The Paloma

It's almost the Fourth of July, and the weather has gotten hot.  Very hot.  So when 5:00 o'clock rolled around yesterday, we tried a new drink, The Paloma, which Michael Ruhlman wrote about in his Friday cocktail column this week.  Each week he writes about a different cocktail, and this week he outdid himself.  The Paloma is delicious, refreshing, and beautiful - the perfect summer cocktail.

The Paloma
Adapted from ruhlman.com
For 1 drink

Make and serve this drink quickly to preserve the effervescence of the grapefruit soda.

2 shots Hornitos Reposada Tequila
2 shots Izze Grapefruit Soda
Juice of half a lime
Spent lime rind

Squeeze the lime half thoroughly to get all its juice.  Put it in a large wine glass.  Add the Tequila and the grapefruit soda.  Stir.  Drop in the lime rind.  Add ice.  Stir again.  Serve right away

Chicken Country Captain - Again

Adapted from The Joy of Cooking

One day when I was in high school, out of the blue I got a craving for curry. I had no idea how that popped into my head. I had never eaten a curry in my life - not authentic Indian or Anglo-Indian. I'm sure there wasn't even a jar of curry powder, let alone the spices necessary to make it from scratch, in my mother's kitchen. At the time I was reading a book about Bridey Murphy, and for a split-second I thought maybe I was the incarnation of a previous lifetime lived in India. But as I was in an all-girl's Catholic school, that possibility seemed remote.

When the father of a friend of mine took eight girls from my class to Toots Schor to celebrate our graduation, shrimp curry was on the menu, and I ordered it. Then, when Frannie and I got stuck at Kennedy Airport because our flight to London was delayed by twelve hours, we went to the fanciest restaurant there, The Golden Key, and, again, I had shrimp curry. Finally, in London, Frannie and I happened upon an Indian restaurant where we stopped for dinner. That was it. I was hooked.

Forever.

I love all kinds of Indian food - authentic or not.

When I first started this blog, I didn't take photos of the food, so whenever I make a recipe for which there is no picture, I try to remember to take one and go back and post it, and that is what I did when I made this last week. Even though I have previously written about it, this dish is so good that it deserves a revisit.

For over thirty years I've been making an adaptation of the version of Chicken Country Captain from my first cookbook, the 1964 Joy of Cooking. There's something of a debate over whether or not the original is an authentic Indian dish or not.

This dish has become a favorite in America, although it probably got its name not from the sea-captain who brought the recipe back to our shores, but from the Indian officer who first made him acquainted with it. So says Cecily Brownstone, a great friend; and this is her time-tested formula. (emphasis added)

The Joy of Cooking, 1964

Writing in The New York Times on April 17, 1991, Molly O'Neill called Ms. Brownstone, the "Curator of Country Captain Chicken," because Ms. Brownstone said that "For years, every variation upset me."

And mine would be no exception.

Country Captain

Adapted from The Joy of Cooking, 1964 Edition

Serves 4 to 6

2 whole boneless chicken breasts (I haven't tried them, but boneless thighs might work well)
1/2 cup flour (I use Wondra) seasoned with salt, pepper, and sweet paprika
1 onion about the size of a teacup, diced
1 green pepper, diced
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tablespoon curry powder
2 cups stewed tomatoes
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/4 cup butter or oil
3 tablespoons currants or raisins
Toasted slivered almonds for garnish

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Cut the chicken into bite-size pieces using kitchen shears. Coat the chicken pieces with seasoned flour, and put on a plate as you go along.

In a sauté pan, brown the flour-coated chicken pieces in butter (delicious) or oil (I use grapeseed oil, which is neutral). As the chicken pieces are browned, remove them from the sauté pan, and set aside.

Add the diced onion to the saute pan, and cook until the onion wilts and just starts to turn pale gold. Add the diced green pepper, and cook for about 2 minutes. Add the garlic, and cook for 30 seconds. Add the curry powder, and cook for about 1 minute to lose the raw taste and allow the flavor to "bloom."  Add the stewed tomatoes and thyme. Stir the contents of the pan to deglaze. Bring just to a boil, then turn the heat down. You can add a little salt, but be sparing and taste carefully because the chicken is coated with seasoned flour.

