I’m starting to I think I might have made up a good deal of my childhood memories, or at least built them up again from the bits and pieces I’m more sure are real. This is more present for me right now, in the deep summer which seems to do the hard work of memory making. This summer, we have lots of contenders for memory makers, although you never know what will stick: Sadie dropping Rosie off at camp and telling her just how it will be (Rosie’s first year, Sadie’s third). Roadside maple soft serve. Climbing on hay bales, watching the rain pass with the cat sitting patiently under the protection of the porch. Naked sleeping. Naked swimming. Movies in the afternoon. The smells of watermelon and rain and sunblock and mildewed towels, swimsuits that have been left on the floor too long, library books, raspberries on their way out. I imagine each girl will take her own bits and pieces and make up the rest, and those new dreams will be just as real.
When I was little, I spent big chunks of summer with my grandparents, or at least I think I did. Their bed and breakfast was always full of visitors and musicians and artists for the summer, and I’d empty garbage cans and help make beds, although honestly I can’t remember much else. The other day, I had a memory that I couldn’t help but say out loud to Joey right away. There was a neighbor down the street from my grandparents named Pearl, and every time she’d pass the house in her car and break at the stop sign, she’d give a dainty double beep, and my grandmother would raise her hand wherever she was in the house and say “Hi Pearl,” as if they had some secret communication. This happened all the time, at least I think it did, and I’m not sure I ever met Pearl or knew who she was. I think this must be real, but I’ll never know.
My grandfather had a huge garden behind the kitchen that was primarily for the purpose of filling frittatas. Shredded zucchini. Asparagus trimmed on the diagonal. Dill and basil. He’d layer it all four or five inches deep before pouring the egg overtop and baking it in a big rectangular pan, at least I think so. Those frittatas were layered like a green diagram of the crust of the Earth. And between those and the daily loaves of whole-wheat zucchini bread from my grandmother’s oven, I don’t think there was ever a question of what to do with all those hundreds (thousands? I’ll never know) of zucchini and summer squash that grew from each blossom in his garden.
These are the questions I get when I’m refilling the squash and zucchini box at the market: What do you do with all that summer squash and zucchini? What’s the difference between the green, the yellow, and the ones shaped like spaceships? Is there a taste difference between big and little?
All good questions. But the one that goes unasked?
What are your zucchini memories?
I guess that’s a little intimate for a Farmers’ Market transaction. But here, I’ll indulge.
So, of course there is my grandfathers frittata. I say shredded, but I think maybe it was julienned, so that each tiny green-tipped spear had a real shape. I’m no good at a real julienne cut, but if I had paid attention, I’m sure I could have learned from him.
I remember the first time I frittered zucchini. I was with Eilen, and a good friend of hers who was visiting us in Santa Fe, and the visiting friend, dressed nearly just in her thick blonde hair down to her waist, came bearing a few voluptuous and indelicately large specimens. “We will fritter them,” she declared, and we filled the kitchen with oil splatters and ate the hot fritters with our fingers on the stones of the straggly New Mexico backyard. Now, I would make something spicy and creamy to dip them in, but then, just the fritters were enough.
And just last year, or maybe the year before. I’m not sure. Even as recently as that starts to fade! But we were at our dear Luke and India’s farmhouse up near camp, doing camp pick-up or drop-off just like we’ve been taken with these past few weeks now. There was a birthday party for their friend who was visiting, and another friend walked in with what, in name, sounds regular and mundane–just a zucchini cake. But she’d created the most delicate and gently sweet cake around the zucchini, put it in a bundt pan, and then (get ready for this), she candied ribbons of zucchini and layered them like a royal crown on the cake.
There are tiny bursts of other squashes and zucchinis, too. A late night in my kitchen alone while I pickled 15 pounds of the tiniest pattypans, and even by the end I couldn’t get over how cute the damned things were. Zucchini blossoms with ricotta and olive oil, and me, 6 or 7, eating the contents of the entire plate before anyone else could get to them. Plants out of control in the garden that I had to harness and beat back as they pricked me with their thistly stems, sifting flours in the dark kitchen with my grandmother before she plunked the heavy scoop of defrosted grated zucchini from the past summer.
