- "Zucchini Top 20"
allrecipes.com - "Zucchini History"
About.com: Home Cooking - "zucchini"
RecipeZaar - "How to Grow Zucchini Squash"
The Gardener's Network
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Friday, June 4, 2010
Zucchini: More Than You Probably Want to Know
Here are some of the more interesting online discussions of zucchini:
Zucchini, the Kitchen Garden's Overachiever
Zucchini: the vegetable kingdom's answer to bratwurst.
There's a reason why you don't see much zucchini in the grocery's produce section. Those green sausages don't keep very well: and one gardening enthusiast can keep an entire neighborhood supplied for the summer.
I found out more than I planned to, about zucchini, doing research for Heather Fisk. Most of us know zucchini as something that the neighbor brings in a basket. Along with an apologetic 'could you take some of these?'
Zucchini started out in Central and South America, was brought as an exotic food to Europe, and took root in Italy. Our zucchini is a descendant of those transplanted Italian plants.
Zucchini is called courgette in French: and so is some yellow thing that's sort of like zucchini. They're now part of French cuisine. Which is like food, only more expensive.
Perhaps mercifully, zucchini is a relatively delicate plant. Frost can kill it, although the survivors generally produce more of those long green things. A zucchini can be two feet long and six inches across. The smaller ones taste better, though.
Don't misunderstand me: I like zucchini. And, thanks to the generosity of my neighbors, I've had opportunities to try most of the hundreds of zucchini recipes. Like blueberry zucchini bread, zucchini relish and zucchini pumpkin bread.
Which reminds me. Zucchinis can be crossed with pumpkins. Stan Parks is growing what he assures me is a small crop of the things. I'll probably see the first in a couple months.
There's a reason why you don't see much zucchini in the grocery's produce section. Those green sausages don't keep very well: and one gardening enthusiast can keep an entire neighborhood supplied for the summer.
I found out more than I planned to, about zucchini, doing research for Heather Fisk. Most of us know zucchini as something that the neighbor brings in a basket. Along with an apologetic 'could you take some of these?'
Zucchini started out in Central and South America, was brought as an exotic food to Europe, and took root in Italy. Our zucchini is a descendant of those transplanted Italian plants.
Zucchini is called courgette in French: and so is some yellow thing that's sort of like zucchini. They're now part of French cuisine. Which is like food, only more expensive.
Perhaps mercifully, zucchini is a relatively delicate plant. Frost can kill it, although the survivors generally produce more of those long green things. A zucchini can be two feet long and six inches across. The smaller ones taste better, though.
Don't misunderstand me: I like zucchini. And, thanks to the generosity of my neighbors, I've had opportunities to try most of the hundreds of zucchini recipes. Like blueberry zucchini bread, zucchini relish and zucchini pumpkin bread.
Which reminds me. Zucchinis can be crossed with pumpkins. Stan Parks is growing what he assures me is a small crop of the things. I'll probably see the first in a couple months.
Friday, December 18, 2009
The Dubious Tale of Aunt Abigail's Christmas Cake
The Christmas Cake is a particular sort of fruitcake, made especially for the holiday season. Comprised, I'm told, of: currants;, sultanas; candied cherries; plus enough butter and brown sugar to make your arteries harden, just looking at it. And, perhaps to make certain that no calorie-free void remains, syrup.
Prepared in the traditional manner, a "healthy Christmas cake" is an oxymoron: a contradiction in concepts. The entire point of baking a Christmas cake is to create a sumptuous and durable treat which, if necessary, can serve as a doorstop.
Which reminds me of Aunt Abigail's Christmas cake, baked not long after Disneyland opened.
Aunt Abigail mailed the massive fruitcake to her nephew's family, who had recently moved to California.
The nephew was touched by Aunt Abigail's kindness. He was also touched by the kind gift sent his family by his wife's Aunt Waverly: another fruitcake. Aunt Waverly's Christmas cake was tasted by the family. Aunt Abigail's was saved "for later."
