Bad Home Cooking

Bananarama

You might be looking at this photo and having the same reaction I did when this object first entered my life. WTF?!

But look closer, dear readers, and you will see that the object is not, as you might have first suspected, some fresh spawn of dread Cthulhu. It is simply a cluster of bananas, from my friend Joey's backyard banana tree. Luke brought it over the other day, hefting all 25 pounds of it onto my kitchen counter even as I protested. A gift from Joey, he said, putting the kibosh on my plan to throw them out immediately.

It was a bad start to the week. A conundrum of the worst kind: Pitting my desire to be thrifty and grateful against my inclination toward avoiding the unknown. 

These were bananas, yes. But there were about 15 of them. And they didn't look like store-bought bananas. They were thicker, denser. And Luke paused just slightly when asked how they tasted. Just enough to make me panic. Who needs 15 thick, wild bananas that don't taste right sitting on the kitchen counter?

And then my biggest fear: What about the tarantulas?

So I did what I normally do in these situations. I ignored them for as long as I could, which is not easy since they took up a lot of precious counter space. Meanwhile, my intentions did battle. I knew I should regard this as a bonanza and launch into a frenzy of banana-related baking. That's what Sarah or Kelli would do, surely. But writing them for recipes and then devoting a day or two to baking would take too many precious brain cells and motivation I didn't have. Not to mention the resulting surplus of baked goods I would then have to find people to eat. My kids like bananas but not that much.

In the end, I baked three loaves of Molly's banana bread with chocolate chips. They freeze well, and are a proven hit. And although I apparently forgot to include the butter and cooked the loaves a tad too long, resulting in fairly dry bread, nobody noticed. And indeed, two of my three loaves are already gone.

And so I only had to throw eleven wild bananas out in the end. Bad Julie. Bad home cook.

zucchini inspiration

Inspiration has been in short supply lately. This morning I found some, growing green in the dirt.

As part of a magazine assignment, I asked my friend Kelli, former caterer and all-around big idea gal, to be my "cooking" coach. She agreed to come over once a week and teach me some basics; some knife skills, some recipe ideas, some notion of what to keep in my pantry. She promised that when she was done with me I'd no longer open my refrigerator in despair, but would come to view it as a box full of potential meals. I choose to believe her, even though I really don't.

This morning she called me early as planned. "You up for starting at the very beginning?" she asked. I was, I said. "Good. Then I'm taking you to the garden."

As we drove across town to the community garden, Kelli told me that she liked to start in the place where food and inspiration meet. She wants to help me set up my own kitchen garden in the planter outside my living room window. When I told her that my gardening skills, like my cooking ability, were all talk and C-list action, she smiled. "When you walk among success, you become successful."

Ah, grasshopper. Already I was in a better mood.

The 25-year-old community gardens are spread over several acres, tucked away in a corner bordered on one side by a park and on the other by the freeway. The spring bounty is just beginning to bust out, pumpkin and zucchini plants are creeping into the pathways, runner beans are starting the twirling climb up their trellises, tomato plants are getting frothy. Flowers bloom everywhere, despite the June gloom. If you tell yourself that the freeway din is actually the sound of a mighty river, it's darn near paradise.

We walk the site and Kelli talks, explaining how to cook Swiss chard, how to make teas using lemon verbena and chamomile, how certain squash likes to be up off the ground. She asks every fellow gardener we meet what they feed their tomatoes, as she's not happy with the development of her own. By the time we run into her friend Lesley, I am delirious with the smell of earth and the potential of produce. I am making noises about getting on the waiting list for a plot myself. My own bit of garden. So what if I find myself awash in bushels of zucchini come next summer.

As if reading my mind, Lesley offers up this recipe:

Cut a medium-sized zucchini, a medium-sized summer squash, or any other sort of squash you happen to have, into largish chunks.
Coat them with two tablespoons of olive oil.
Coat them with a bit of marinara or tomato sauce "anything you have left over from pasta night," she says. Don't put too much in, just a coating.
Mix in a cup or so of mozzarella cheese.
Add some pasta seasonings

Bake all this at 450 degrees for about 45 minutes. She swore by its deliciousness. Then she handed me a decent-sized zucchini just cut from her garden, along with a summer squash, and a funny looking white squash I don't have the name for. "You want some basil too?" she asked, cutting me a bundle. Kelli nodded approvingly. "That will go great on top," she says.

I came home with the aforementioned squash, fresh basil and dill, fresh broccoli, a handful of chard, a cup of blackberries and a head of cabbage the size of a bowling ball. Visions of my week's menu tripped through my head: artichoke frittata, chard sauteed with garlic, blackberry tarts, maybe. Tonight, however, I aimed to make the zucchini bake.

I did, to shockingly good results, made even better with fresh shredded basil on top. It made the house smell like a home. The drama-tween ate an entire bowl (although a plate of soft vegetables is still too much to ask of the boy, cheesy or not). I was left feeling recharged, re-inspired. A focus was emerging for my long, boring summer. It's the potential of abundance.

Can you taste it? Stay tuned.