A semi-drunken father's tirade against zucchini
Setting: Lalime's in Berkeley
The waiter has just set down a bowl of stuffed zucchini on our table.
"Oh boy. Stuffed zucchini. I can't wait," says my father sarcastically.
"What's wrong with stuffed zucchini?" I ask.
"It's just boring. Zucchini is nothing. It has no taste of its own." His voice rises to mimic a high-pitched whine. "Oh! I'm zucchini! I'll be whatever you want me to be! Stuff me and I'll taste like lamb. Fry me and I'll absorb all your olive oil and garlic. Please, please just cook with me and love me!"
"Dad!" My eyes dart around the room, wondering if anyone is eavesdropping on this unexpected outburst, as my shoulders start to shake with laughter.
"And why does it have to grow so huge? It's like, 'Just plant me and I'll become enormous. Just leave me alone and I'll be as big as a house.' And then what are we left with? Months and months of trying to cook with zucchini. Everybody's got it, and nobody wants it. I mean, what are we supposed to do with all of it? Even in Greene on Greens, the best vegetable cookbook ever, they leave you high and dry with squash. He can't think of anything worthwhile to do with it."
"Well, zucchini bread is yummy," I volunteer.
"That's just because it tastes like something other than zucchini, which has no inherent flavor of its own. And don't even get me started on root vegetables. Those are even worse than squash. They all taste like dirt. Carrots. What good are carrots? There is no good recipe for carrots in existence that doesn't involve ginger."
Silenced, I direct my attention to the bowl of stuffed zucchini, languishing sadly before us as my father berates it and its kind. I cut off a bite and pop it in my mouth.
"Pretty good. Tastes like lamb."
The waiter has just set down a bowl of stuffed zucchini on our table.
"Oh boy. Stuffed zucchini. I can't wait," says my father sarcastically.
"What's wrong with stuffed zucchini?" I ask.
"It's just boring. Zucchini is nothing. It has no taste of its own." His voice rises to mimic a high-pitched whine. "Oh! I'm zucchini! I'll be whatever you want me to be! Stuff me and I'll taste like lamb. Fry me and I'll absorb all your olive oil and garlic. Please, please just cook with me and love me!"
"Dad!" My eyes dart around the room, wondering if anyone is eavesdropping on this unexpected outburst, as my shoulders start to shake with laughter.
"And why does it have to grow so huge? It's like, 'Just plant me and I'll become enormous. Just leave me alone and I'll be as big as a house.' And then what are we left with? Months and months of trying to cook with zucchini. Everybody's got it, and nobody wants it. I mean, what are we supposed to do with all of it? Even in Greene on Greens, the best vegetable cookbook ever, they leave you high and dry with squash. He can't think of anything worthwhile to do with it."
"Well, zucchini bread is yummy," I volunteer.
"That's just because it tastes like something other than zucchini, which has no inherent flavor of its own. And don't even get me started on root vegetables. Those are even worse than squash. They all taste like dirt. Carrots. What good are carrots? There is no good recipe for carrots in existence that doesn't involve ginger."
Silenced, I direct my attention to the bowl of stuffed zucchini, languishing sadly before us as my father berates it and its kind. I cut off a bite and pop it in my mouth.
"Pretty good. Tastes like lamb."
posted by cindym at 11:09 AM
3 Comments:
Can you get you dad to start a food blog, too, please? :)
Seriously, your dad sounds so funny, at least in this post. If he has strong feelings about other foods, please write about them! The combination of your simple, straightforward, clean style, which highlights how funny he is, and his comments are golden.
ha! thanks, he is very funny, and also rather paranoid about the manner in which i portray him here. the attention will probably freak him out, but you're right - he's full of valuable food information that needs to appear in a public forum. i'll work on it...
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