My earliest memory of my mother’s home garden was her formidable yet beloved zucchini plant. Tucked underneath a bush of sprawling, heart-shaped leaves would be yellow squash blossoms that blessed us with fresh squash in the blink of an eye. In our household, zucchini was a summer staple. In fact, there was never a dinner where we didn’t eat zucchini, whether it was enjoyed as a main dish or a simple side. Parmesan-crusted zucchini spears were enjoyed with baked salmon and a creamy mushroom risotto. Slices of homemade zucchini frittata were eaten with roasted potatoes and a mixed greens salad. Slow-roasted zucchini seasoned with lemon and herbs were paired with grilled chicken kebabs. And chunks of cooked zucchini were slyly thrown into soups and spaghetti.
I understand now why zucchini was being shoved down my throat shortly after my mother’s first harvest. It was an effort to get rid of her bountiful supply of courgettes before they succumbed to spoilage.
