Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...

By Steven W. Siler

 

Summertime, and the living’s easy…at least that is how the song goes (be it Gershwin or Sublime). And in these sultry Dog Days of Summer, the only thing that is NOT easy is keeping up with that single zucchini plant that I invited into the garden. Seriously? It was one little plant! What does Down To Earth Garden Center do to them?? I have literally harvested 15 zucchinis, in addition to half as many delicious blooms (that were perfect stuffed and fried, I might add). 

From One. Solitary. Plant. If only my bank account were so prolific.

All of this botanical bounty set me to musing about this humble herbage. In my travels, I have learned that our cousins across the pond in both the UK and France hail this squash as a courgette, while the descendants of Romulus hold with a more familiar-sounding zucchino. However, delving deeper, the plot doth thicken. Our zucchini is not from Italy or France, whatever its moniker. This equal world-traveler hails from modern-day Mexico and Central America, where it and its brethren were called askutasquash, the Narragansett word for raw or uncooked. No doubt, New England thriftiness shortened this to squash. 

Spanish conquistadors discovered the plants while romping amongst the natives and returned to the Iberian Peninsula with them. But how on the compass rose did they become so popular in Italy? Stand by, dear readers. Y’see, the kingdom of Naples in particular, had a nearly 600-year association with Aragon (i.e, Spain) and later the Spanish crown, from roughly 1200-1800 A.D. Sicily and the kingdom of Sicily were also associated with the Spanish crown for large parts of this time period. Cue Garibaldi knitting the country together, and voilà! The askutasquash was now the zucchino all down the Boot.

But let’s not rest on our bay laurels. In the late 1800s, a trade war broke out between France and Italy over the contentious issue of tariffs. The French, having enjoyed the tasty zucchino, but not wanting to appear to be supping with the enemy, renamed the zucchino to courgette (i.e., “little gourd”). Fast forward 20 years to the late unpleasantness known as the Great War, and guess who were chums in the trenches? The English and the French. The Tommies knew a good thing when they tasted it and brought the courgette back to good ole Inglia Terra. 

Incidentally, the Italian-French trade war had a curious unintended effect. The loss of their largest trading partner ended up decimating the Italian economy, driving literally boatloads of Italians to emigrate to the United States, thus returning the tasty zucchini to its native shores. Let me remind you that this is a history lesson on food, and absolutely nothing to do with current events.

Are you worn out from all of this gustatory globe-trotting? I know I am. Methinks I’ll relax on the porch/portico/veranda and enjoy some Fiori di Zucca. It’s too hot to do anything else. 

 

Fried Stuffed Zucchini Flowers (Fiori di Zucca Fritti)

 

Ingredients

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 tsp. salt, plus more, to taste

2 eggs

1/2 cup cold sparkling mineral water

1 Tbsp. vegetable oil, plus more for deep-frying

2 oz. fresh mozzarella cheese

10 anchovy fillets, cut in half crosswise

20 large squash blossoms

 

Directions

In a small bowl, stir together the flour and salt. Add the eggs, mineral water, and the 1 Tbsp. vegetable oil and whisk just until blended. Cut the mozzarella into sticks 1 inch long by 1/4 inch wide by 1/4 inch thick. Pat the anchovies dry with paper towels.

In a heavy, deep skillet, pour in oil to a depth of 1 inch and heat to 375°F on a deep-frying thermometer or until a bit of the batter sizzles when dropped into the oil.

While the oil is heating, gently spread open the petals of each flower and carefully pinch out the filaments inside. Insert a piece of the cheese and an anchovy half into each flower and press the petals closed.

One at a time, dip the flowers into the batter, turning to coat completely. Lift out and let the excess drip off. Working with a few at a time, slip the battered flowers into the hot oil and fry until golden brown on all sides, about 4 minutes. Using tongs or a slotted spoon, transfer the blossoms to paper towels to drain and season with salt. Serve immediately, then fry the remaining flowers. Makes 20.

Steven W. Siler is the public information officer for the Tryon Fire Department, a chef and author, and a general raconteur. He can be reached at swsfiremedic@gmail.com