Zucchini Loves Parmesan

When I was younger, I wasn't very adventurous when it came to food. Although known to slurp back a pound of steamed mussels, freshly dug out of the sandbars in PEI with my Dad and eaten straight out of the pot, sitting on a picnic table, I was also seriously picky about the weirdest things. I was one of those kids whose plate was segregated, the borders between foods strictly guarded through a shrill warning at dish-out time--"don't let the sauce get on my potatoes!!!"--and erecting knife-walls to assist me in safely eating one unadulterated section at a time. I was also the kid who ordered chicken fingers and fries wherever she went. I drank Coca-Cola for breakfast if left to my own devices. I preferred my noodles buttered and salted instead of sauced. I had to have the lumps picked out of my jam. I wouldn't go near yogurt, cooked mushrooms, olives, kidney beans, egg yolks or sauteed onions. If a baked good came near to a raisin or a nut--with a few unpredictable exceptions--I'd sooner opt for a piece of styrofoam. I contemplated running away if I knew we were having steak, stew or--the worst possible news a kid can hear--liver.

Those old habits died hard. As they did, I took on a new obsession: calories and fat. I'd admonish my Mom when I saw her put a glug of oil in a pan. "Why don't you use Pam?", I'd say. "Buy the low-fat cheese", and "I'll only drink skim milk." Both of these legacies--the inexplicable aversions to very normal food, and the rigid avoidance of all things fatty or sugary, have probably left my parents afraid to cook for me.

Given the strange kid I used to be, it's understandably hard for them--Mom especially--to reconcile that past self with the one who barges into their kitchen now, spouting off nonsense about King Eryngii mushrooms, olive tapenade, unpasteurized milk and micro-brewed beer. I cook with butter now, as a rule, and we plough through bottles of olive oil like it's going out of style. But if you're getting the impression that my story is one of constant upheaval, disconnection, rupture and renewal, I'm about to set you straight. I learned a lot about cooking from my Mom and Dad. There are countless recipes they (often unknowingly) handed on to me, one of which made an appearance at last night's dinner: Zucchini with Parmesan.

I don't know where Mom got this recipe, but I was there when we tried it the first time, and I did my best to be home whenever it came back to escort a main course to the table. The ingredients are simple, the cooking practically effortless, and the taste both explosive and mild (yes, it's possible). Zucchini loves parmesan. It's true. While not especially beautiful to look at (particularly if it cooks a bit too long, like ours did last night), it packs that sweet and salty punch--sweet from the onions (my special twist) and salty from the parmesan--into each slippery mouthful. We paired it with grilled cheese sandwiches of Oka and Polish Emmenthal between slices of nut bread from The Moulin de Provence bakery in the Byward Market, but it goes with just about anything. You can save the leftovers to top a pizza with fontina cheese, or grill them in a panini with a bit of grainy mustard.

Zucchini with Parmesan

2 medium zucchini per person, sliced into 1/4" rounds

1/2 a large sweet onion per person, thinly sliced, keeping the rings intact if possible

Extra virgin olive oil

1/3 C finely shredded parmesan (get a block and shred it yourself--none of that Kraft nonsense. It won't work.)

Salt and pepper to taste

Heat a glug of oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add the onions and sweat them until they soften and turn light brown and a bit translucent, pushing them around occasionally with a spatula. Add the zucchini (and a bit more oil if necessary), and cover the skillet, cooking for about 10 minutes or until the zucchini has softened up. Take off the lid and turn up the heat so that the veggies brown a bit more and the water (which probably accumulated under the lid) evaporates, stirring a few times.

Once the veggies are softened to your liking, remove them from the heat and toss with MOST of the cheese, reserving a bit to sprinkle on top of each serving. Salt and pepper to taste, and serve.

Thanks, Mom.