As for the other questions, the ones people do ask,
Mostly, I grill them. I marinate thin slices in a mixture of olive oil, lemon, tamari, and herbs for a few hours, and then Joey grills them and they come to me charred and dripping to be ingredients in other things. I chop them and toss with mint and parmesan, or leftover grains needing rebirth from the refrigerator, or I put them over pasta. This is the treatment of the moment, and I don’t seem to get sick of it. But if I do, I’ll chop them into half moons and fry them with butter and rosemary.
(I know that raw zucchini is a thing, and that’s okay, too. I can’t do it myself. Even sliced thin like pasta or tossed in something wonderful, it sits heavy with me and doesn’t make sense in my mouth. But by all means, go ahead.)
There is a difference between the green and yellow. The yellow tend to be a little more delicate, and the skin stays soft. They should be harvested smaller or they get woody and tasteless. Don’t use the yellow for zucchini bread. I think the yellow is born mostly for herbs, or to be sliced thin over a fish. It will go with whatever you have growing, but especially rosemary, basil, and summer savory.
And the pattypans? They’re my favorite. It’s could be the texture, or the taste–they’re firm and the slightest bit grassy. But mostly it’s the shape, which seems altogether too perfect and strange to slice and eat.
Zucchini season has just really come into full swing here, and of course we can’t know what will come of it. But I think there will be at least a few zucchinis to remember. At least, we’ll do our best, and we’ll see what sticks.
Occasionally I teach workshops, and I have one coming up this fall. Join me and stellar novelist 
Alana, have you tried drying squash slices, for soups and stir-fries in Winter? Carol Deppe, author of The Resilient Gardener, says that squash is really delicious that way. I’m going to try some with this season’s harvest. My favorite squash is Costata Romanesco, for it’s wonderful taste.
You know I think I’ve dried everything BUT zucchini? But now that you saw it, it sounds like a great idea. Will try as soon as I’ve got an overabundance.
My favorite memory is picking my then 8 y/o daughter up from “Farm camp” a special week at Mass Audubon camp. She was dirty from head to toe and grinning from ear to ear as she held a very large zucchini in her arms like a baby. She exclaimed “look Mom, we can have zucchini bread now!”.
We made quite a few that week!
Some of my favorite memories of zucchini are from growing then in my mom’s garden when I was little. It seemed magical then, like if we watched closely enough we would have to see them growing; we would look at them before bed and then, in the morning, check to see how much bigger they were. I didn’t like eating them back then, perhaps because my mom loved them grated raw into salad. Now we love them wok-fried, tossed with lemon zest and juice, salt, olive oil. My husband makes a cake out of them (that he calls bread but come on) with a recipe that is his mom’s. I think it has more sugar than squash, but it tastes of childhood to him so about once a summer we make it for the guys. Memories 🙂
Hannah, I think I was also given grated zucchini in salads as a kid and… ick. (no ill will to anyone who loves that, but like I said, I think raw zucchini is not for everyone. Glad we’ve both recovered from that one.
I like your descriptions of patty pan squash! So cute. I am the ultimate zucchini lover. I like it cubed in chicken broth with a little rice or potato as soup (I can eat this for three meals a day). Steamed with salt and pepper. Battered and fried. Grilled in strips. Roasted in strips. (Bonus: The kids like it this way, too.) In zucchini bread, of course. (And the blossoms stuffed with ricotta and fried in tempura batter, as you mentioned, Alana.) There is never leftover zucchini in my house because somehow, as boring as it sounds, I crave it. I’ve been meaning to do a wonderful French-style gratin with zucchini. But it’s so much easier to cook it in chicken broth, sprinkle on some grated parmesan, and slurp it down…
But a serious question. Right now, I’m growing pumpkins, and little green globes are setting, but after the flowers wilts and falls off, the spot where the flower was begins to rot, and soon the whole thing is rotten and falls off. I’m crushed! Advice, anyone?
Ah! We ate that wonderful concoction of chicken broth and zucchini (with little pasta stars) tonight. It was perfect.
I have to admit, I’ve failed a couple of times at growing pumpkins, so I’m not help. I’m not sure where you are in the country, but has it been super wet there? It seems to wreak all sorts of havoc with the vining fruits especially. Anyone have any help out there for Emma and her pumpkins?
