Mushy Zucchini

In the day and age of the al dente vegetable, what a joy to find a recipe that celebrates the well-cooked, buttery vegetable.

After flipping through “The Cookbook” the other day, I noticed that the vegetable section has been severely neglected.  It’s time to rectify that situation, so expect quite a few veggie posts in the upcoming weeks.

For a while, I believed (incorrectly) that the British seem to really like vegetables that have been mashed up.  It was all based upon my knowledge of a beloved fried cod side dish, mushy peas.  When I came across this recipe, it served only to back up my (incorrect) assumption.  But as I started writing this article, I went out into the great-wide Internet to find a few mushy recipes that I could share.  Slowly it began to dawn on me that in reality, mushy peas are fairly common across the pond, but the other members of the vegetable kingdom aren’t usually pulverized at all.  That means that this recipe is a bit of an anomaly.  And I do enjoy out of the ordinary foodstuffs, if you haven’t noticed.

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I picked up these zucchinis at the local supermarket for a decent price.  As a quick reminder, make sure you scrub them well when you cook them at home.  I thought I had done a good job getting them clean, but there was a slight pesticide flavor in the finished product.  A lesson learned there, for sure.

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In a pan over low heat, one whole (!) stick of butter was slowly melted.  To quote Alton Brown, “I said it was good, not good for you.”  Into the pan went a few cloves of garlic that I had finely chopped to sweat.

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As the garlic and butter got to know each other, I sliced each zucchini into 1/3 inch rounds.  A quick rinse once more, and the veggies were ready for the pan.

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Into the pan they went, and I tossed them over and over until each slice was coated with the garlic butter.  After they were all properly buttered I added salt and pepper and covered the pan.

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After a few minutes on the heat, the zucchini began losing their rigid structure.  Here they are after just five minutes.

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Ten minutes in, you can see how the middles of the slices are falling out.  Mr. Henderson mentions that when the zucchini start to break apart, they’ll start to bind the whole thing together.

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And here’s the final dish.  I think I probably could have kept them on the heat longer for even mushier results, but their texture was just fine by me.  This recipe is going into the old memory bank for those cooking by the seat of the pants moments that tend to crop up.  Slightly silky, perfectly mushy, drenched in butter zucchini coins that you can prepare in under 20 minutes?  Hell yes, I’ll be preparing this recipe over and over for a very long time.

One down, fifty two to go.

EDIT: Commenter E. Nassar has a similar post about mushy zucchini that just needs to be shared.  Quickly, click this link.

They say you should never meet your heroes

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Last Tuesday, I discovered exactly why “they” say such a thing.  Culinary truth-teller Anthony Bourdain was in Austin on tour for his recently released book, ‘Medium Raw: A Bloody Valentine to the World of Food and the People Who Cook‘.  A local bookstore had announced that Bourdain would be signing copies, and I wasn’t going to miss a chance to talk to the man who inspired me to start cooking from Fergus Henderson’s grand opus.

That morning, I woke up early and got to the bookstore about thirty minutes before they opened to secure myself twenty seconds or so of Mr. Bourdain’s time.  The store was handing out wristbands, and only the people that snagged one would be able to get their books signed.  Book and wristband in hand, I headed to work.

As the day wore on, every second of the meeting was planned out in my head.  I dearly wanted him to sign my beat up copy of “The Cookbook” so he could see that I was serious about the recipes inside.   The idea of asking about woodcock suppliers came up as well, because I’ve finally started to lose hope of ever finding one.  And of course, I allowed myself to indulge in the far-flung possibilities, that just maybe he’d find my project interesting enough to want to find out more.

I think that’s something we all do to an extent.  It’s fun to imagine that we’ve done something of merit, worthy of recognition by the people we put upon pedestals.  I’ll be the first to admit that it’s a foolish pipe dream, but that silly little hope is comforting, regardless of how ridiculous it may be.

Later that day, I showed up to the bookstore along with my friends April and Sean of The Hungry Engineer and listened to Mr. Bourdain read from one of his books, and take questions from the massive crowd of people that had shown up to get their books signed too.  An hour later, I was almost face to face with the man.  The entire time, Mr. Bourdain had been sucking down Shiner Bock after Shiner Bock.  I can’t really fault him.  I know if I had just been tasked to talk for an extended amount of time in front of roughly 600 people I’d never met, I’d probably ask for a stiff drink as well.

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When it was finally my turn, I followed my carefully laid plans out to a T.  I asked if he’d sign my copy of “The Cookbook”, which he was more than happy to do.  At first he was a bit taken aback.

“I’m not familiar with this edition.” he stated.

“Ah, my wife had it rebound for me.  I’ve used it so much that the back broke.”

“Man, I really do love this book.”

“I’ve got a question for you real quick about trying to find a woodcock.  Do you have any suggestions?”

“They don’t have them out here?”

“Not really.  And you can’t buy them because they’re a game bird.”

“What, they’re illegal?  Huh.  Well this is Texas, get a gun and go shoot something local.  Substitute it man.”

“I’ll mention on my site that you said that.  Thank you.”

At that point, I’d noticed that Bourdain had already picked up the next book he needed to sign.  My time was up, so I turned around and walked out the double doors toward the parking lot.  The hope that he’d see something worth investigating further had come to a quiet, easy end.  And before you think that I’m angry about it, or upset with Bourdain, let me stop you right there:  I full understand that he was under no obligation to do anything but sign the copy of his book I had bought.  The fact he even took the time to chat with me briefly means a lot to me, and I appreciate it greatly.  He’s still one of my favorite people in the food world, and I doubt that will ever change.

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But that’s why you shouldn’t meet your heroes: you get to cling on to that silly little daydream a little longer.