Judith Miles

Word Count 539

My family had a few peculiarities when it came to food. No one on my father’s side ever ate the dark meat of chicken or turkey. Mother’s favorite snack was sardines on saltines slathered with dijon mustard. My favorite sandwich was peanut butter and bacon.

Our oddest food idiosyncrasy, however, was the family aversion to zucchini. Disdain was ingrained in me as a young child from the first time its name was spoken in my presence. The family ritual was to dine out at Peter’s on Sundays and zucchini rejection was reenacted weekly. Tony, our waiter approached the table with menus.  

“Buona sera, Mr. and Mrs. Miles and children. Our specials tonight are veal piccata and osso bucco. Molto delizioso. And zucchini fritto misto is the vegetable“ 

“Tony, you know we don’t eat zucchini in any form,” Mom responded, as usual.

“Mommy, you always tell me to eat vegetables or no dessert. What’s wrong with it? Does it taste bad? It has such a beautiful name. Zucchini fritto misto. It’s so musical. I’ve never tasted it. I’ve never even seen it.”

“Darling, we simply don’t eat it and please stop whining. You wouldn’t like it.  I don’t like it” As usual, we had the boring string beans.  I was six and not yet jaded by the cynicism of adolescence, believing that parental opinions were infallible.  Our zucchini loathing must be based on its disgusting qualities. Maybe it was evil. Mom served beets and they were really gross. I loved their color in a party dress or hair ribbon but the purple juice would run all over my plate, seeping into the mashed potatoes and ruining them. I loathed the lima beans she served. I found the texture repulsive although it was a bit more tolerable than the mixture of of lima beans and creamed corn in a dish called succotash. It looked like a throw up.  Zucchini must be poisonous if Mom served us this other stuff and expected us ro eat it.

I was 22 when I lost my zucchini virginity, succumbing to the temptation during a dinner party in Manhattan, feeling like a Mormon about to taste forbidden caffeine in a double espresso. My act of defiance. I loved it and it was merely grilled. Little did I anticipate the eventual joys of fried zucchini, the effete blossom adorning a salad or the lustiness of zucchini hidden in a hearty ratatouille that awaited my palate.

I began to question the family aversion. Perhaps I was adopted although we were all redheads, and the resemblance was strong. Had my mother experienced trauma with a zucchini?  Did its phallic shape disturb her? The truth is that zucchini is innocuous. You have to tart it up a bit with spicy accoutrements, coat it with bread crumbs or cheese or drown it in olive oil to give it any memorable flavor. Freed from the shackles of the family code of conduct, I consumed with enthusiasm mussels, oysters, anchovies, caviar, sushi and steak tartare. For many, the assertion of independence usually involves pre-marital sex, smoking weed, snorting cocaine or some more traditional rite of passage. Liberation, however, can be triggered by less dramatic pursuits such as eating a certain vegetable.

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Judith is a retired corporate and entertainment lawyer who lives in Brooklyn Heights. Her passions are photography, nonfiction writing and singing with her local choir, and will participate with Eric Whitacre in a concert at Lincoln Center in April.