As poet Marge Piercey says, zucchinis “like the trunks of green elephants” and “as sudden and huge as alligators” are running rampant in Kootenay gardens and markets. Here is a great, easy recipe from the Castlegar Selkirk staff cook book, Food Talk. The book was put together as a fund raiser for the student food bank and was inspired by the group of staff that sit at the back table in the Admin Building and admire each others lunches as they talk about their gardens and food!
Laurie Read, Selkirk counsellor and wonderful cook, also suggests throwing discs of zucchini in a bag with some marinade (crushed garlic, balsamic and olive oil . . . .or even some Kraft Italian Dressing), and then throwing them on the grill for ten minutes or baking them.
Eat Laurie’s Zucchini Pie on its own with a salad or as a side dish. The cheese and eggs give you your protein so eat it for breakfast, lunch or dinner and it freezes beautifully if you just happen to have an abundance of this summer squash. The cook book may still be available in the Castlegar book store – it is filled with great food ideas! Read Marge Piercey’s poem below for a laugh and more zucchini cooking ideas!
Note the bits of zucchini pie on the page – that is a sign of a good recipe!
Attack of the Squash People
And thus the people every year
in the valley of humid July
did sacrifice themselves
to the long green phallic god
and eat and eat and eat.
They’re coming, they’re on us,
the long striped gourds, the silky
babies, the hairy adolescents,
the lumpy vast adults
like the trunks of green elephants.
Recite fifty zucchini recipes!
Zucchini tempura; creamed soup;
sauté with olive oil and cumin,
tomatoes, onion; frittata;
casserole of lamb; baked
topped with cheese; marinated;
stuffed; stewed; driven
through the heart like a stake.
Get rid of old friends: they too
have gardens and full trunks.
Look for newcomers: befriend
them in the post office, unload
on them and run. Stop tourists
in the street. Take truckloads
to Boston. Give to your Red Cross.
Beg on the highway: please
take my zucchini, I have a crippled
mother at home with heartburn.
Sneak out before dawn to drop
them in other people’s gardens,
in baby buggies at churchdoors.
Shot, smuggling zucchini into
mailboxes, a federal offense.
With a suave reptilian glitter
you bask among your raspy
fronds sudden and huge as
alligators. You give and give
too much, like summer days
limp with heat, thunderstorms
bursting their bags on our heads,
as we salt and freeze and pickle
for the too little to come.