Squash Court II - Recap

Alton recalls a time in his childhood, watching Green Acres. He was on Eva Gabor's side: Times Square, nice shopping and restaurants. Not for him slopping the pigs or tending plants. But now, gardening has taken on new importance to many. This season Alton elected to plant a half dozen or so of the hundreds of forms of his favorite summer vegetable: squash. And he has succeeded.

Squash don't deliver bold flavor, but they are plentiful, fast growing, nice looking, versatile and available year round. Each brings very subtle flavors to the party; the skilled chef can, with the skilled application of flavorants and heat, convert them into... Good Eats!

Before starting, Alton reviews a few of the common squash varieties. There's yellow crookneck, which takes its name from its color and shape, and zucchini, and Italian favorite. His garden has also yielded several globe squash, which some folks call apple squash. These come in various sizes and colors: Alton displays a grapefruit sized green specimen and a yellow example about the size of an apple. Pattypan squash are shorter than their diameter; some are round while others boast more exotic shapes reminding Alton of flying saucers. Zephyr, a green and yellow variety, is a hybrid of the yellow crookneck (and shares its characteristic shape) and a winter squash called delicata.

Botanically, all squashes are berries, because they are seed-bearing bodies. They're related to winter squashes, melons and gourds (from which one may make birdhouses and percussion instruments). Squashes are native American vegetables. At his Scrabble set, Alton has spelled out the word in tiles (it's always so nice to use that ten point 'Q'). With other tiles he illustrates that the work comes from (as he slides a few tiles) “askoot asquash” which is (more tiles move) Algonquin for (still more tiles slide into place) “eaten green”. This concept captures the best harvesting technique: pick them one week after the flower fully opens.

Squash are popular with gardeners because, with proper care, they will continue to grow. And grow. And grow. The scene expands to reveal a yellow crookneck squash of enormous size dominating Alton's kitchen. A small boy emerges! He asks if Alton has seen his aunts, and when Alton answers “no” seems happy as he ducks back inside the enormous berry. While size may be visually appealing, it is not the cook's friend: large specimens grow more fibrous. For best results, pick or purchase smallish to medium berries. Scratches or small gouges are okay, but avoid soft spots.

Wrapped in paper towels to draw off surface condensation and stored in a zip top back from which as much air has been removed as possible, squash will last maybe three days in the refrigerator. Store them near the top, the warmest part. Alton's best advice is to be ready for them with cooking plans!

Zucchini happen to be Alton's first squash of the year, so he plans to turn them into a first course of a meal: a noodle salad made with zucchini noodles. He uses a vegetable peeler to carefully reduce zucchini to strips (not discarding the outer strips with the peel on them). When he reaches the seedy core, he stops and discards it. Even in the form of strips, these are not quite limber enough, so Alton tosses them with a tablespoon of kosher salt. Why kosher salt? Well, that calls for a demonstration. Alton has a large stack of green boxes which represent a zucchini.

In their fresh form, zucchini are stiff – what plant folks call turgid. This is partially because the cell walls are made of stiff material and partially because the cells are full of water. With a razor knife, Alton opens one of the boxes and peels it back to reveal a bag of water. That represents the inner cell membrane and its contents: the water that keeps the cell functioning and gives it shape and structure. Salt on the outside creates osmotic pressure which forces water (and other chemicals) through the cell membrane to equalize the concentrations; this eventually causes the inner and outer cell walls to separate and the cell to enter a hypotonic state. Properly applied, kosher salt will turn Alton's zucchini into a dense but floppy structure like a noodle.

Alton adds high quality olive oil, lemon juice, whole grain mustard and freshly ground black pepper to a bowl, whisking these together. Then he adds zucchini noodles, red onion sliced wafer thin, frisee (a type of endive most larger food stores should carry), thinly sliced radishes, chopped and toasted almonds, chopped fresh basil leaves, and finally manchego cheese (a hard cheese made from goat's milk, the “Parmesan of Spain”) sliced into ribbons – Alton creates his ribbons from a block of manchego cheese using the same vegetable peeler that reduced his zucchini to strips. That's a real multitasker!

At his table, Alton enjoys his zucchini salad, noting that with closed eyes one can hardly tell the difference between zucchini noodles and traditional pasta. But if all squash are from the New World, why are zucchini so completely linked to Italy? Because Spanish explorers took seeds back to the Old World, and growers planted these seeds. Generations of careful selection for desired traits led to certain squash, such as zucchini, now being associated with the Old World almost entirely. The modern zucchini did not really emerge until the twentieth century, and it returned to New World between the first and second world wars.

A bit later, Alton returns from another harvesting trip. This time his basket overflows with bright yellow crookneck squash. Southerners typically stew these (the scene pans past a large pot) or smother them in cheese and bake them. Alton has something different in mind: a Roman role typically associated with zucchini.

First, he adjusts an oven rack so it's about four inches from the top broiler, and then he sets the oven to broil. He'll need to reduce his squash to even slices about an eighth of an inch thick. And while he's fond of his knives there's no doubt this job is better suited to a mandoline.

A mandoline, Alton explains as he opens drawers to reveal several examples, is a fixed bladed type of device designed for even slicing. Mandolines range from complex machines that in the hands of someone skilled can produce anything from transparent slices to julienne style shreds. These high end devices have many parts and are hard to clean, and... Alton often uses a knife rather than go to the bother. Down the counter, though, is a simple plastic model capable of slicing only, and only in four different thicknesses. But this device covers (Alton estimates) 99% of his slicing needs. It has an economical ceramic blade that's set at a good angle for slicing soft items like...

