Golden, jammy squash is summer’s sleeper hit

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The case for summer’s quietest vegetable

I suppose this has always been true of me, though it took writing this newsletter to bring it into sharp focus: I have an enduring affection for the culinary underdog, those forgotten or dismissed foods that somehow carry more personality than most. 

Culture has, after all, woven the underdog story into the fabric of our collective imagination. How many times have we cheered on the ragtag baseball team, the minor league hopeful, the plucky semi-pro squad that emerges from the shadows with a miraculous ascent? It’s a narrative as familiar as the hum of a refrigerator. 

Scripted comeback stories aside — though spare me most of them, save  “Shoresy,” the scrapper’s “Ted Lasso” — I do find myself drawn, often quite fervently, to the foods that have been relegated to the fringes of taste and trend. They’re too camp (sweet salads). Too retro (icebox cakes). Too theatrical (gelatin molds). Too blah (American cheese). Too Midwestern (ranch dressing). Too something. 

Or perhaps, not enough. 

But sometimes what we dismiss as dull just needs patience, spice and a little low-and-slow care. Maybe that’s true of zucchini. Maybe it’s true of us. Maybe it’s because, unless you were born with a preternaturally unshakable self-confidence few of us can claim, there’s a touch of the underdog in all of us. After all, haven’t we all, at some point, felt like losers in our own lives, whether we admit it or not? 

And though it may sound absurd to anthropomorphize the contents of my pantry, I can’t help but feel a quiet kind of solace in reshaping those overlooked, often sneered-at ingredients into something unexpectedly glorious.

That’s why, for the rest of this month, I hope you’ll join me here at “The Bite” celebrating the culinary underdogs. The forgotten appliances, the ignored herbs, the quiet vegetables that ask nothing from you — and transform completely when given a little time. Case in point: Yellow summer squash. 

In a season of tomatoes and peaches — juicy, shimmering, succulent — summer squash isn’t particularly sexy. No one is having a “squash girl summer.” No one waxes poetic about which particular brand of mayo brings out yellow squash’s best side. No one is writing social media sonnets about eating a yellow squash over the kitchen sink while wearing their ex’s oversized T-shirt, still scented with a perfume they stopped wearing last fall. But maybe they should be. 

Because here’s the secret: with just a little time and a few pantry basics — fat, salt, a touch of sugar, something acidic — summer squash transforms. It softens into something golden and jammy, almost nutty, with a mellow sweetness that feels borderline decadent. Luxurious in a way that sneaks up on you. The kind of luxury that doesn’t show off, just lingers.

The exact prep depends on where you’re headed. If the squash is destined for a toast, dip or sandwich, I like to grate it or pulse it in the food processor into coarse shreds — just shy of a purée. If I want ribbons for pasta or a layered grain bowl, I’ll slice it thinly, mandoline-style, so it melts but still holds some integrity. Either way, avoid going full-liquid; squash carries a lot of water and it’s easy to overdo it. You want it to collapse, not disappear.

The cooking is where the magic lives. Treat it like you would caramelized onions: low and slow. Let the squash slouch luxuriously in your pan, stirring often and scraping up every browned bit. If things start to stick, a splash of water or stock will deglaze and deepen the flavor, building a kind of jammy intensity that’s hard to believe came from such a bashful vegetable.

Hot squash in the city

And then, you start composing. Try:

Olive oil, salt, brown sugar, orange zest, a squeeze of juice, and fennel seed. This one plays in high notes: the citrus lifts, the fennel gives a soft anise hum, and the sugar teases out the squash’s own mellow sweetness.

A pork fat and olive oil combo, with white balsamic vinegar, honey, and oregano. Fat for richness, vinegar for tang, honey to round it out, oregano to sharpen. It tastes like summer in the countryside, slightly drunk on Aperol.

Ghee, garam masala, lime juice, maple syrup. Ghee coats everything in gold. The garam masala brings a low burn and deep perfume. Lime and maple pull in opposite directions — tart and lush — and the squash just hangs in the middle, like it’s always belonged there.

The specifics are up to you. But the transformation, from humble to holy, is the part you can count on. Give a little time, a little heat and a little care to almost any vegetable, and it will give something back that’s more than the sum of its parts.

So, what do you do with your golden little nest of squash?

In late summer, I’ve got three favorite directions — all simple, all satisfying, all deserving of a moment in the spotlight.

Toast
Here’s what you do: Toast up a thick slice of sourdough. Spread it with a swipe of mascarpone. Spoon over the orange-zest-and-fennel squash — warm or room temp — and hit it with a pinch of flaky salt. Maybe a little drizzle of good olive oil if you’re feeling romantic.

