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A few summers ago, while I was visiting family in western Pennsylvania, my parents’ neighbor sauntered over and “gifted” us some garden zucchini. Some is a bit of a misstatement here; these girthy, green summer squash were straight-up monstrous. As I accepted the basketful of hulking zucchini, my arm, caught off guard by the weight, drooped to the ground with burden. I was annoyed. Our neighbor hadn’t gifted us anything, he’d encumbered us with tough, water-logged, flavorless vegetable mass. And this time of year, it’s a scene that plagues this great land—friends, neighbors, and family members constantly trying to give away their engorged garden zucchini wherever they can. Why? Because zucchini is a culinary pain in the ass, and people are running out of ways to cook it.
“It’s a relentless vegetable,” said Carly Sugar, a garden consultant, edible landscaping expert, and grower in southeast Michigan. In her experience, gardeners everywhere get irritated with zucchini. It’s a scourge of a plant that grows fast and is prolific.
“As soon as you get fruit, it’s almost immediately a burdensome amount, grows too big so quickly, and no one else wants it, either,” Sugar said. “Then, it’s only a matter of time before you’re fighting vine borers, cucumber beetles, powdery mildew, wilt, leaf spot … it’s like you’re stressed running out the clock on inevitable pests and disease to harvest something you don’t even want.”
For Sugar’s part, she said rather visit a farmers market to buy zucchini as needed for a dollar. Growing it just isn’t worth the effort. I can’t help but ruminate over her comments of “harvest something you don’t even want” and “no one else wants it, either.” The hard fact is that among summer produce, zucchini just isn’t desirable, and it’s not an ingredient that I particularly like to cook with, either. Which is strange—I’m a food writer without any culinary hangups. I generally like everything if it’s done right, and tend to believe that any ingredient can be transformed into something that’s not only edible, but delicious. So when did I start to hate zucchini? And to harken back to what Carly said, when did our collective relationship with zucchini rot like a fat one melting into the dirt?
The traditional cooking methods that most recipes bring to bear don’t really do zucchini many favors (or flavors). The internet is overgrown with zucchini bread recipes (which, guys, is just spice cake with weird, wet fiber smuggled inside). Zucchini casserole is often a mushy, squashy mess; just another vehicle for cheese and breadcrumb, rendering the vegetable itself tasteless in its obliterated, goopy malaise. Sautéed zucchini and yellow squash is a classic side dish, but generally just reminds me of the boring meat/potatoes/vegetable plates you’d encounter at a middle-of-the-road steakhouse. Finally, there’s zoodles, which are far less whimsical than they sound—a pale, nonsensical pasta alternative that lacks flavor and texture.
And in all of the above examples lies a theme, which is that when we apply basic, homely, American-style cooking methods to zucchini, the result is often tasteless rubbish. Like most vegetarian cookery of the ’80s and ’90s—grilled portobello mushrooms, veggie burgers, and rainbow sandwiches—these cooking methods don’t really do zucchini justice. But what happens if we look elsewhere on the map? Could it be that zucchini is a good or, dare I say, even great vegetable that’s been the victim of passionless flavors and ideas? Maybe zucchini isn’t the problem. Maybe I am.
This is one of the rare instances where I turned to Instagram to check myself: “If you’re a chef who hates or loves cooking with zucchini, jump in my DMs,” I posted to my stories. I then proceeded to get 20-some messages, all singing the praises of squash. A Moroccan chef who grills and serves them with labneh, chili oil, charmoula, and nuts. Another chef waxed lovingly about fried zucchini, and to my surprise, he also staunchly defended zoodles (he makes them with a ton of butter and Parmigiano, cacio e pepe style). A chef with Middle Eastern roots prefers to cure them in thin slices and bake them with pizza, and another friend loves to grill and marinate them in garlic, Italian-American-deli style. Honestly, the only people I heard from who didn’t like zucchini were people outside of the industry. In short, people who lacked professional skill.
Properly chastened, but also inspired, I started to think about zucchini outside of its bread-baked box. Where does it shine? At Barda in Detroit, grilled zucchini is arranged in a glorious, viridescent wreath and served like ceviche. Chef Javier Bardauil utilizes hazelnuts, snow peas, and a tangy, spicy leche de tigre to give the mild vegetable some needed excitement.