“Hands!” cries Safety Officer Sam from nearby. Alton walks to the kitchen island where he meets a man in a colorful vest, with neck braces, a helmet, and some kind of improvised device on his arm that looks like something a doctor and a torturer might devise together. It seems the Good Eats insurer now requires a safety officer on set at all times. Alton begins to fool with a mandoline, drawing a sharp rebuke from Sam. Sam suggests that those considering purchasing a “PDBI” - potentially deadly bladed implement... Alton interrupts, suggesting that the mandoline isn't deadly. But that's apparently how Sam came by the injury that requires his odd arm brace. He had to build that himself because no one will insure him any more.

Sam continues, suggesting one must consider the “AUSI” or Active User Safety Interface. Alton calls this the “hand guard”, and Sam grudgingly accept this term. It's always the last thing a manufacturer designs. Sam uses a food holder with retractable spikes as an example, placing this in his hand and ordering a clearly reluctant Alton to slap the top of it. Alton finally does as he's told, predictably tacking it to Sam's hand and drawing a painful grimace from the safety expert. Painfully, Sam turns over his hand to illustrate the point. He suggests an armored glove, either Kevlar or reinforced rubber, to protect the user's hand. Alton thanks him with a hand shake that draws another wince since he is shaking the hand that's still tacked to the food holder. As Sam leaves, Alton prepares to cut.

The mandoline quickly converts summer squash into uniform eighth inch thick rounds, and Alton's armored glove ensures he won't literally be bleeding for his cooking. The rounds go into a bowl, and Alton tosses them with some olive oil. For seasoning, he adds chopped fresh rosemary, freshly grated nutmeg, kosher salt, and some black pepper. He tosses these ingredients again to coat the rounds and then lays the rounds one layer thick on a cooling rack set inside a sheet pan. He cooks them for eight to ten minutes, until the squash is golden brown on one side. The precise time depends on the broiler, since broiler power varies.

The squash now golden brown and delicious, Alton moves them from his oven. Squash contain a great deal of water, so they did not burn, but instead are perfectly conditioned for inclusion in Alton's Roman delight: a frittata. Yes, eggs and squash play very well together.

The squash rounds go into a non-stick oven-safe skillet over medium heat. Alton combines whole milk ricotta cheese with eggs and Parmesan cheese in a bowl. He whisks that together and pours the mixture over the squash, allowing it to cook for four minutes or so until it sets and the outer edge is bubbly. He slides the whole skillet into the broiler for three minutes or so to set it. That's too short a time even at broiler heat for the non-stick material to give off harmful fumes and most of it is protected from the heat by a covering of food. A few taps and wiggles loosens the frittata from the pan and allow Alton to slide it onto his cutting board.

A pizza cutter is the right choice for slicing the round into six slices. In Rome, Alton would wait until it was at room temperature to serve it, but this is not Rome, and it looks and smells too delicious to wait. Plating a slice, Alton forks some into his mouth. It's still very hot!

Another basketful of squash, pattypans this time. Alton's vines are producing in quantity now. Small specimens work well skewered and grilled. Larger versions, say, three inches in diameter, are well-suited for stuffing. That brings Alton to the three sisters. Three odd women appear, speaking strangely and in a Russian accent. Alton hastily corrects himself, he did not mean Chekhov's three sisters, but... at that point a yellow-shirted man appears (amid odd sound effects) to inform Alton that “we've located the nuclear wessels”. Gravely, Alton thanks the young man, who leaves, but he didn't mean Star Trek's Ensign Chekov either!

No, what Alton means is America's three sisters: corn, squash, and beans. Native Americans learned to grow them together for several reasons. First, they form a complete protein when served together. Second, they form an solid agricultural community: plant corn, and when it is six inches or so tall plant beans and squash around it. The corn acts as a trellis for the growing bean plants, which fix nitrogen in the soil for all the plants. The squash's broad leaves at the base of the plants keep weeds from growing and effectively mulch the soil.

Alton's stuffed squash recipe begins with a half sheet pan (or other roasting dish), heated in a 400° F oven for fifteen minutes. Using a rocking motion, he cuts several pattypan squash in half, then spoons out the middle of each half to create a small bowl, being sure to get the seeds. He discards the seeds but reserves the flesh for later use. That completed, he sprinkles on some olive oil and some kosher salt and just a little black pepper. The halves go on his hot pan cut side down to sear and roast for fifteen minutes or so while he prepares the filling.

Alton prepare the filling in a pre-heated skillet. To that skillet he adds some olive oil, and when it is hot he adds minced garlic, chopped shallot, and the reserved squash flesh, chopping it first. He seasons this with kosher salt and black pepper. When these ingredients are brown and tender he adds the other two sisters: corn kernels, and lima beans. He also adds some chopped pecans – not a sister, but an American original Alton calls a “step brother”. Finally he adds some thyme leaves. With an ice cream scoop, he adds equal amounts of filling to each roasted squash half, and he has a nice opener or side for an all-American sit down.

Even with Alton's help, cooks may not be able to keep up with the rate at which their vines produce summer squash. There's a solution: the freezer. Alton blanches summer squash (sliced into rounds) in salted, boiling water, then shocks it in an ice bath and lays it on towels to dry. Once dry, he lays the rounds in a single layer on a half sheet and freezes them, then transfers the frozen squash rounds to a zip top bag, where they will await the winter and whatever squash dish Alton cares to make. And once Alton finishes today's treats it's time to take a machete and cut a path through the squash vines to the mailbox...

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