"Later" stretched on, as weeks and months passed by. Around November of the next year, Aunt Waverly's cake had not been finished. The nephew weighed his options: and decided to give Aunt Abigail's fruitcake to a cousin's family.
And so the travels of Aunt Abigail's fruitcake began. Each year the mass of preserved fruits and nuts found itself in a new home: where it was admired; set aside "for later;" and ultimately sent forth to continue its journey.
Who knows? This year Aunt Abigail's fruitcake may arrive at your home.
Prepared in the traditional manner, a "healthy Christmas cake" is an oxymoron: a contradiction in concepts. The entire point of baking a Christmas cake is to create a sumptuous and durable treat which, if necessary, can serve as a doorstop.
Which reminds me of Aunt Abigail's Christmas cake, baked not long after Disneyland opened.
Aunt Abigail mailed the massive fruitcake to her nephew's family, who had recently moved to California.
The nephew was touched by Aunt Abigail's kindness. He was also touched by the kind gift sent his family by his wife's Aunt Waverly: another fruitcake. Aunt Waverly's Christmas cake was tasted by the family. Aunt Abigail's was saved "for later."
"Later" stretched on, as weeks and months passed by. Around November of the next year, Aunt Waverly's cake had not been finished. The nephew weighed his options: and decided to give Aunt Abigail's fruitcake to a cousin's family.
And so the travels of Aunt Abigail's fruitcake began. Each year the mass of preserved fruits and nuts found itself in a new home: where it was admired; set aside "for later;" and ultimately sent forth to continue its journey.
Who knows? This year Aunt Abigail's fruitcake may arrive at your home.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Labor Day Traffic Jam and Picnic: 1973
Afterwards, nobody seemed to know who first thought of repairing the U. S. Highway 73 bridge over the Loonfoot River during that Labor Day weekend, 37 years ago. It must have seemed like a good idea at the time.
That Friday afternoon, August 31, 1973, at 5:30, barriers went up and a crew began work on the bridge. The nearest north-south roads at the time were several miles away.
Work was almost completed Monday afternoon, when vacationers from Minnesota's lake country started pouring down Highway 73, past the detour signs.
No more than a hundred southbound cars were stopped on the highway by the time the Highway Patrol and police from several towns started sorting the mess out.
Frustrated drivers were getting turned around and pointed toward the detour, when a semi came barreling down the road. The cab went off the west side of the road. The back end slewed around. The wheels fell into the east ditch, dropping the fifty-foot trailer across the pavement.
Frank Anderson had been watching the excitement from his Lakeview Diner. Like good neighbors, he and his staff put together a sort of impromptu picnic. Those vacationers got home hours later than they planned: but they did get a free meal out of it.
Mr. Anderson explained to me that he figured it was worth it, in good will. It wasn't his fault that the 1973 oil crisis started about a month later. The Lakeview Diner closed its doors in the fall of 1974.
That Friday afternoon, August 31, 1973, at 5:30, barriers went up and a crew began work on the bridge. The nearest north-south roads at the time were several miles away.
Work was almost completed Monday afternoon, when vacationers from Minnesota's lake country started pouring down Highway 73, past the detour signs.
No more than a hundred southbound cars were stopped on the highway by the time the Highway Patrol and police from several towns started sorting the mess out.
Frustrated drivers were getting turned around and pointed toward the detour, when a semi came barreling down the road. The cab went off the west side of the road. The back end slewed around. The wheels fell into the east ditch, dropping the fifty-foot trailer across the pavement.
Frank Anderson had been watching the excitement from his Lakeview Diner. Like good neighbors, he and his staff put together a sort of impromptu picnic. Those vacationers got home hours later than they planned: but they did get a free meal out of it.
Mr. Anderson explained to me that he figured it was worth it, in good will. It wasn't his fault that the 1973 oil crisis started about a month later. The Lakeview Diner closed its doors in the fall of 1974.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Big Lemon at the Grimm County Fair
Neighborhood lemonade stands are nothing unusual.