If the sauté pan is big enough to hold the sauce and the chicken and can fit into the oven, put the chicken back in the pan, and put it in the oven.  Otherwise put everything in another pan or casserole, and put that in the oven.

Bake uncovered for about 30 minutes. Add currants or raisins for the last 5 minutes of cooking. Sprinkle toasted slivered almonds over the top before serving.

Print recipe

I serve this with Basmati Rice Pilaf, mango chutney, and pappadams, which I have cooked in hot oil until they puff up.

City Ham

My grandfather in England always prepared a light Sunday supper at 5:00 p.m., about four hours after the main meal. Most often, he would serve thin slices of pink ham with a layer of white fat on the outside, mustard piccalilli relish, some cheese - Cheshire, cheddar, or Danish blue - sliced tomatoes from the garden when they were available, a small salad of bibb lettuce, and slices of whole wheat bread with butter (butter - quite an indulgence in post WWII England). One Christmas night in New Jersey, my friend Sheila, who is from London, served close to the same thing after an earlier dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, which, to use an expression of Julia Reed's, brought down the house.

But other than that, I wasn't especially fond of baked ham and never thought about making it myself until I found this recipe for "city" ham on John Martin Taylor's site. He says

This ham is so good that during parties I have to make sure no one's around when I carve it because folks will flat-out pull the thing to death.

I could not resist trying this recipe after reading that, so I made it and liked it - a lot.

I've since found it's nice to have a baked ham on hand around holidays, particularly if you have company coming and going. It's good to slice thin and sandwich between two halves of Tiny Corn Muffins. You can also add a few small cubes to Macaroni and Cheese, gild the lily and put some - maybe along with a few peas - in Fettuccine All' Alfredo, and sizzle in butter to serve with scrambled, fried, or poached eggs. 

And now that Easter is just about here, it's a good option for the main event at dinner.

John Martin Taylor, who is originally from Charleston, calls this a city ham (wet cured) to distinguish it from a country ham (dry cured), which is also delicious but best eaten like prosciutto - sliced paper thin and eaten sparingly. If you look at his blog post where this recipe is embedded, you will find something interesting to read as well as some other great things he makes.

City Ham

Adapted from Hoppin' John Martin Taylor

1 whole bone-in fully-cooked smoked ham or 1/2 bone-in fully-cooked smoked ham, shank end preferred, but butt end is okay (I always make a half ham) Note: This is NOT a canned ham.

Preheat the oven to 275 degrees. Remove your ham from its packaging. Put the ham on a flat rack in a roasting dish, and loosely crumple a piece of aluminum foil over it. You want the foil to be a loose tent, not a tight cover.

Bake the ham at 275 degrees - for 7 to 8 hours if you have a whole ham; for 3 to 4 hours if you have half ham.

Print recipe

You Can Tell Everybody

I wanted to make salmon with roasted Brussels sprouts for dinner last night, but I didn't like the look of the wild Salmon at Fairway and won't buy farmed anymore. Instead, they had bright looking dry wild sea scallops, and I picked up three-quarters of a pound for the two of us along with a dozen little neck clams so I could make some spaghetti with clam sauce to serve with them.

Like Julia Reed, "to me shrimp is the ur-seafood - to eat it is to taste the essence of the ocean" (from the chapter called Bighearted Shrimp in Ham Biscuits, Hostess Gowns, and Other Southern Specialties.)

But I think sea scallops are a close second.

I got home and was going over the grocery receipt, and when I saw the entry Sea Scallops-Wet, I did a double take and thought "That must be wrong."

And, thank goodness, it was.

They cooked so well and tasted so good, it was clear these really were wild, natural scallops that had never been in contact with phosphate, and even though I totally forgot to make and serve tartar sauce with them, Walter declared them delicious.

I also forgot to take a picture, so you will get the recipe for the scallops the next time I make them - which will probably be soon - when I'll be sure to snap a shot of them.

But I do have something to tell you about.

It's my not-so-secret, but very guilty, pleasure. I'm sure everyone has one. Molly sometimes eats Cool Ranch Doritos. Perhaps Alice Waters likes to drink Champagne and eat (homemade heirloom) potato chips before 9:00 a.m. I don't know. But I do know what mine is.

