-American, single, and the person her entire community calls when they need a hundred lumpia for a party or a shoulder to cry on after a hard shift. She cooks to cope with the things she sees in the emergency room, feeding her neighbors and her church and anyone who looks like they need a plate. Her adobo could bring peace to a warring nation. Her schedule could kill a lesser person.

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