The Peruvian sauce, made with lime juice, chili peppers, and aromatics, is exactly the kind of South American exuberance that zucchini needs, and exactly what it can handle.
Chef Daniele Uditi (of Pizzana in Los Angeles) is a master of zucchini, and tells me exactly why the vegetable is so special. “What I like most about zucchini is its versatility—it can carry the flavors around it while still bringing its own freshness to the dish,” said Uditi. “A tip I’d give home cooks is not to rush it: Zucchini needs time to caramelize and develop depth. If you sauté it too fast, you miss out on that sweetness and creaminess. Also, seasoning it properly and balancing it with fat (like olive oil or cheese) is essential—otherwise, it can taste bland or watery.”
Uditi is an ardent fan of the classic Neapolitan pasta e zucchini—what many people know as spaghetti alla Nerano, and what might just be Stanely Tucci’s favorite pasta dish. It is essentially just zucchini and butter. Egg-enriched spaghetti, garlic, fresh basil, and a whole dump truck full of Parmigiano-Reggiano also do some heavy lifting, but it’s actually the zucchini bringing some delicate, understated sweetness that leaves a lasting impression. Uditi loves using small baby summer zucchini for this. (Again, those hulked-out zucchini my neighbor brought me? They’re tasteless because they’re overgrown—tougher skin, bigger seeds, and a mushier center. Look for something slender, about 6 to 8 inches long; not the size and width of a Louisville Slugger.)
According to Uditi, baby zucchini pack a tender bite and a concentrated flavor that really makes spaghetti alla Nerano sing. “The key is slow-cooking the zucchini until it becomes golden and almost melts down, then folding it into pasta with good olive oil and cheese. It’s comforting, humble, and elegant all at once.”
More flavorful solutions for zucchini abound. A proper Indian or Thai zucchini curry is wonderful, and the squash swells with deliciously flavorful aromatics like ginger and cumin. My cousin has a genius solution for all of his garden squash, which is a conserva of sorts. He puts thin slices of zucchini in a dehydrator, then cans it with olive oil, herbs, and a dash of vinegar. Once left to preserve, the jar of zucchini conserva tastes unctuous and tangy, and the zucchini itself—dehydrated and rehydrated with oil and vinegar—obtains a chewier, meatier quality. And in the fine dining circuit, Bill Addison, the food critic for the Los Angeles Times, recently went to Paris and came back struck by a starkly green zucchini mille-feuille (mille-feuille is a famous, philo-layered dessert in France), with skate wing, beurre blanc, and sorrel sauce at Datil restaurant. It’s a gorgeous-looking dish, something that exalts the lowly vegetable to something refined and elegant.
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Dozens of exciting zucchini preparations have been suggested to me in the last few days. In the end, I’m convinced that zucchini’s detractors are the problem here. Every ingredient can indeed be great in the right hands. Zucchini, I fear, has been the subject of some really bland PR over the years. It’s never really been a superstar in the culinary world, but if there’s one thing chefs have taught me since my little Instagram consciousness-raising session, it’s that many smart, creative people out there love the stuff, and love solving its intricately delicate puzzle.
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Which is to say, zucchini is definitely work. It needs to be cared for, both in the garden and in the kitchen. Understandably, that may be more effort than the average person is willing to put in. I’m reminded of something funny Carly told me about zucchini. “It wants to die,” she said. “It succumbs to so many pests and diseases. You’re fighting against the clock until it kills itself.”
If you do decide to intervene and give the vegetable a proper go, what chefs have taught me is that zucchini deserves your undivided attention, and, if I’m speaking honestly, that I’ve been lazy. Augment it with acid and herbs like Bardauil; get out of that Western mindset and utilize labneh and harissa. Or, just use solid technique like Uditi. Recently, I made spaghetti alla Nerano at home, and I took his advice: I slivered some baby zucchini on a mandoline and slowly fried them in oil. The result? Something sugary, crisp, and decadent. This wasn’t ho-hum garden zucchini anymore; it was the dream of zucchini realized.
But again, the gargantuan clubs your neighbor is banging on your door? That stuff’s a nightmare. To them, I say: Keep your poorly tended spawn at home. That’s your own problem to solve.
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