Dips
You know I love a layered dip. But you don’t have to go full maximalist (see: my nine-layer dip) to get major impact. Whip some labneh with a spoonful of full-fat yogurt and a generous pinch of salt. Dollop it into a shallow bowl. Spoon the maple-and-lime–spiced squash on top, then scatter over fresh herbs — cilantro and scallions are lovely here. Scoop it all up with toasted pita or rip-and-tear sourdough. It’s creamy, tangy, spiced and lush.

Pasta sauces
Caramelized vegetables and pasta water are one of those sacred combinations I’ll never stop preaching about. The pork-fat squash variation is perfect here. I like to give it a quick blitz in the blender (not necessary, but it makes the texture velvet-smooth) before whisking in some pasta water and a pat of butter to finish. Toss with rigatoni, add crisped pancetta or bacon if you like, then shower with goat cheese. Toasted pistachios on top wouldn’t hurt either — for crunch, for richness, for the way they catch the light.

I think we can safely say that summer squash will never be the star of the farmers market show. It doesn’t flirt like a tomato or shimmer like a cherry on its stem. But maybe it doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s happiest tucked into a cast-iron skillet, going golden and jammy while the showier types preen in their baskets. Maybe, like all the best underdogs — your second-favorite tote bag, the backup perfume you suddenly can’t live without — it doesn’t need to be flashy to be indispensable.

Let the peaches have their moment. The squash has dinner covered.

Hey there! What’s your squash? The ingredient you come back to again and again — tender, humble, maybe a little overlooked — that transforms under your care. Tell me in the comments down below: what’s your pantry underdog?

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What to make this week: Shaved summer squash

Another way to appreciate summer squash — especially when the weather begs for something cool and clean — is to skip the heat entirely. Abra Berens, the farmer-chef-sage behind “Ruffage,” offers one of the most revelatory preparations I’ve ever encountered: a raw shaved squash salad dressed with little more than olive oil, lemon, heaps of herbs and salty ribbons of Parmesan. It's the kind of dish that feels like it shouldn’t work — how could something so mild, so unassuming, possibly hold its own? But it does. The thin slices of squash carry a tender snap, the herbs do all the heavy lifting on flavor, and the cheese pulls it together like an old friend showing up at the right time.

Writer Maggie Hennessy captured this quiet brilliance perfectly, likening it to the first time she ate sushi — that same sense of surprise, of a whole new texture world unfolding. It’s a reminder that while the results are undoubtedly delicious, not every vegetable needs caramelizing or crisping to earn your love. Sometimes, all it needs is a sharp knife, a generous hand with the herbs and a little faith.

What we’re reading and listening to: “Pastrami on Rye” and “Bitin’ List”

Is it the era of boys writing sandwich cookbooks? I’m not saying it’s a bad thing — just an observation. Gordon Ramsay recently announced a publishing imprint launching with “Idiot Sandwich: 100+ Recipes to Elevate Your Sandwich Game.” (Yes, really.) Matty Matheson has the excellent “Soups, Salads, Sandwiches.” Owen Han’s “Stacked” includes a frico turkey situation that is, frankly, a stroke of genius. Add in the fact that my boyfriend recently rescued a panini press from our apartment lobby (more on that next week), and yeah — sandwiches have been on my mind.

Which is why I’ve been revisiting “Pastrami on Rye: An Overstuffed History of the Jewish Deli” by Ted Merwin. It’s a lovingly detailed cultural history of the New York Jewish deli — not just as a place to get a really good pickle, but as a space that rivaled the synagogue in importance for much of the twentieth century. Merwin traces how delis evolved as touchstones for immigrant identity, assimilation, and cultural memory — and how their resurgence today feels tied to the same nostalgia that's making beef tallow fries and tomato sandwiches into statements of American heritage. It's chewy and brainy in all the best ways.

Also, I know this is usually where I share what I’m watching (answer: the “King of the Hill” reboot, from start to finish, with many opinions), but I need to shout out a song I can’t stop playing: "Bitin’ List" by Tyler Childers. I first discovered his music while working at a public radio station in Louisville, and I’ve loved his blend of honky-tonk roots and knife-sharp lyrics ever since. This new one opens with:

To put it plain, I just don't like you

Not a thing about the way you is

And if there ever come a time I got rabies

You're high on my bitin' list

It’s funny, feral and weirdly poetic. Highly recommend blasting it while you toast your sandwiches.

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