Look up blossom end rot.
Yes, look up blossom end rot. If you know someone who grows tomatoes or summer squash they may have also dealt with it, and might be able to offer advice. Do remove and toss the rotten ones, so that the plant doesn’t put energy into growing a lost cause.
Typo alert: ‘entire plate one’ should probably be ‘one entire plate’. 🙂
thank you, Mychele! Knowing I have proofreaders out there makes me feel very cared for 🙂
Alana,
I love everything about this. Just, everything. Also, zucchini. Everything about that, also. I often think I’m alone in this (aren’t we to loathe them, their excess, their zeppelin-like forward momentum?) I’m so glad I’m not alone.
My zucchini memories revolve around soup, great vats of the stuff my mom made to use it up. Plus a freezer teeming with grated mounds, tucked into yogurt containers, tupperware, any container with a lid. It was abundant. And I love it, still.
Happy memory-making to you, of the fictional and factual sort, both.
xo,
Molly
Oh, Molly- you’re never alone. Always extra happy to share both memories and soup with you. xo
Not once did I get summer squash/zuchinni as a child. Don’t know if mom didn’t like it or just never considered cooking it for us. I love the yellow – we saute it in olive oil, butter, and garlic. Usually toss in a handful of chopped chives just to pretty ’em up. Eat it plain like that or mix with some pasta, fresh tomatoes, basil, grated parmesan and whatever other veggies we’ve hauled out of the garden.
I love zucchini in just about anything… but a few faves are ratatouille (a summer with no ratatouille is a wasted summer!), stuffed zucchini and then this soup a family friend introduced us to that is a hit with everyone. Boil 2 lbs of zucchini in chicken broth until tender. Puree adding 4 laughing cow cheese wedges (or cream cheese). Season to taste, and voila! So easy, so good!!!
Hi Emma, re: your pumpkin problem. Are you sure they’re getting fertilized. The “girl” flowers have a little unfertilized pumpkinlet behind them. If they don’t get fertilized, the little bit rots and falls off. You may have to play Stork and use a cotton swab to brush the male flowers and then brush the female ones…or, get some bees to do it for you.
Anna
Thank you, everyone, for the pumpkin advice. We live in a very foggy area on the coast, but it’s not the whole plant getting moldy, just the pumpkins. And in this very specific way. I did read online about what Anna said–that if the pumpkins don’t get fertilized, they fall off. I may have to play matchmaker and do some hand fertilizing. Hmm, how weird! 🙂
My memories of summer squashes mostly revolve around the yellow ones — crookneck squash is what my grandmother called them, and patty pan squash. I don’t think I ate much actual zucchini until I grew up, left Texas, and moved to New York State. I now love zucchini but yellow squash simply sauteed with butter and herbs, or olive oil, oh the thought of it just makes me sigh. And I loved pattypan squash in all forms: steamed baby squash, sliced, sautéed, fried, and then all the things you can do with summer stuffings in larger patty pans. Oh my!
It has been a tough year for squash in this part of Tennessee, too much rain, too much rot. But there still may be time.
I’ve been reading your blog for a while and just realized that you are a fellow SJCSF alum! Funny.
When I bought my house in the Skagit Valley three years ago, the pattypan squash (some of the first things I’ve ever grown!) were amazing. Being a total amateur, I was never sure when to harvest them so some of them got pretty huge but still delicious. The next year, none of the pattypan I planted worked out, but the pumpkins were amazing. This years, it’s the zucchini. I guess there’s just something about me that limits my successful squash output to one variety a year. Pattypan will always be happily associated with my first summer at my little farmhouse. Hope I can get some growing next year!
Ah, we’re everywhere! What year?
Spent 3 years with class of 1993, then took a year of and graduated with 94. 🙂 How bout you?
Class of 2002!
Our wedding cake was chocolate zucchini with cream cheese frosting, made by a dear friend and possibly the best cake I’ve ever tasted. Sometimes when I’m making a quick chocolate cake, I’ll throw in a handful of shredded and drained zucchini, and it is always delicious and reminds me of our wedding.