Mushroom Primavera with Spaghetti Squash

Made this for dinner tonight.... It's delicious, particularly when spaghetti squash is sweet and in season. Super healthy and gluten free as well if you're into that sort of thing.  I'm generous with most of the ingredients, particularly the kalamata olives and feta cheese.  I also use half olive oil/half butter when cooking the mushrooms. Make sure to salt and pepper the sauce--I do this after adding the onions and garlic to the mixture.

1 spaghetti squash (about 3 lbs.)

1 T. olive oil

1 lb. white button mushrooms

1 C. chopped onion

2 tsp. minced garlic

1 C. cherry or grape tomatoes, halved

3/4 C. crumbled feta cheese

1 1/2 T. sliced kalamata olives

1/2 C. chopped fresh basil, plus more for garnish

With the tip of a knife, pierce squash in about five places.  Place on paper towel in microwave and cook on high for 10 minutes, or until squash has softened.  When cool enough to handle, cut squash lengthwise and remove seeds with a spoon.  Remove the spaghetti-like strands of squash with a fork, set aside and cover to keep warm (or reheat in microwave at serving time). 

Heat oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium high heat.  Add a single layer of mushrooms and cook, without stirring, for about 5 minutes or until mushrooms become red-brown on one side.  Stir in onion and garlic and cook for 3 more minutes, until onions are softened.  Add tomatoes, cheese, and olives and cook about 3 minutes longer, until mixture is hot and bubbling.  Remove pan from heat and stir in basil. 

Divide squash among 4 shallow serving bowls.  Spoon sauce over spaghetti squash and garnish with additionally chopped basil.  Serve immediately.  Serves 4. 

Another day in “Paradise Shrimp” at… Nunthaporn's?

On Tuesday September 18^th Ben and I drove down to Mesa to see Fiona Apple in concert.  Thankfully her arrest for drug possession occurred Wednesday the 19^th of September rather than Monday the 17^th because her show was “extraordinary” (Extraordinary Machine?  If you’re still confused, nevermind).  We were running short on time for dinner so we decided to park at the concert and try to find something within walking distance. I remembered seeing a Thai restaurant on Main Street on one of my trips down to the Mesa temple, so I asked Ben to look it up. We soon discovered the restaurant I had seen was called “Nunthaporn’s.” I was initially encouraged. You can often tell the authenticity of a restaurant based on its name, and no self-aware, English (first language) speaking restaurateur would include the name “porn” in his restaurant (unless perhaps he owned some disturbing, hole-in-the-wall eatery off the Las Vegas strip). I have yet to try my favorite-poorly-named restaurant clearly titled by a foreigner: Fook Yuen Seafood in Honolulu. But I digress. So… I’m thinking, perhaps there is potential with Nunthaporn’s.  There were also decent online reviews, which, combined with our affinity for Thai food, sold us.

The restaurant was fairly crowded, but we were seated immediately and ordered promptly.  I asked our server which of three dishes he preferred (all three were shrimp dishes, and descended in order down the menu), and he informed me all were good (which, by the way, is a pet peeve of mine as this is not a helpful response from a server).  I went with the “paradise shrimp” because I was craving something sweet and it was mango season.   Soon our curry noodle soup arrived, and as the waiter was about to set down our second dish, a puzzled look covered his face, which communicated that this was not the right dish.  He turned around, without informing us what the issue was, and rushed back to the kitchen.  Ben and I ate the curry, which was pleasantly surprising.  Light, but with a unanticipated depth of flavor.  It had been about five minutes and we began to be somewhat antsy looking at the clock.  But no need to fear—just as we began to worry our server came back carrying a new plate.  He set it down on the table and apologized for the delay.  The first thing I noticed was baby corn and large specks of black pepper running throughout the dish.  My mind immediately returned to the description of “black pepper shrimp” (which, by the way, was NOT one of my three options) and I asked the server, “Is this the black pepper shrimp?”  He looked at me with a look of horror in his eyes as if he’d been caught red-handed, and then thrust the fingers of his right hand to his forehead while closing his eyes (think Homer Simpon’s “d’oh!”) while saying ever so shamefully, “Yeah… it is….”  His next response: “It’s really good!” was even better.  Yes Nunthaporn server who will remain nameless—I’m sure it is good—but the problem is it is not what I ordered.  As the nameless server became more and more agitated, the apparent owner, an older Asian woman, came to see what the problem was.  She asked me, “Do you want me to make you another one?”  (another pet peeve of mine… of course I want you to make me another one!  Did I order the black pepper shrimp?  Aren’t I the one paying here?!).  Through more chaos, it was eventually decided that she would return to the kitchen and cook the “paradise” shrimp.  Third time’s the charm apparently, and after another five minutes the correct dish arrived at our table.  I wouldn’t call it “paradise”, but it was definitely a decent dish with bold seasoning. We had hoped to share mango and sticky rice for dessert, but by this point we thought we better cut our losses and stick to the safe side.  After all, nothing more could go wrong at this point right?  As we were nearing the end of our meal, our nameless server dropped off our bill, stating, “I know you need to get to a concert, so here’s your bill.”  I always look at bills before handing off my debit card, but because I was so eager to see Fiona, I thought, “just this once”, and handed off my debit card.  Fateful mistake.  When our check returned Ben looked at the bill and started laughing out loud. We definitely paid someone else’s ticket because we did not order two glasses of wine and green curry.  With how complicated the whole process had been so far, I dreaded how long it would take to resolve this mess.  Our nameless server was so downtrodden with dishonor he avoided all eye contact at this point.  Eventually things were straightened out we walked out the doors of Nunthaporn’s. 

Turns out our rush was for naught because Fiona didn’t get on stage until her “opening act” played an hour-long less-than-exciting set.  All in all, we enjoyed our adventure at Nunthaporn’s… primarily because we continue to giggle when we say the name.  So reader:  Eat at your own risk!  It won’t ever become a destination for us, or one of my “diamonds in the rough”, but if I’m ever feeling up for an adventure again and need to eat somewhere near Main Street in Mesa, I would consider a second go-around.