Growing up, this is what my parents set aside a space on the side of the house for, lined by a raspberry bush and just steps from the sour cherry tree. Sadly, the tree died just as I developed a taste for the tart cherries, the raspberry bush became overrun with poison ivy, and the last round of landscaping whittled the garden area to half its size, but I swear, somewhere in the back there is still a matted indentation from the Summer of the Zucchini Bats.
I don’t know if something was particularly haywire in the soil that summer (insert your best Jersey joke here) or maybe this is just what happens from time to time if you don’t pick your zucchini when they’re a more manageable size, but the summer when I was about seven, the zucchini never stopped growing. Now, I was short then (and sadly, still am) but I remember these things being at least half my size. And heavy. And we had no idea what to do with them.
Which brings me to my very first cookbook, aptly titled something along the lines of My Very First Cookbook. I’d do anything to find another copy of it today, but to be honest, I’m not even sure if it was mass-produced in any way. Bound with one of those white plastic comb spines, with hand-drawn illustrations inside, it could easily have been picked up at a craft fair form by the neighbor across the street who gave it to me as a birthday gift. It’s generic title and odd construction have not made it easy to hunt down.
But in truth, no matter what nostalgia I deck it out with, it was nothing spectacular, your run-of-the-mill peanut butter sandwich recipes with a hippy-dippy bent of “try this with raisins!” But within its pages was a timely gem, something we’d never made before but were surprisingly delicious. And although I can’t actually imagine my mother letting us bake batches upon batches of sweet cakey food, I remember making a lot of zucchini muffins that summer.
Zucchini muffins are sheer brilliance, if you ask me, crafted from the same ingenious logic as carrot cake: of course it’s healthy, it has vegetables in it. And, um, there’s nothing wrong with that line of thought, not that you couldn’t swap half the oil for yogurt or applesauce or half the flour with whole wheat for an especially earnest treat.
But I didn’t bother with any of that last night. I just wanted it the way I remembered–loads of cinnamon, a pinch of nutmeg and a heaping pile of shredded squash. Of course, I have this husband thing now and he has but one suggestion for all food items, always: couldn’t you add chocolate chips to that? Thus, in the loaf I didn’t bring to work today, I did, but I’ve got to say, although delicious, they didn’t work for me because my idea of what zucchini bread should taste like was set at an early age, and is apparently unwavering, like some ten-pound zucchini from back in the day.
Adapted from several sources
Yield: 2 loaves or approximately 24 muffins
1 cup olive or vegetable oil
1 3/4 cups sugar
2 cups grated zucchini
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 cups all-purpose flour
3 teaspoons cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup chopped walnuts or pecans (optional)
1 cup dried cranberries, raisins or chocolate chips or a combination thereof (optional)
Preheat oven to 350°F.
Grease and flour two 8×4 inch loaf pans, liberally. (See those pictures of the cakes inside their non-stick pans? Yup, they’re pretty much hanging out in there for the time being.) Alternately, line 24 muffin cups with paper liners.
In a large bowl, beat the eggs with a whisk. Mix in oil and sugar, then zucchini and vanilla.
Combine flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking soda, baking powder and salt, as well as nuts, chocolate chips and/or dried fruit, if using.
Stir this into the egg mixture. Divide the batter into prepared pans.
Bake loaves for 60 minutes, plus or minus ten, or until a tester inserted into the center comes out clean. Muffins will bake far more quickly, approximately 20 to 25 minutes.