It's Kraft Deli-Deluxe American Cheese.

It's not Kraft Singles. The slices cannot be wrapped piece by piece. The cheese slices must be all "stuck" together.

You can get them in a package that has slices that are 1 ounce apiece and in another package that has slices that are 2/3 of a ounce apiece.

2/3 ounce apiece

1 ounce apiece

I have no idea why that would be, and I pretty much buy whichever package is available when I run out.

I do two things with this cheese, which I refuse to call a product since I like it so much.

I make scrambled eggs, and I make cheese toast - not at the same time.

Deli-Deluxe Scrambled Eggs for 1

2 free-range large eggs

1 slice Kraft Deli-Deluxe Cheese

A hazelnut size lump of unsalted butter

A little black pepper if you like

Wash the eggs, dry them, and crack them into a small bowl. Beat with a fork until they are well blended. Heat an 8-inch frying pan, and melt the little lump of butter in it. (I only use a non-stick pan for two things - these scrambled eggs and manicotti crepes.)

Take the slice of cheese, and tear it into small pieces, dropping them into the eggs as you go along. When the butter is foaming, add the eggs and cheese, turn the heat down low, and start stirring. I use a wooden fork I got at Bridge Kitchenware a million years ago when Fred Bridge was still alive. Stir until the eggs are set the way you like them - I like mine creamy. Remember that when you turn off the heat, the eggs will still cook a little, and the cheese will continue to melt, so don't overcook them to melt the cheese. Sprinkle with freshly grated black pepper if you like. There is enough salt in the cheese that I don't find I need to add more.

Now I am not going to tell you that these are the best scrambled eggs in the world, but they are good.

Not Really a Recipe for Cheese Toast

If I have it, I use a piece of Bread Alone's excellent Organic Whole Grain Health Bread.

Take 1 slice of cheese, and put it on the bread, folding the corners so they are not hanging over the edge of the bread.

Toast it in a toaster oven.

Don't burn your mouth when you eat it!

Tartar Sauce

The newest Fairway in the City is on East 86th Street, between Second and Third Avenues. The fish department is beautiful, stocked with pristine fish that turns over quickly. I have bought large, plump, dry, wild, diver scallops, easy to cook and delicious to eat. Since I pretty much stick to what is wild, I have to wait until I get there to see what I'm going to buy for dinner, and often I'm choosing among lemon sole, grey sole, and flounder.

Last night I got lemon sole. It was firm and lovely and smelled good - like the sea. I cut the fillets in half so the pieces were small and bound them with a breading of Wondra flour, eggs, which I had beaten with a fork and put through a sieve so they were smooth and silkly, and panko.

This looks like a silly product, but it really is convenient.

Then I cooked them in grapeseed oil until they were golden brown.

I served them with fresh spinach sauteed with slices of garlic, sauteed cherry tomatoes, and Rebecca Charles's of Pearl Oyster Bar Tartar Sauce.

Tartar Sauce

Adapted from Lobster Rolls and Blueberry Pie by Rebecca Charles of Pearl Oyster Bar

These amounts are rather loose and depend on how much sauce you want to make. Increase as desired.

1/3 cup Hellman's Mayonnaise

1/2 large shallot, minced, or 2 tablespoons minced sweet onion

1 to 2 tablespoons chopped cornichons (I use Maille cornichons)

1 teaspoon cornichon juice

2 teaspoons tiny capers in vinegar, drained

Salt (if necessary) and pepper to taste

A small squeeze of fresh lemon juice

Mix all ingredients together and chill until ready to use.

Print recipe

Cream of Mussel Soup

The only time I had Billi Bi was many years ago at Le Refuge, a French Restaurant in Old Town, Alexandria. It was a rich dish, redolent of saffron and, clearly, thickened with egg yolk. I loved it. Not so much the veal kidneys that completed the meal.

This recipe for Billy By is a far cry from the mussel soup I had long ago. Yes, it IS delicious. Maybe even more so. And it is rich because it has cream (although I have cut the cream in half from the original recipe). But it is not cloying, and since I only served two, I had enough of the broth left over that I thought about poaching shrimp in it the next day. I imagine it would also be good for braising rice.

