Zucchini, Carrots and Apples, Oh My!

Hey, there. It’s been a while.

And so it may always be. Consistency — that cornerstone of great blog writing (or so I hear) — let’s just say it’s not one of my strongest attributes and leave it at that, shall we? Those who’d like to hear more on the topic are welcome to check out the now-defunct Podd Couple podcast,  where I believe we touched upon it on just about every episode.

And those interested in acting as my personal, deep-pocketed patron, which would certainly improve my consistency, feel free to leave your contact info in the comments

What Mr. F composed when I told him to arrange our ingredients for a picture.

section.  Or just send a big check.

The rest of you, those willing to look the other way and pretend like I just posted yesterday (and will, undoubtedly, post tomorrow), pull up a chair and let’s talk zucchini, shall we?

As a former finicky eater, I must confess that zucchini still ranks pretty low on my vegetable hit list. And not solely because it’s “the swollen ovary of the female zucchini flower,” according to Wikipedia. As with most formerly-icky foods, it’s entirely possible I just haven’t tried it prepared properly. I have had it grilled a few times, and it’s definitely more interesting with a little olive oil, garlic and char on it. But for the most part, it’s the moist, sad little things I eat around whenever some restaurant serves up a side of mixed vegetables. (What can I say? Old habits die hard.)

Waiter, there seems to be something green in my desert.

But grate it, surround it with sugar, oil and spices of all things, and I’m in heaven. Zucchini bread is one of those things that feels and sounds so wrong, but tastes so right. Now let’s see if Mr. and Miss Finicky agree.

How do we do this again?

The Finicky Family got a delayed start on Sunday, after a late night down the shore. And after two separate temper tantrums, Mr. F requested a trip to the Farmers Market to “do that food thingie we used to do.” Miss F decided to join us, but made it clear she was only there for the bread samples. The elder Mr. F did nothing to conceal his relief as he waved goodbye to us from the driveway.

On the car ride to the market, it soon became clear that it had been so long since we did “that food thingie” that some of us had forgotten the objective. I thought we were headed to the Farmer’s Market to pick a new and exciting food to try. Both Mr. and Miss F insisted that the goal was to make Candy Soup. A lengthy and somewhat heated debate ensued. I won (I think?) by unilaterally decreeing that we were going to make Carrot Zucchini Bread. And allowing that if they wanted to raid their stale candy bags at a later date to make Candy Soup, that was their affair. An uneasy peace reigned.

The inner workings of schitzucchini bread.

Things started looking up once we got to the Market. Though not a true Farmers Market in a locally-grown sort of way, it is a great space for discovery (as in the baby octopi that sent Miss F screeching away from the seafood display, only to come sneaking back, fascinated by their teensy-weensy tentacles) and discussion (as in why were many of the stalls empty and what is Sabbath and why is that important?) Oh, and samples (soprasetta, stinky cheese, bread and coffee). After sneaking way more than our fair share of said samples, we selected some zucchini and made our way home, where Miss F headed (kicking a screaming) off for a nap, while Mr. F and I got into baking mode.

Never one for pre-planning, I pulled up this recipe on my phone while we were at the market, and picked it because I liked its overall easygoing vibe. It could be Apple. It could be Zucchini. It could be Carrot. Whatever! Fuhgeddaboutit.

Mr. F's first attempt at egg-cracking. "At least I didn't get any shells in there."

Since I had all three, I decided on an equal mix of them all. Some greasing, flouring, shredding, measuring and mixing, and soon we had a decent looking batter. Sans walnuts, of course. Because that would just be gross, according to Mr. F. Who did agree to try a raw sliver of zucchini and lived to tell about it.

If any of you decide to try this recipe, I will say this. Before you add the graded fruits and veggies, the batter will look incredibly dry and crumbly. You will question. You will second guess. You will ask yourself if perhaps you neglected a crucial liquid-adding step. And if you read the recipe comments, you may even be tempted to add further eggs and oil, as one commenter suggests. Fight that urge and add your fruits and veggies. After scraping down the sides and blending further, you’ll have a great, pourable batter that yields a really moist cake. Curious to know what that misguided commenter ended up with.

