Between this and the last episode of Top Chef, I learned from Maki that the hostess I love to hate, one Katie Lee Joel, is the wife of one Billy Joel. I cannot believe I overlooked this crucial nugget of information that hides at the bottom of her bio page, since it explains so well her presence on the show. This week, the Piano Woman explained to the chefs that this set of challenges would be called “Food on the Fly.” The episode’s emphasis was on speed, improvisation, and practicality. I’m a bit torn over how I feel about the challenges so far. While I like that each challenge has a twist that corresponds to real life circumstances, I kind of wish there was a straight, no frills challenge that would showcase the chef’s skills and let me see how they work within their comfort zones.

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A couple years ago, when I was living in North Cambridge, I started hanging out with a couple guys who lived in the apartment above mine. They ran an online magazine, now defunct, called The Logos, which, over the course of the summer, I read in its entirety. The articles were sometimes topical, but usually wryly and revealingly philosophical. One used Camus and Nietzsche to see the bright side of hangovers. Another observed the correspondence between the state of the economy and the coolness of the author’s favorite beer. Yet another discussed spaghetti squash as a metaphor for a loss of innocence.

The summer came to an end. I moved out of the apartment, I stopped seeing the magazine guys, and the magazine stopped getting published. When in the grocery store, however, searching scallions and dithering about with red cabbage, I espied a pile of spaghetti squash and brought one home with me.

I’m not sure what I was expecting; metaphors don’t make good eating and the article doesn’t describe the taste. I was surprised by how spaghetti-like the strands really were, and how easily they separated out of the squash. It doesn’t have much of a squash flavor, or much of any flavor at all. Like pasta, it makes a nice blank canvas. It’s also pretty filling, despite being mostly water and fiber. In fact, I’m surprised Atkins hasn’t latched onto it. It’s even easy to put together. I stuck the squash in the oven to bake while I went to the gym, used some leftover tomato soup to make a cheesy spaghetti sauce, and topped the whole thing off with some fresh basil.

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When I was in second grade, my family got transferred to Leverkusen, Germany for a year because of my dad’s job. This year abroad resulted in a number of things, including eleven years of German classes, very vague memories of major European landmarks, and a strong dislike of fresh peaches. After returning, my dad and I were the only ones to keep up our German, he more willingly than I. All of us, however, retained a taste for German food, especially bratwurst and weißwurst. We’re also big fans of the sides, such as German potato salad and sauerkraut.

The other day, I was in the grocery store hunting for scallions (which, I swear, are in a different place every time I go because I can never find them), when I came across a head of red cabbage. Rotkohl, as it’s called in German, looks a lot like a regular cabbage except for its reddish, purpleish color. When cooked, it’s a lot sweeter than plain cabbage or sauerkraut, and it makes a pretty, bright addition to the plate. I found a recipe in Veronika Müller, Mechthild Piepenbrock, and C.P. Fischer’s Spaß am Kochen, Freude beim Essen (Fun at Cooking, Joy while Eating), and translated and modified it.

The original recipe called for bacon fat; I replaced it with goose fat because it’s what I had. I imagine butter or oil would work well too, although some flavor might be lost. The recipe also calls for four tablespoons of johannisberry jelly, but I have never seen any kind of johannisberry in the United States. You could probably substitute some other sort of jelly, such as raspberry, but I opted to leave them out entirely. Keep in mind that if you do add jelly, the whole thing will be sweeter. I served my rotkohl with grilled bratwurst and mashed potatoes.

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