I didn't serve any crackers with it, but they would have been welcome. What I most wanted to eat with it were Pepperidge Farm Goldfish - but they are like potato chips - too dangerous for me to have in the house. This is a recipe for homemade goldfish crackers from Smitten Kitchen I have long wanted to try. Now I really have a reason to go for it.

Why You Should Eat Mussels

According to Francis Lam, "They're cheap, they're tasty, they are actually good for the environment, and they're infinitely variable."

Keep mussels in the refrigerator for no more than two days. Do not store them in water because fresh water will kill them. When you are ready to cook, put them in a large bowl, add plenty of water, swish around, and drain. Do this about three times. Then wash them quickly, using a cloth on the shells. They aren't gritty like clams so this should be easy. If any have a "beard," pull on it to extend it out from the shell as far as you can, and snip it off with kitchen shears. That's it; you're ready to go.

Cream of Mussel Soup

Potage Billy By

Adapted from The Art of Eating Cookbook by Edward Behr

Serves 4

1 large onion or 2 shallots, chopped

1 stalk celery, peeled and chopped

3 or 4 branches fresh parsley

1/3 bay leaf

3 or 4 branches fresh thyme

1-1/2 cups dry white wine

2 pounds mussels, cleaned

1 cup heavy cream (the original recipe calls for 2 cups of cream)

Black pepper

A lemon to juice

Salt, only if necessary

Put the white wine in a pot large enough to contain all the mussels. Add the onion, celery, parsley, bay leaf, and thyme. Turn the heat to medium, and cook gently (you don't want to boil away the wine) until the onion and celery are soft, five to ten minutes.

Raise the heat to high, add the cleaned mussels, and cover the pot tightly. It will take from 2 to 8 minutes for the mussels to open. After 2 minutes, stir the mussels, and start removing the open ones (with their shells) when half have opened so the open ones don't overcook while the rest are opening. After 8 minutes, discard any mussels that have remained unopened. Once all the mussels are open and removed from the pot, take the cooked mussels from their shells, and set aside.

Strain the broth. A fine metal strainer should do the job, but if the broth has any grit left in it, strain it again through a cloth-lined strainer or a coffee filter.

Wash the pot or use a smaller clean one, and put the strained broth in it. Bring the broth to a boil, add the cream, and bring back to a boil, stirring. Let it cook for 2 to 3 minutes to thicken just a little, then add the shelled mussels, and heat them through for about 30 seconds. At this point, you do not want to overcook them.

Add black pepper and a little lemon juice. Start with about a teaspoon of lemon juice, and add another teaspoon if that's not enough to brighten the taste. Serve immediately.

Print recipe.

Ten Years Later

I could not bring myself to watch the September 11th memorial services downtown, just three blocks from where I work. And I never want to reward the terrorists and re-live September 11th all over again each year. But this is the Tenth Anniversary, and it is impossible to remain passive today.

When we moved to our new office from West Chelsea at the end of October last year, I came across a file. In it was a copy of The New Yorker published on September 24, 2001, with a copy of an email I sent to a friend in California in response to his question how was I doing and what was New York like. I decided I would post it on this sad anniversary in a world that remains forever changed.

October 10, 2001, 3:33 a.m.

Hey, Friend,

Here we are, already four weeks later. I guess I have so much to say; it's hard to distill it all.

