Attack of the Squash People!

RECIPE: 

It is that time of year - home gardens and farmers markets are replete with summer squash. Anyone who has grown zucchini knows the experience of finding a humongous squash hiding under giant leaves that seems to have quadrupled in size overnight. 

What to do with so much squash?! If you don't know Marge Piercy's poem of Attack of the Squash People, she offers all manner of ideas for getting rid of your surplus squash. Some legal, some not.

Rather than stuff them in your neighbors mailboxes, consider adding summer squash to your shakes! It adds a mild flavor and a smooth texture, kind of like adding banana, but much less sugar. 

Or, get a veggie spiralizer and make zucchini noodles. Easy and fun. You can top with any sauce you like. 

Or, make the Zucchini Soup recipe below. If you like it, make a double batch and freeze your overabundance of summer squash for a bit of summer brightness in the winter. 

And, enjoy the poem!
Kirstin LIndquist
Owner, 21 Day Manager

Modified from The Moosewood Cookbook (yes, from the original!)

• 2 lbs zucchini (or any summer squash), cut into inch-chunks

• 1 TB butter

• 1 large onion, finely chopped

• 1 cloves garlic, minced

• 1 tsp salt (or to taste)

• ¼ tsp black pepper

• ¼ tsp dried or ½ tsp finely chopped fresh: basil, tarragon and/or thyme

• 1 cup canned coconut milk, gently heated

• 1 cup water or broth

Directions

1. Steam zucchini until just tender.

2. Saute onion with salt in butter until soft.

3. Add garlic and saute for 1-2 more minutes. 

4. Add all ingredients to your blender or food processor and blend until smooth.

5. You may need to do this in 2 batches. 

6. Thin with more coconut milk, water or broth as needed. 

7. Heat gently if needed before serving. 

       Attack of the Squash People
by Marge Piercy

And thus the people every year
in the valley of humid July
did sacrifice themselves
to the long green phallic god
and eat and eat and eat.
They're coming, they're on us,
the long striped gourds, the silky
babies, the hairy adolescents,
the lumpy vast adults
like the trunks of green elephants.
Recite fifty zucchini recipes!

Zucchini tempura; creamed soup;
sauté with olive oil and cumin,
tomatoes, onion; frittata;
casserole of lamb; baked
topped with cheese; marinated;
stuffed; stewed; driven
through the heart like a stake.

Get rid of old friends: they too
have gardens and full trunks.
Look for newcomers: befriend
them in the post office, unload
on them and run. Stop tourists
in the street. Take truckloads
to Boston. Give to your Red Cross.
Beg on the highway: please
take my zucchini, I have a crippled
mother at home with heartburn.

Sneak out before dawn to drop
them in other people's gardens,
in baby buggies at church doors.
Shot, smuggling zucchini into
mailboxes, a federal offense.

With a suave reptilian glitter
you bask among your raspy
fronds sudden and huge as
alligators. You give and give
too much, like summer days
limp with heat, thunderstorms
bursting their bags on our heads,
as we salt and freeze and pickle
for the too little to come.