fabuleux courgette

The Dog Days of Summer are upon us. Gardens are exploding. Vegetables are shiny fresh and happy. From A to Z, produce is queen. 'Tis the season of abundance. You know where I'm going with this, right? Need I say more, Dearest Reader? Do I really have to wax poetic and effusive about the humble cucurbita pepo known as zucchini? Do you crave another verbal celebration of le fabuleux courgette?

Perhaps I should invent a tale about some beatific Italian grandmother and what she used to do with weathered buckets of fresh-picked zucchina, transforming the green torpedoes (still cozy-warm from the sun) into melt-in-your-mouth garlic laced bliss. I could go all James Frey on ya and pretend I had a childhood that included actual, fresh picked produce (in full disclosure, there were potatoes) and not canned corn and fried bologna.

The one I had on hand was Polish. And not only did she not grow vegetables, Darling, I sincerely wonder if she ever ate a vegetable in her long and prickly life of nine decades- beyond said canned corn and the occasional boiled potato. Instant Sanka, Russel Stover Assorted Creams, and Lucky Strikes were her three favored food groups. So I often find it ironic that I blog recipes and take pictures of food.

Though Dr. Freud, perhaps, would not exactly be surprised.

I've been reading the book Women, Food and God by Geneen Roth. It is a thought provoking read, and I highly recommend it. Though it is not for the faint of heart. There's stuff in there we don't necessarily want to hear, clinging as we do, to our assumptions.