And you’ve seen lemonade concessions in portable huts, shaped like lemons.
What you probably haven't seen is anything quite like the I Love Fruit! (ILF) lemonade stand at this year's Grimm County Fair. It’s shaped like a lemon - nothing new there - with a big porthole instead of the usual rectangular opening. And, the giant lemon is still attached to a section of stem.
It's portable: although with a main section that's 12 feet long by nine and a quarter feet wide, it needs a 'wide load' permit to go on Minnesota roads. This colossal ersatz citrus has built-in refrigeration for its stock of lemons, and air conditioning for the staff.
Loonfoot Falls native Cherrie Baum has been involved with ILF's development for over a year now. 'I'd love it if people use these at county fairs,' she explained. 'The ILF concession is probably best suited for amusement parks like Valleyfair, though, and other areas where the stand can stay in place year-round.'
The ILF stand at this year’s fair is a test-run, to see how people like it.
Each year around 30,000 people come to the Grimm County Fair to look over farm equipment, eat fried candy, enjoy the midway, and check out livestock: so the ILF stand should get a good looking-over.
Provided that Saturday and Sunday aren't like today.
About three inches of rain thoroughly washed the streets this afternoon: and kept people at the fair in the exhibit buildings.
And you’ve seen lemonade concessions in portable huts, shaped like lemons.
What you probably haven't seen is anything quite like the I Love Fruit! (ILF) lemonade stand at this year's Grimm County Fair. It’s shaped like a lemon - nothing new there - with a big porthole instead of the usual rectangular opening. And, the giant lemon is still attached to a section of stem.
It's portable: although with a main section that's 12 feet long by nine and a quarter feet wide, it needs a 'wide load' permit to go on Minnesota roads. This colossal ersatz citrus has built-in refrigeration for its stock of lemons, and air conditioning for the staff.
Loonfoot Falls native Cherrie Baum has been involved with ILF's development for over a year now. 'I'd love it if people use these at county fairs,' she explained. 'The ILF concession is probably best suited for amusement parks like Valleyfair, though, and other areas where the stand can stay in place year-round.'
The ILF stand at this year’s fair is a test-run, to see how people like it.
Each year around 30,000 people come to the Grimm County Fair to look over farm equipment, eat fried candy, enjoy the midway, and check out livestock: so the ILF stand should get a good looking-over.
Provided that Saturday and Sunday aren't like today.
About three inches of rain thoroughly washed the streets this afternoon: and kept people at the fair in the exhibit buildings.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Chicken Fat as an Energy Source: Or, Dave's Memorable Memorial Day
Dave wasn't one of those hard-core outdoor grillers who flip burgers in anything short of blizzard conditions. He waited until Memorial Day weekend to set up his grill: the user-friendly sort, with an LP gas tank instead of charcoal.
That year, Dave decided to start the summer with something different: grilled chicken.
He put it on aluminum foil, like the cooking instructions said: with a sort of curb at the edge, to prevent spills.
The first time Dave opened the grill's hood, to see how the chicken was coming, he noticed a pool of liquid fat forming on the foil. Also, that the chicken pieces weren't anywhere near being ready to turn.
Several minutes later, he checked again. This time, the pieces were browning, near the foil. Dave decided it was time to turn them.
Using one of those long-handled tongs they have for grilling, Dave lifted one piece – a drumstick, he tells me. The foil, now lightly baked onto the chicken skin, came with it.
That made the center of the foil higher than the curb, so liquid chicken fat poured off the foil and onto the hot grill.
The muted hiss of the grill turned to a subdued roar, as flames leaped out and up. Dave was lightly singed, but okay.
He got the LP gas shut off, but the fire kept going. Chicken fat makes a pretty good fuel, Dave tells me. By the time the fire was out, the chicken was over-done: even by Dave's standards.
That year, Dave decided to start the summer with something different: grilled chicken.
He put it on aluminum foil, like the cooking instructions said: with a sort of curb at the edge, to prevent spills.