I had a lot of trouble sleeping the first two weeks, and I am still having bad dreams that wake me up. All of us here talk about it, talk about it, talk about it. Of course, the first day we were in the daze of horror. Then we were propelled by the adrenaline that gets you through the shock. We were all stopping each other in the street, "Are you okay?" which had a new and twisted meaning, being stunned all over again when you got the wrong answer, "I took my nephew's dental records to the family center because my sister just couldn't do it." "We're okay, but my girls lost five friends. You know, all these thirty year olds." Can you imagine, friend, all these young people your son's age? Then the good answers. "No, we're okay, and so are our friends. We all work in midtown." That was always good news - "We work in midtown. Our friends work in midtown. Our kids work in midtown." By the third week the total surprise was gone. Now the chilling realization has hit that "life as we know it is over" is not a sound byte. It's the real deal. The Holland Tunnel is still closed. Trucks and vans in and out of the City are stopped for inspection. And instead of its being a pain, it's a comfort. Yes, okay. We'll wait. Check it out. The National Guard is at the airport and on some street corners. Police are everywhere, and people stop at the firehouses, which are surrounded by bouquets of flowers and thank-you notes, to say hello and shake hands and drop off homemade cookies and have their little children meet real heroes. While we were eating lunch in our conference room yesterday, a plane flew over so loud and so low and so close, we all just stopped everything - talking, eating, chewing, swallowing - and looked at each other. When the noise faded, we said, "Oh, F16." Then the architect who designed our space stopped by and told us that the FBI has taken over a lot of space in a building right near our office to set up headquarters - he says now it's the safest neighborhood. People consider safety issues. Do I have comfortable shoes handy in case I need them? What will happen next? Is there anything I used to do that I shouldn't do now? But what I notice, again and again, is it's not fear that drives us. It's sadness. Sadness for those people lost, those families changed, our city brutalized, and the extreme sadness that a person in this century can inspire so much hatred that he can call for the annihilation of a group of people - the Americans, the United States - and summon a response.

As I sit at my computer at work, I look out the window at the Empire State Building. We left last night in the dark, and it's lit up Red/White/Blue. A girl who works with us was walking with us, and she said "Oh look how pretty the Empire State Building looks." She is right, and now it is amazing to see. There is a certain time of day, before sunset, when the sun somehow reflects a certain way, and our office all of a sudden has a golden glow. The light bounces off of windows outside and shines all over, and our space just shimmers. It is a beautiful time of day, somehow serene and peaceful, and it's a good time for me to stop, reflect, and in my own way say a little prayer and think how glad I am to be here.

I, like you, don't know how this will all play out and wonder and worry. So far, the response seems to be with clear thinking, planning, determination, and restraint. What I do know is that I have a different and revised appreciation for what my mother saw as an adolescent and young adult in wartime England. She spent most of her teenage nights sleeping in air-raid shelters. One of her classmates ran into a phone booth during an air raid and died when the booth crashed around her. Her mother, my grandmother who I never knew, went into the house to make everyone a cup of tea, leaving the protection of the back yard shelter, and died from implosion when a bomb fell on the house next door. My mother's next door neighbor's severed head, still in his air raid warden's helmut, was outside when she left the house one morning. One night, sheltered with a friend in the Underground in Liverpool, my mother's girlfriend had to pee, and there was no place to go; however, there was an empty Scotch bottle lying against the wall, which she used as a urinal. They left, and when they came back, discovered someone had stolen the bottle, leaving them helpless with laughter! I wonder, if she were alive, what my mother would think of all that's going on now.

You and I, we're from the "Hell, no, we won't go" generation and have never experienced these personal feelings of patriotism before. It's not like seeing the movie or reading the book The Right Stuff and feeling warm and fuzzy. To me, what everybody, especially those in the Arab world - to whom it probably came as quite a shock - learned on September 11th from those people whose plane crashed in Pennsylvania was that young, "indulgent" Americans also have some things they are willing to die for -- and do it with only minutes to think about it and plan it, not years and without the promise of 72 virgins waiting for them in Paradise.

A friend of mine told me that he has a friend whose son is in the Service on board a ship. His captain said they had received a request from the captain of a German ship in their area to arrange a rendezvous of both ships. So they pulled alongside the German ship, where everyone on board, in full military regalia, stood and sang The Star Spangled Banner. Stories like that make me cry.

Six paragraphs long,

Victoria

French Apple Cake

In two weeks’ time, I’m going to spend the afternoon with my childhood best friend. We haven’t seen each other in - I hate to say how long - 42 years, if I’m counting correctly. We’ve been able to keep track of each other all these years because our parents were friends. In fact, when my dad died in 2006, Sharyn’s father sat next to me at the funeral, holding my hand.

I have lots of memories of Sharyn - her bronze patent leather Capezios for Easter Sunday; her New Year’s Eve birthday; trick or treating in the snow after an early winter storm; taking tap dancing lessons together. I never pick up a jar of Kosciusko Mustard without thinking of her because I remember how much she liked it.

The big question now is where should we go to lunch?