Two green thumbs up.

The Verdict

Mr. F was really digging the cinnamony goodness coming from the oven. So the first serving went to him. An unequivocal two thumbs up! Miss F had to be bribed to taste the bread with the promise of whipped cream and guarantee that there would be no parental recriminations if she should happen to spit it out. Of course, she spit it out.

Since then, as is often the case, Mr. F claims that the bread gave him a belly ache and has refused to eat any more. Which, as is often the case, is probably code for, “Yeah, it was OK and all, but there’s still green stuff in it.”

Still, I’m counting this one as a victory. If for no other reason that I would have never willing eaten such a thing at their age, whipped cream or no. So that’s progress, right?

Miss F...not so much.

But there’s another reason I’m chalking this one up as a win. We took this little culinary adventure on Sunday, the day it seemed like all of America (or at least all the news outlets) was busy dredging up the wheres and whys and whens of 10 years ago. But I wanted to mark the date in a different way. I wanted to celebrate the gifts I have in my life…gifts that I could not have even begun to comprehend on that day 10 years ago, but who have grown even more precious to me because of it.

Thumbs up, thumbs down. It doesn’t matter. But they do.

Orange You Glad I Didn’t Start With Octopus?

So, here we go…embarking on a bold new food adventure. Appetites: whetted. Palates: curious. With my trusty assistant, Mr. F, at my side, we headed off to the local farmers market.

Now this place is to farmers markets what boutiques are to retail. Sure there are some basic produce stands (Amish vs. Korean). But also a specialty cheese stand, a rockin’ deli, bakery, fresh seafood, etc. All way overpriced, of course. But I’m a sucker for the place. I could say it’s for the Belgian cheeses. But it’s mostly for the whoopie pies.

So there we stand, on the threshold of foodie heaven, and I look down to see this:

Not a fan of Ardmore Seafood.

Mr. F: Ewwww. What SMELLLLLLS?

So much for curious palates.

Once we relocate a sufficient distance from the seafood counter, I put Mr. F in the culinary driver’s seat. So what’ll it be?

After a few false starts (candy shop, bakery, other bakery) some bargaining and redirection, we found ourselves in front of the produce stand.

Mr. F: Orange.

Me: Orange? Really?

Mr. F: Orange.

Now, believe it or not, the orange does reside in the category of foods-my-kids-are-finicky-about. They have to be perfect, easily peelable, seedless,  not too pithy, not too juicy (?) and not too lumpy. And that’s just to make the first cut. Then, they usually end up taking a lick or two and deeming them too sour.

But if our goal is to explore flavors and try some different techniques, I figured this was a safe place to start. So home we went, jiggity jig, with a single orange that looked no different than the one I bought at Genuardi’s earlier that morning, but cost twice as much. And something tells me it may not have been locally grown out there in Amish country…

Florida's best.

Somehow or other, on the way home, Mr. F’s take on the Orange Experiment (don’t ask me how) expanded to include a dish with apple, marshmallow and chocolate, but without any orange. I did my best to keep him focused, but at the end of the day figured that great chefs take inspiration wherever they find it. So as long as my kids are dreaming up new things to try, I think I’m OK with it. Funny how often those ingredients come up, though…

So first things first. We get home, do some fancy knifework on the orange, proffer some to Ms. F, who has joined us by now, and do the requisite orange wedge smile thing. Which went over very well, as always. A classic!

The orange tasting itself was a bit of a surprise, as Mr. F seemed very excited about the fruit (apparently forgetting the countless times he’s rejected the poor species outright) and declared it quite yummy and delicious. Ms. F did not get past the poking it with her finger stage. But perhaps because her brother wouldn’t shut up about the marshmallow/chocolate/apple course to follow.

Pre-Caramelized Orange Slices

Still, I wanted to try another technique with the orange, just to demonstrate how temperature and ingredients can change things up. So we prepped a few wedges and sprinkled them with brown sugar and threw them under the broiler while we moved onto the our next fruit (and corn syrup) course.