The first time Dave opened the grill's hood, to see how the chicken was coming, he noticed a pool of liquid fat forming on the foil. Also, that the chicken pieces weren't anywhere near being ready to turn.
Several minutes later, he checked again. This time, the pieces were browning, near the foil. Dave decided it was time to turn them.
Using one of those long-handled tongs they have for grilling, Dave lifted one piece – a drumstick, he tells me. The foil, now lightly baked onto the chicken skin, came with it.
That made the center of the foil higher than the curb, so liquid chicken fat poured off the foil and onto the hot grill.
The muted hiss of the grill turned to a subdued roar, as flames leaped out and up. Dave was lightly singed, but okay.
He got the LP gas shut off, but the fire kept going. Chicken fat makes a pretty good fuel, Dave tells me. By the time the fire was out, the chicken was over-done: even by Dave's standards.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Thanksgiving Dinner: Turkey; Dressing; and Lefse
I'd always assumed that the "turkey coma" after Thanksgiving dinner was caused by the turkey. Someone told me that it was the tryptophan in the turkey that did it, which sounded very scientific.
Then, I poked around a little on the Web, and read that L-tryptophan has to be taken on an empty stomach to make someone drowsy. Whatever else you can call the typical Loonfoot Falls stomach after Thanksgiving dinner, “empty” isn't even close.
The same place that wrote about L-tryptophan claimed that something other than turkey might explain that relaxed, if bloated, feeling we get. They could be right.
I did some checking around, and this would be a fairly typical main meal on Thanksgiving day:
Finally: in praise of lefse. It's the Norwegian version of potato flatbread: thin, flexible, pale with brown spots, and delicious by itself. Buttered, even better. Add sugar and cinnamon, it's a desert.
Then, I poked around a little on the Web, and read that L-tryptophan has to be taken on an empty stomach to make someone drowsy. Whatever else you can call the typical Loonfoot Falls stomach after Thanksgiving dinner, “empty” isn't even close.
The same place that wrote about L-tryptophan claimed that something other than turkey might explain that relaxed, if bloated, feeling we get. They could be right.
I did some checking around, and this would be a fairly typical main meal on Thanksgiving day:
- Turkey
- Cranberry sauce
- Stuffing
- Gravy
- Lefse
- Sweet potatoes
- Mashed potatoes
- Mashed sweet potatoes
- Yams
- Baked potatoes
- Dumplings
- More Gravy
- Buttered lefse
- Corn on the cob
- Peas and carrots
- More turkey
- And stuffing
- And cranberry sauce
- Gravy, again
- Another helping of
- Mashed potatoes
- gravy
- and dumplings
- Buttered lefse with sugar and cinnamon
- Another helping of turkey
- Can't let the dressing go to waste
- Cranberry sauce: you have to have cranberry sauce with turkey
- More corn on the cob
- And apple, pumpkin, or pecan pie
- More likely, all three
Finally: in praise of lefse. It's the Norwegian version of potato flatbread: thin, flexible, pale with brown spots, and delicious by itself. Buttered, even better. Add sugar and cinnamon, it's a desert.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Grimm County Fair 2008
I've got a soft spot in my heart for the Grimm County Fair. Each year, visitors to Loonfoot Falls immerse themselves in a cultural tradition that spans more than a century. Then, at the end of the day, some discover that it's not a good idea to park next to a "NO PARKING" sign.
The county fair is a place for healthy competition: Judges hand out blue ribbons for jams and preserves, quilts, and digital art, like "Kenningward," one of this year's Honorable Mentions; People see who's best at handling a team of draft horses, raising llamas, or driving in a demolition derby.
"Kenningward," Honorable Mention, Grimm County Fair Digital Art 2008
It's an educational experience, too. This year, the Grimm County Reptile and Amphibian Restoration Effort (RARE) booth let fairgoers get up close and personal with salamanders, lizards, and grass snakes. RARE's spokesperson, Mindy Kleinsdorp, explained that her assemblage of things that wriggle, slither, and hiss should "show people how important it is to keep our woods and wetlands safe for wildlife."
