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Carrion Luggage
Carrion Luggage
 
Native to the Americas, the turkey vulture (Cathartes aura) travels widely in search of sustenance. While usually foraging alone, it relies on other individuals of its species for companionship and mutual protection. Sometimes misunderstood, sometimes feared, sometimes shunned, it nevertheless performs an important role in the ecosystem.
This scavenger bird is a marvel of efficiency. Rather than expend energy flapping its wings, it instead locates uplifting columns of air, and spirals within them in order to glide to greater heights. This behavior has been mistaken for opportunism, interpreted as if it is circling doomed terrestrial animals destined to be its next meal. In truth, the vulture takes advantage of these thermals to gain the altitude needed glide longer distances, flying not out of necessity, but for the joy of it.
It also avoids the exertion necessary to capture live prey, preferring instead to feast upon that which is already dead. In this behavior, it resembles many humans.
It is not what most of us would consider to be a pretty bird. While its habits are often off-putting, or even disgusting, to members of more fastidious species, the turkey vulture helps to keep the environment from being clogged with detritus. Hence its Latin binomial, which translates to English as "golden purifier."
I rarely know where the winds will take me next, or what I might find there. The journey is the destination.
September 13, 2025 at 9:19am September 13, 2025 at 9:19am
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After yesterday's gaze into the abyss, it's only fair that I share today's article, from Slate, which talks about something everyone knows: zucchini.
The Vegetable That Wants to Die 
Zucchini doesn’t even like itself, yet every summer, we pretend it’s worth growing and cooking. Is there any way to actually make it taste good?
Except not everyone knows it, do they? A good chunk of English speakers, as well as most Francophones, call it courgette. Just to add to the confusion, "squash" refers to a British drink that isn't beer or tea.
Why we refer to it by its Italian name is interesting, too. All squash is native to the Americas. But the particular variety with the green skin was bred in Milan less than two centuries ago. I can only assume that the French called it something else because they're French and needed to distinguish their cuisine from that of Italy. ("Zucchini" is plural; the singular form is zucchino, which I played with in the title today.)
A few summers ago, while I was visiting family in western Pennsylvania, my parents’ neighbor sauntered over and “gifted” us some garden zucchini... I was annoyed. Our neighbor hadn’t gifted us anything, he’d encumbered us with tough, water-logged, flavorless vegetable mass.
I'll admit, I'm not a big fan of zucchini. Partly, this is because, when I was a kid, we were that neighbor; there was entirely too much of it in our garden for us to eat. Partly, it's because my mom couldn't cook it worth a damn, and that sort of thing sticks with you. But to call it "flavorless" is a bit of a stretch, in my opinion. It has a flavor; just one I don't particularly like.
To be clear, I still consider it food. This is not the case with, say, eggplant (aubergine), which I consider not-food.
Tastes, however, vary, and I know from experience on both sides how hard it is to get someone to like something they just don't.
Because zucchini is a culinary pain in the ass, and people are running out of ways to cook it.
It can also be a literal pain in the ass, if you know what I mean.
It’s a scourge of a plant that grows fast and is prolific.
Can't argue with that. While it's been decades since I grew zucchini (or anything else, since as soon as I left the farm, every useful plant in my vicinity commits suicide), I still have nightmares about the bushels of the stuff I'd have to pick.
The hard fact is that among summer produce, zucchini just isn’t desirable, and it’s not an ingredient that I particularly like to cook with, either.
I don't think of it as an ingredient. I think of it as a side dish.
The traditional cooking methods that most recipes bring to bear don’t really do zucchini many favors (or flavors). The internet is overgrown with zucchini bread recipes (which, guys, is just spice cake with weird, wet fiber smuggled inside).
A friend of mine once made a zucchini pie. Like, a sweet pie, not a savory one, more like apple pie. Well, she might have done it more than once, but I was there for it once. Best I can say about it is that it was edible.
Sautéed zucchini and yellow squash is a classic side dish, but generally just reminds me of the boring meat/potatoes/vegetable plates you’d encounter at a middle-of-the-road steakhouse.
I think the problem with being a food writer is that you get jaded pretty quickly, and always seek out the new and shiny over the tried and true classics. Me? I'm not a food writer; I just sometimes write about food. So rather than go seeking out a new way to cook something, I prefer to master the old standbys.
Could it be that zucchini is a good or, dare I say, even great vegetable that’s been the victim of passionless flavors and ideas? Maybe zucchini isn’t the problem. Maybe I am.
No comment.
More flavorful solutions for zucchini abound. A proper Indian or Thai zucchini curry is wonderful, and the squash swells with deliciously flavorful aromatics like ginger and cumin.
And this is where I started to get interested. Not in zucchini, mind you: I'm of the considered opinion that if you have to do too much to a food to make it palatable, it becomes not worth it unless you're in survival mode. But, as I noted above, zucchini is a squash bred in Italy from stock that's native to the Americas. And now, here we are, with south Asians incorporating it into their dishes, on the entire other side of the planet from its origins.
That's the thing about food: once it's out there, it's out there, and it's fascinating to me how this works on a global scale.
Which is to say, zucchini is definitely work. It needs to be cared for, both in the garden and in the kitchen. Understandably, that may be more effort than the average person is willing to put in.
And way more effort than I, a distinctly below-average person, am willing to put in.
But I'm perfectly willing to try the product of others' creativity and hard work. I might even compliment it. As long as no eggplant is involved. |
© Copyright 2025 Robert Waltz (UN: cathartes02 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Robert Waltz has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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No comments yet? Well, let's see if I can take advantage of my Darwinian evolution and find something intelligent to say.
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