I do it myself
The other day I sat down to write a happenings post (the ones I’ve been doing for five years, as a way of sharing the big and little things that are happening in my life), and after staring at the screen for a little while, realised I couldn’t do it. Or, rather, I didn’t want to. And so I got up and started chopping carrots for dinner.
Joan was four and a half months old when I wrote my first happenings post. At the time I missed writing (I also missed sleeping for long, uninterrupted blocks of time), however the thought of doing it felt entirely overwhelming (perhaps because I was no longer sleeping for long, uninterrupted blocks of time). But to answer questions about what I was doing, hearing, drinking, eating and feeling? I could do that. Jauntily, I could! And so I did, most months, for five years.
Those posts are precious to me. They help me remember life as a new mother to baby Joan, when the two of us spent practically every waking and sleeping moment together. I can read about all the naps Joan took in the baby carrier, I can read about how tired and happy I was (which, most of the time, I was - both tired and happy), and I can read about all the things I would do to help me feel good (or at least better) - things like drinking coffee, going for a walk or shaking the cracker crumbs out of my bag and giving it a good clean (exceedingly satisfying). I can read about the different foods I craved and cooked as the seasons changed and our family grew. I can read about joy in those posts, and I can read about loss. And I’m grateful for the record, because it prompted me to make note of things I might otherwise have forgotten. Like in April 2017, when I was sitting next to Joan while she napped, my computer resting on my lap. “She's still not sleeping for longer than 40 minutes for her day nap”, I wrote, “however by parking myself close by I can sometimes encourage a longer snooze if I rest my hand on her belly when she rouses. I've spilt a lot of coffee on her bed sheets this past month.” And in 2018, when Joan went through a phase of only wanting to wear white singlet tops because she wanted look like Whitney Houston on one of her album covers. And a few months after that, when Joan’s favourite game was pretending to give birth. I was seven months pregnant with Walt at the time, you see, and Joan knew what birth could look and sound like, as the two of us had watched many birth videos together. Most days she would pretend to go into labour, with me as her midwife. Her doll tucked under her top (head down, I might add - most unlike herself, who was a breech babe), she would pause mid-contraction to let me know that what she was doing was hard, and she was in pain, but that it was normal.
I’m still waiting for those long, uninterrupted blocks of sleep. Baby number two (who is, demonstrably, no longer a baby), continues to wake one, two or three times a night. What did you say again, Joan? Hard and normal? Indeed. Even so, those prompts don’t feel necessary anymore. What was once helpful now feels restrictive. I just want to write. So, that’s what I’m going to do. And I’m really glad you’re here for it, because I need to tell you about this zucchini and leek dish I’ve been cooking.
In recent times, when I’ve placed my weekly Prom Coast Food Collective order, I’ve had the option of selecting an extra portion of zucchini. The vegetable-lover I am (particularly in-season vegetables), I find it hard to skip past such an offering. And so on delivery day you will find me, invariably, standing in front of the fridge playing tetris with my collection of green logs. They don’t last long, mind you. Ordinarily I like to slice the zucchini into rounds and fry them in a skillet with oil and salt over a fairly high heat, allowing them to char slightly. When they’re almost ready I’ll add some crushed garlic to the pan, watching closely to ensure it doesn’t burn. Then I’ll scrape the zucchini and garlic into a serving bowl and drizzle over extra virgin olive oil and white wine vinegar. I’ll serve this alongside, oh, almost anything. It’s great with scrambled eggs, which Ben and I often cook on the weekend with a stack of keenly buttered dark rye sourdough toast. The kids tend to eat just the toast. If they’re super hungry then maybe they’ll eat the eggs, but they won’t even look at the zucchini. That’s ok, though; more for us. This zucchini is also really lovely with grilled meat or fish, or something simple like good bread and ricotta. Another way I like to eat this zucchini is with pasta. First I’ll cook a shallot in olive oil, then add some pasta (orecchiette is my favourite here), which I’ve cooked super al dente, plus a splash of the starchy pasta cooking water. Finally I’ll toss in the fried, vinegary zucchini. You can top this meal with chilli flakes or toasted breadcrumbs or parmesan or all of the above. It’s good. And while the kiddos generally won’t allow a piece of zucchini onto their forks unless they’re distracted telling Ben and me about a picture they drew at playgroup or the trick they can do on the monkey bars, this sort of preparation helps them get used to the flavour of zucchini (or at the very least, its presence).