We can’t go to Pearl Oyster Bar. Sharyn’s from Maine, so taking her to a restaurant in New York City that is modeled after a Maine lobster shack would be rather ridiculous, even if Rebecca Charles’s salt crusted shrimp is one of the best things to eat in the world.

Should we go to The Four Seasons because it’s fancy? Swifty’s because Jane recommended it? Brio because the Italian food is so good tourists from Italy eat there? Girasole because it’s in my neighborhood? The Lincoln because it’s hot? The Lexington Candy Shop with its old fashioned soda fountain because it’s fun?

Ah ha. The Trustee’s Dining Room at The Metropolitan Museum.

The food is excellent, the room is comfortable, the view is lovely, and we can talk without interruption. After lunch if it’s a nasty day, we can wander around the Museum; if it’s nice, the Park.

Then we can go back to my apartment and have a cup of tea (everybody drinks tea, right?) and a piece of this plain, not-too-sweet but lovely cake before Sharyn meets Doug for a dinner where he is the guest speaker.

This cake is just the ticket for a restorative afternoon snack. It’s adapted from Around My French Table by Dorie Greenspan - the creator of World Peace Cookies, which, I believe, would get democrats and republicans working together if someone would just make a lot of them and lug them to Congress.

World Peace Cookies

French Apple Cake
Adapted from Around My French Table by Dorie Greenspan

¾ cups all-purpose flour
¾ teaspoon baking powder
A pinch of salt
4 large apples - 4 different kinds are best because you can have crisp, soft, sweet, and tart
2 large eggs
¾ cup sugar
3 tablespoons dark rum - I use Goslings Black Seal
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ pound unsalted butter, melted and cooled (1 American stick)
Softened butter for coating the cake pan

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Butter an 8-inch springform pan.

In a small bowl stir the flour, baking powder, and salt together with a fork.

Peel the apples. Cut them in half, and cut four large pieces off around the apple, leaving just the cores, which you will discard. I find this easier than using an apple corer. Cut the pieces into chunks, about an inch big. A little larger than an inch is fine.

Break the eggs into a large bowl, and beat them with a whisk until they foam a little. Add the sugar, whisk to blend, then whisk in the rum and vanilla. Add half the flour and whisk until incorporated, then whisk in half the melted butter. Repeat this step by whisking in the other half of the flour followed by the rest of the melted butter, and mix until the batter is smooth and thick. Using a rubber or silicone spatula, fold in the apples, turning until the fruit is coated with batter. You will find there are more apples than batter; this is how it’s supposed to be.

Scrape the mixture into the buttered springform pan, and spread it around with the spatula until it’s as even as you can get it. It won’t be perfect because there are so many apples.

Put a piece of parchment on a baking sheet - I use a half sheet pan - and put the springform pan on it. Slide the baking sheet with the springform pan on it into the oven. Bake until the top of the cake is golden brown and a knife or cake tester inserted into the center comes out clean. This will take about 50 to 60 minutes.

Transfer the cake to a cooling rack, and leave it for 5 minutes.

Run a blunt knife around the edge of the cake. This should be easy as the cake will probably have already pulled away from the sides of the pan, but still be sure to open the springform pan slowly to make sure no apples have stuck to the sides.

It may be eaten warm or at room temperature and is particularly delicious with some lightly whipped cream with a little sugar and rum in it. The cake should keep well for 2 days, but do not cover it. You can put a strip of wax paper on the cut ends.

Print recipe.

Zucchini Parmesan

It's been five months since I wrote my last post!

Since then, John came to New York from Atlanta with his swing band from The Lovett School

John, Second from Left

to perform in the 2010 Essentially Ellington Competition at Lincoln Center,

Clarke

left to study in China for fourteen months, an experience he's sharing in his blog,

and a cold spring turned into a very hot summer, followed by what seems to be an early fall.

Whew!

John, Vic, and Clarke at Sea Island 1997

I didn't stop cooking during all this time - no, not at all. I was just extra-busy at work and took a break from writing.

I think this recipe was worth the wait.

Last year's blight stopped even one tomato from rearing its head in the garden,

Summer 2009

but this year five tomato plants yielded enough fruit for us to eat lots of tomatoes for the last six weeks of summer and also make a few quarts of plain homemade tomato sauce.