She made me give back a grass snake that had found its way into my pocket.
It sounds corny, but the Grimm County Fair is a family event. Between a demolition derby, art show, farm implement displays and the midway, there's something for just about everyone.
Minnesota's summer heat, together with the spinning, whirling, bouncing rides on the midway, make a person really appreciate the varieties of fresh-squeezed lemonade. And, of course, standards like corn dogs, cheese curds, and Otto's unforgettable Deep Fried Chocolate Pork Rinds.
The county fair is a place for healthy competition: Judges hand out blue ribbons for jams and preserves, quilts, and digital art, like "Kenningward," one of this year's Honorable Mentions; People see who's best at handling a team of draft horses, raising llamas, or driving in a demolition derby.
"Kenningward," Honorable Mention, Grimm County Fair Digital Art 2008
It's an educational experience, too. This year, the Grimm County Reptile and Amphibian Restoration Effort (RARE) booth let fairgoers get up close and personal with salamanders, lizards, and grass snakes. RARE's spokesperson, Mindy Kleinsdorp, explained that her assemblage of things that wriggle, slither, and hiss should "show people how important it is to keep our woods and wetlands safe for wildlife."
She made me give back a grass snake that had found its way into my pocket.
It sounds corny, but the Grimm County Fair is a family event. Between a demolition derby, art show, farm implement displays and the midway, there's something for just about everyone.
Minnesota's summer heat, together with the spinning, whirling, bouncing rides on the midway, make a person really appreciate the varieties of fresh-squeezed lemonade. And, of course, standards like corn dogs, cheese curds, and Otto's unforgettable Deep Fried Chocolate Pork Rinds.
Friday, July 25, 2008
A Burger, Fries, and Frustration
Small town America is supposed to be a bucolic abode of bliss: a sort of Brigadoon, far removed from the frantic pace of the outside world.
Don't believe it.
With a deadline today, and an editor (hi, boss!), breathing down my neck, I needed a break, and a meal. I had about fifteen minutes for both. The solution was obvious: go out, get a burger and fries, and eat at my desk.
There was a line at the drive-through, which I'd expected.
Then, whoever was in the car ahead of me opened a meaningful dialog with the checkout guy. It must have been complicated. The driver grabbed several different pieces of air, apparently showing how much coffee or pop she wanted.
Then menus started changing hands. I counted three different sheets that the guy at the window handed out, and two booklets. I'm pretty sure one of the sheets was the children's menu.
I was checked the clock. I had another five minutes before I had to be back at my desk.
Some sort of decision seemed to have been reached. Two menus and a booklet went back inside. The checkout guy's profile disappeared from the window.
Time passed.
I now had three minutes left.
Finally, her order got handed out. From the size of the package, I think she got a burger and a small coffee.
I made it back to my desk, only two minutes late.
With stress like this, I might as well be living in Manhattan.
Don't believe it.
With a deadline today, and an editor (hi, boss!), breathing down my neck, I needed a break, and a meal. I had about fifteen minutes for both. The solution was obvious: go out, get a burger and fries, and eat at my desk.
There was a line at the drive-through, which I'd expected.
Then, whoever was in the car ahead of me opened a meaningful dialog with the checkout guy. It must have been complicated. The driver grabbed several different pieces of air, apparently showing how much coffee or pop she wanted.
Then menus started changing hands. I counted three different sheets that the guy at the window handed out, and two booklets. I'm pretty sure one of the sheets was the children's menu.
I was checked the clock. I had another five minutes before I had to be back at my desk.
Some sort of decision seemed to have been reached. Two menus and a booklet went back inside. The checkout guy's profile disappeared from the window.
Time passed.
I now had three minutes left.
Finally, her order got handed out. From the size of the package, I think she got a burger and a small coffee.
I made it back to my desk, only two minutes late.
With stress like this, I might as well be living in Manhattan.
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