And then, one day in early February, I didn’t feel like my usual fried zucchini. I wanted something gentler, softer, slower - almost soupier. I grabbed a sad looking leek (which had rolled away and had a holiday behind an egg carton for one, maybe two weeks), and sliced it thinly. I then washed the slices in a colander and dried them with a tea towel. In a heavy-based pot I heated some olive oil and butter over medium-low heat. In went the leek (plus a good pinch of flaky sea salt), which I cooked until soft but not brown. Meanwhile I sliced the zucchini into half-moons and, when the leek was ready, I added them to the pot along with another, smaller, pinch of flaky sea salt, stirring to coat the zucchini in the strands of sticky leek. Placing a lid firmly on the pot, I let the zucchini cook for fifteen or so minutes until it had slumped and softened, removing the lid a couple of times to check on its progress and give it a stir. If it looked like the vegetables were frying instead of stewing I would turn the heat down. And if the zucchini didn’t end up releasing a lot of liquid (some zucchini are more watery than others), I might add a splash of water to the pot. Which is not to say that you want it swimming in liquid, you simply need enough to ensure the zucchini and leek don’t catch on the bottom of the pot. When exactly you take the pot off the heat is really a matter of preference. I like the zucchini to fall apart easily, yet still resemble a half-moon (though a saggy one, at that). You can certainly keep going until it has turned to mush, if you wish. Because while mush may sound unappealing, it’s undeniably delicious spooned over a pile of mashed potato, or a mound of ricotta, or piece of buttered bread with lots of freshly cracked black pepper.
Often I’ll make a big batch of this zucchini and leek dish and store leftovers in the fridge, spooning portions into a small pot to reheat for lunch. If I have leftover roasted potatoes on hand I’ll add them to the pot, too. While the vegetables are warming I’ll lean over the bench, peeling hardboiled eggs and listening to Walt tell me what name he wishes to be called (generally it’s Big Jack or Jenna - sometimes just Big Kid) as he munches on toast crusts leftover from breakfast. “Mummy play”, he’ll say to me, while climbing down from the stool; and I’ll turn the heat down on the pot and abandon plans to toast pinenuts to scatter over our lunch. “Here, Mummy, here’s your train.” Most of the time it’s an easy choice. Though sometimes I really do want those pinenuts, so I’ll pick him up in my arms with the promise of allowing him to stir the pinenuts using his favourite, long, wooden spoon. “I do it myself”, he’ll negotiate. Sitting at the bench with our lunch in front of us he’ll repeat those words to himself in a whisper, while ignoring the zucchini and eating the pinenuts one-by-one: “I do it myself”.
Slow(er)-cooked zucchini and leek
Serves 4 as a side
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
20g unsalted butter
1 large leek
Flaky sea salt
2 medium-sized zucchini (~550g total weight)
Freshly cracked black pepper
Optional: a splash of white wine vinegar
Method:
1. Slice the white and very light green leek parts of the leek into thin rounds, then wash in a colander to remove any dirt. Dry the leek with a tea towel.
2. Heat the oil and butter in a medium-large heavy-based pot (I use a 24cm dutch oven) over medium-low heat. Add the leek and a pinch of flaky sea salt and stir to coat the leek in the fat and salt, then leave it to cook gently for 5-7 minutes. You want the leek to soften, not brown, so turn down the heat to low if necessary.
3. Meanwhile slice the zucchini in half lengthways, and then into 1cm half-moons. Once the leek is soft, add the zucchini along with another, smaller, pinch of salt, stirring to coat the zucchini in the strands of sticky leek. Place a lid firmly on the pot, turn the heat down to low if you haven’t already, and allow the zucchini to cook for 15-20 minutes until softened, removing the lid to stir a couple of times and check on its progress. After a little while the zucchini will release water and this will help the vegetables to stew, rather than brown. If everything looks dry, add a splash of water to the pot. Take the pot off the heat when the zucchini is soft and tastes good. Optional: towards the end of the cooking process, add a tiny splash of white wine vinegar to the pot and stir, then taste and add more if desired. Serve with freshly cracked black pepper.
Heidi xo