I have to admit I went into this a little indulgently, but in the end, I was impressed by Mr. F’s creativity. He ended up putting together a quite sophisticated (looking) amuse bouche. I think he has a quite a knack for presentation.

Magical Mystery Marshmallow Tower

1 Marshmallow

1-2 oz chocolate

1-2 tbs cream or half-and-half (optional)

1/4 cup of diced apple

Magical Mystery Marshmallow Tower

Directions

1) Melt the chocolate by cutting it in small pieces and microwaving it for very short durations (30 secs), stirring after each round. When it’s mostly melted, stop microwaving it, as you don’t want it to scorch. For a creamier, ganache-like coating, use equal amounts of chocolate and cream or half-and-half.

2) Drizzle chocolate over marshmallow.

3) Artfully drop diced apples over chocolate.

4) Om, nom, nom…

MMMarshmallow Tower got a thumbs up from Mr. F, but a thumbs down from Ms. F. Though, to be fair, she was new to the thumbs-up/thumbs-down thing, so I don’t know if her vote can be counted.

At this point, we also taste-tested the Caramel Orange Slices (which only need to be under the broiler for a few minutes, so if you were following along, yours would have been crisped by now).

Though the broiler did give the slices a nice caramelized glaze, Mr. F said the sweetness of the sugar made the actual oranges taste more sour. I believe he was also kind of skeeved by the concept of hot oranges. Ms. F, again, politely (?) refused to partake.

To be honest, I wasn’t crazy about the oranges myself. Just not enough there to get excited about. However, I did find myself cutting up extra chunks of apple to “dispose” of the leftover melted chocolate…

Overall, though, success! No one screamed. No one cried. No one pouted. AND we managed to have a little fun.

Plus, when Mr. F was listing, recently, the few and paltry fruits he will actually eat, he actually included both oranges AND apples (with and without chocolate/marshmallow). SCORE!

Stop the Madness!

I love to cook. Seriously, love every aspect of it…discovering a new recipe or taste combination, buying the ingredients, prepping my mise en place, executing my vision (whether flawlessly or faultily). Even, dare I say it? Yes…even the cleaning up afterward. Though by that I mean looong afterward, once whatever delicacy I’ve created has been enjoyed and digested (And, in the eyes of my husband, the pans have congealed and hardened.)

I am not a chef, and have no aspirations to be. But I am a die-hard home cook.

Which is why it pains me so much that mealtime has become a battle zone in our home.

Enter Mr. F and Ms. F (Master and Mistress Finicky Mc-Picks-a-Lot), two of the most selective eaters ever to turn their noses up at a lovingly prepared plate. Well, ever since I was the one turning up my little nose at my own mother’s entrées.

See, my kids come from a long line of finicky eaters. So I have no reason to expect them to embrace anything other than a constant diet of nitrate-filled hot dogs. After all, it was good enough for me, right? And I eventually developed a more adventurous palate.

Still, it kills me that my family is experiencing such a high level of food dysfunction. Specifically, it kills me that I can hear my own father’s stubborn insistence echoing in my voice when I shrilly scream that they will eat everything on their plates, or else…

(The day they think to ask me, “Or else…what?” I’m done for.)

So I am looking for a solution that will heal the rift and hopefully give us something to bond over when it comes to food. Because this war zone thing is not fun. And I’m pretty sure if it keeps up, I’m going to end up doing more long-term damage than good.

My solution? It boils down to bribery, plain and simple. But hopefully, fun, delicious bribery.

Every week, six-year-old Mr. F or two-year-old Miss F will accompany me on a quest to find something to tempt their palates. It will be a group effort, and they will have final say over whatever ingredient/dish we land on. But if they play nice and come to this experiment with an open mind and palate, I will, in fact, not insist on force feeding them every other night of the week.

That’s not to say I’ll allow them to starve. But if chicken and peas are not what they’re hankering for on any given night, I will concede to that beloved standby, peanut butter and apples, instead of insisting they clean their plates.

Simple, right? We shall see. I suspect I will have some surprises ahead of me. But, then again, maybe they will, too.