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Twice-Baked Acorn Squash — The Table That Holds

Daylight saving ended. The dark at five-thirty PM. The kitchen the brightest room. Tuesday at the church. Bernice's Table fed eighty this week. The kitchen team handled it. I am the conductor and they are the orchestra and we are getting better every week.

Calvin preached Sunday on the Beatitudes. The church said amen. I talked to Mama at the stove. I told her the recipe was right. I told her the kitchen was holding. The cast iron skillet hummed.

Oxtails Sunday. Browned. Slow-braised. Served over rice. The bone-in stew that holds the table.

Destiny came for Sunday dinner. She talked about her work. The work is hard. She is good at hard work.

Sunday dinner held. The table held. The chair was set.

I drove to the grocery Saturday morning. Greens, three pounds. Onions, two big ones. Buttermilk, half gallon. Cornmeal, the good kind. Salt, because I always run out of salt.

Sunday after service Calvin and I drove past the new sanctuary site. The choir loft windows were going in. We sat in the car and looked. He did not speak. I did not speak. The watching was the prayer.

I sat on the porch Saturday afternoon. The neighborhood was quiet. Mr. Henderson across the street waved. I waved back. The porches are the original social network, sugar. We have been at this since Eden.

I read for an hour Sunday night before bed. The Bible, then a book Doris sent me about the civil rights movement in Birmingham. The book made me think about Bernice in the church kitchen during the bombings.

A new young wife joined the Saturday cooking class. Twenty-two years old. She does not know how to make rice. I will teach her. The chain extends.

I had a small cry Wednesday morning at the kitchen window. No reason in particular. The grief comes when it comes. I made coffee. I went on. That is how this works.

My knees were bad this week. I sat between rounds at the stove. The volunteers tried to take the spoon. I would not let them. The spoon is not negotiable, sugar.

The kitchen smelled like garlic and onion all afternoon Wednesday. Calvin came home from his Bible study and stood in the doorway and said, Loretta, what are we eating. I said, baby, you will see. He said, that is a yes from me. He has been saying that for fifty years.

Sister Patrice's husband had heart surgery this week. I drove a meal over Tuesday — chicken and rice, cornbread, peach cobbler. She cried at the door. I told her, baby, eat the food. The food was the saying.

A young woman from the new members class came to me Sunday. She was nervous. She said, Mother Simms, my husband and I are expecting our first and I do not know how to cook. I said, baby, come to the Saturday class. She said, I'm coming. The chain extends.

Calvin Jr. called Tuesday night. He was tired. He had been at work twelve hours. I told him, baby, eat something. He said, Mama, I will. I said, what did you eat last. He said, a granola bar. I said, baby, that is not eating. He laughed.

Sister Beulah came by Tuesday afternoon to drop off the bulletins. She stayed for coffee. We talked about the church, about her grandbaby, about the heat. The visit was the visit.

Mr. Henderson across the street brought me a bag of pecans Friday from his tree. I made a pecan pie with them. I took half of it back to him. He said, Loretta, this is wrong, you took my pecans and gave me back a pie. I said, that is exactly right. That is how it works.

The oxtails were the centerpiece, yes, but a Sunday table like ours needs something to hold alongside it — something that fills the kitchen with sweetness while the stew does its slow work. Daylight saving had pulled the dark down early, and I wanted the whole table warm and layered, the way November calls for. This twice-baked acorn squash has been coming to my Sunday table long enough now that Calvin expects it without asking, and that, sugar, is the highest compliment a side dish can receive.

Twice-Baked Acorn Squash

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour | Total Time: 1 hour 15 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 2 medium acorn squash, halved and seeds removed
  • 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
  • 2 tablespoons brown sugar, packed
  • 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • 1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1/8 teaspoon black pepper
  • 1/4 cup sour cream
  • 1/4 cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese (optional, for savory finish)
  • 1 tablespoon fresh parsley or thyme, chopped (for garnish)

Instructions

  1. Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Line a baking sheet with foil. Place the squash halves cut-side down on the prepared pan.
  2. First bake. Bake cut-side down for 35–40 minutes, until the flesh is completely tender when pierced with a fork. Remove from the oven and let cool for 10 minutes, enough to handle safely.
  3. Scoop the flesh. Turn the squash halves cut-side up. Using a large spoon, scoop the flesh into a mixing bowl, leaving a 1/4-inch shell intact so the skins hold their shape.
  4. Mix the filling. Add the butter, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, pepper, and sour cream to the bowl with the squash flesh. Mash and stir together until smooth and well combined. Taste and adjust seasoning.
  5. Fill the shells. Spoon the filling back into the squash shells, mounding slightly. If using cheddar, sprinkle it over the top of each filled half.
  6. Second bake. Return the filled squash to the oven, cut-side up, and bake for an additional 15–20 minutes until heated through and golden on top.
  7. Garnish and serve. Remove from the oven, scatter fresh parsley or thyme over the top, and bring to the table warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 195 | Protein: 3g | Fat: 9g | Carbs: 29g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 210mg

Loretta Simms
About the cook who shared this
Loretta Simms
Week 496 of Loretta’s 30-year story · Birmingham, Alabama
Loretta is a fifty-six-year-old pastor's wife in Birmingham, Alabama, who has been feeding her church and her community for thirty-four years. She lost her teenage son Jeremiah in a car accident, and she cooked through the grief because that is what Loretta does — she feeds people. Every funeral, every homecoming, every Wednesday night supper. If you are hurting, Loretta will show up at your door with a casserole and she will not leave until you eat.

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