If you walk into a market in Mexico City and ask for "squash," you’re going to get some blank stares. Honestly, even if you use the most common translation, you might still end up with the wrong vegetable. Spanish is tricky like that. It’s a language spread across over 20 countries, and each one seems to have its own secret code for produce.
So, how do you say squash in Spanish? Well, the short answer is calabaza.
But that's barely scratching the surface. If you’re in Argentina, "calabaza" might mean something totally different than it does in Spain or Puerto Rico. You’ve got to know the regional slang, the specific species, and whether you're talking about the sport or the gourd.
The Most Common Way: Calabaza
Most textbooks will tell you the word is calabaza. It’s the safe bet. If you use it, people will generally understand you’re talking about a gourd-like vegetable with a hard or soft skin.
In Spain, calabaza is the catch-all term. It covers everything from a giant orange Halloween pumpkin to a tiny butternut squash. It’s easy. You go to a mercado in Madrid, point at a squash, say "calabaza," and you're good to go.
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But Latin America? That’s where things get wild.
In Mexico, calabacita (literally "little squash") usually refers to what we call zucchini or Mexican grey squash. These are soft-skinned and eaten whole. If you’re looking for the big, tough-skinned winter varieties, you’re back to using calabaza.
Zapallo: The Southern Cone Favorite
Travel south of the equator, and calabaza starts to fade away. If you find yourself in Argentina, Uruguay, Chile, or Peru, you need to learn a new word: zapallo.
The word zapallo comes from the Quechua word sapallu. It’s a piece of linguistic history right there in your soup. In these regions, a zapallo is typically a large, winter squash with a hard rind.
- In Argentina, zapallo anco is what they call butternut squash.
- Zapallito (the diminutive) refers to a specific type of round, green summer squash that is incredibly popular in home cooking.
Imagine trying to follow a recipe for locro, a famous Andean stew. If you’re looking for "calabaza" in a grocery store in Buenos Aires, you might find something, but the clerk will probably correct you. "Ah, buscás zapallo."
Different Names for Different Types
The botanical family Cucurbita is massive. Because humans have been domesticating these plants for nearly 10,000 years in the Americas, the local names are deeply rooted in indigenous languages.
Take Auyama. This is the word you’ll hear in the Dominican Republic, Venezuela, and parts of Colombia. It sounds nothing like calabaza or zapallo. It’s distinct. If you’re making a Dominican sancocho, you aren't looking for a "squash"—you’re looking for auyama.
Then there’s Pipian. In parts of Central America, particularly Guatemala and El Salvador, certain types of squash (especially those grown for their seeds) are called pipián. The seeds themselves are often ground into a rich, nutty sauce also called pipián.
Then you have Chayote. Is it a squash? Technically, yes, it’s in the gourd family. But it’s so unique that it usually keeps its own name across most of the Spanish-speaking world. In Costa Rica or Mexico, you’d never just call it a "squash." It’s a chayote. Unless you’re in Guatemala, where it’s sometimes called güisquil.
What About the Sport?
Language is funny. You might not be looking for a vegetable at all.
If you’re asking how to say the sport "squash" in Spanish, the answer is... squash.
English is dominant in the world of international sports. Just like "fútbol" came from "football," the game played with rackets and a rubber ball against a wall is simply called el squash. You pronounce it pretty much the same way, though maybe with a slightly stronger "s" at the beginning.
Don't confuse your dinner with your workout. If you tell a friend in Mexico City, "Quiero jugar con una calabaza," they’ll think you’re planning on hitting a pumpkin with a racket. Which, honestly, sounds messy.
Why the Regional Variation Matters
You might think I'm overcomplicating this. Does it really matter?
Actually, it does. Food is culture. If you’re a chef, a traveler, or just someone trying to navigate a grocery store in a new country, using the local term shows respect for the regional dialect. It also ensures you actually get what you want.
According to the Real Academia Española (RAE), calabaza is the standard. But the RAE also acknowledges zapallo as a valid term used throughout South America. The linguistic divide usually follows the influence of ancient empires. Areas influenced by the Aztecs and Mayans tend toward calabaza or indigenous Nahuatl variations. Areas influenced by the Incan Empire lean toward zapallo.
A Quick Cheat Sheet for Travelers
Since we aren't doing fancy tables here, let’s just break it down simply.
If you are in Mexico, say calabacita for the green ones and calabaza for the orange ones.
In the Caribbean (DR, Cuba, Puerto Rico), try calabaza or auyama.
In Central America, calabaza works, but keep an ear out for ayote. That’s a big one in Costa Rica and Nicaragua. "Ayote en miel" is a classic dessert—squash cooked in raw cane sugar and cinnamon.
In Colombia and Venezuela, stick with auyama.
In Argentina, Chile, Peru, and Bolivia, it is almost always zapallo.
Addressing the Zucchini Confusion
Zucchini is just a type of summer squash. In English, we use the Italian word. In Spanish, most people just use the diminutive of their local squash word.
- Mexico: Calabacita
- Argentina: Zapallito
- Spain: Calabacín
If you're in a high-end restaurant in Madrid, you'll see calabacín on the menu. It’s elegant. It’s specific. It’s exactly what you expect. But if you’re in a rural market in the Andes, you might just see small, bumpy gourds that don't look like the supermarket zucchini you're used to. They are all cousins in the same botanical family.
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Cooking with Squash in the Spanish-Speaking World
Knowing the word is only half the battle. You have to know what to do with it.
In many Latin American countries, squash isn't just a side dish. It’s the star. In Mexico, flor de calabaza (squash blossoms) are stuffed with cheese or folded into quesadillas. They are delicate, bright orange, and slightly sweet. If you see them at a street food stall, buy them. Immediately.
In the Southern Cone, zapallo is often roasted whole or mashed into a puree to thicken stews. There is a deep, earthy sweetness to it that balances the salty meats used in traditional cooking.
Even the seeds are a big deal. In Mexico, pepitas (squash seeds) are roasted with salt and lime. They are a staple snack. They are packed with protein and history, dating back to pre-Hispanic times.
Actionable Steps for Your Next Trip
Stop worrying about being perfect. Languages are living things.
- Observe first. When you get to a new country, go to the local produce market. Look at the signs. This is the fastest way to learn the local dialect for any food.
- Use "Calabaza" as your fallback. It’s the most "universal" even if it’s not the most "local." People will understand your intent.
- Learn the "Little" version. If you want a summer squash (zucchini style), add the "-ita," "-ito," or "-ín" suffix to the local word.
- Ask the vendor. Pointing and asking, "¿Cómo le dicen a esto aquí?" (What do you call this here?) is a great conversation starter and shows you’re interested in the local culture.
The beauty of Spanish is its diversity. Whether you’re eating ayote in San José, zapallo in Santiago, or calabacín in Seville, you’re participating in a culinary tradition that spans continents. Just remember: if someone asks you to play squash, leave the vegetables in the kitchen.