We put in a couple of zucchini plants so they would be ready with the tomatoes, and when I found a locally-made whole milk mozzarella at our local farmstand, The Berry Patch on Route 22 in Stephentown, New York,

I started thinking about the surprisingly delicious zucchini parmesan Peggy and I ate in a restaurant on West 27th Street for lunch one day.

Before I opted to make it the same way I make eggplant in the summer, I checked to see if Marcella had any ideas.

It turns out she has a recipe called "Zucchini, Parmesan Style" in Marcella's Italian Kitchen.

This is my favorite Marcella book after Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking, which is basically a consolidation of her first two books, The Classic Italian Cookbook and More Classic Italian Cooking (neither of which you could persuade me to give away as all the recipes did not make it into the combination).  Essentials is a primer on Italian cooking; Marcella's Italian Kitchen is the way Marcella cooks in her home.

In this recipe the zucchini is cut lengthwise rather than across into rounds, and instead of breading the pieces of zucchini, they are fried with no coating

and layered with thin pieces of whole-milk mozzarella,

a sauce made from tomatoes, onions, and parsley,

and - this is brilliant - a mixture of eggs beaten with parmesan cheese and a little black pepper.

I promise you - this one's a keeper!

Zucchini Parmesan
Adapted from Marcella's Italian Kitchen by Marcella Hazan

Serves 4

1-1/2 pounds zucchini
Vegetable oil for frying the zucchini (I use grapeseed)
4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
3 tablespoons finely chopped onion
1/4 cup chopped parsley
1-2/3 to 2 cups canned Italian peeled plum tomatoes, cut up, with their juice or 2 cups plain homemade tomato sauce
Salt
Pepper
2 eggs
1/2 cup freshly grated parmigiano-reggiano (real aged Italian parmesan cheese)
10 ounces whole-milk mozzarella, cut into thin slices

Marcella suggests soaking the unpeeled zucchini in water for 20 minutes to loosen any grit that is on them. My zucchini was straight from the garden and didn't need to be soaked, just washed very well. No matter what, wash the zucchini to remove any grit so that it feels smooth to your hand before you proceed.

Trim the ends on both sides of each zucchini, and cut lengthwise into slices 1/4-inch thick. If any zucchini is extremely long, cut that across into pieces that will comfortably fit into the bottom of the frying pan you are going to use.

Put enough vegetable oil into your skillet to come 1/2 inch up the side of the pan. Heat the oil until it is hot, then cook the zucchini slices on both sides until they turn a light golden brown. Don't crowd the pan while you are frying. Remove the zucchini slices, and blot on a paper-towel-lined plate.

I must warn you that when I fry the zucchini, it does splatter all over the top of my stove. I don't think you can avoid this so just be prepared to clean up when you are done. This recipe really is worth it.

While the zucchini is frying, in a separate small saute pan or small saucier, heat the 4 tablespoons of olive oil, and cook the chopped onion until it turns pale gold. Add the parsley, stir, add the tomatoes or homemade tomato sauce, salt if not already salted, and turn the heat to low. Cook until the sauce thickens and the oil floats free, about 20 minutes.

Beat the eggs in a small bowl. Add all but 1-1/2 tablespoons of the grated parmesan cheese to the eggs, add some pepper, and beat.

Spread a little tomato sauce over the bottom of a baking dish. Here I used a rounded Pyrex dish that I estimated would hold all the zucchini. You can use a rectangular dish - probably around a 2-quart size - but please estimate that for yourself remembering the contents of the pan will bubble up while it is baking.

Next, add a layer of the fried zucchini, cover the zucchini with slices of mozzarella - keeping in mind that it will cloak the zucchini as it melts, so the slices of cheese don't have to touch each other. Smear some tomato sauce over the mozzarella, and then add some of the egg and cheese mixture, spreading it with a spoon.

Repeat this procedure in the same sequence, ending with a layer of zucchini lightly covered with tomato sauce over which you sprinkle the reserved 1-1/2 tablespoons of grated parmesan.

Bake in the uppermost level of an oven preheated to 400 degrees for 30 minutes. Let the dish sit at room temperature for 10 to 15 minutes before serving.

Italians don't favor food as piping hot as Americans so Marcella suggests that this dish is also excellent when served at room temperature.

Print recipe.