Zucchini

Second only to basil, zucchini is my favorite green vegetable (although, recently I learned that it’s really considered to be more of a fruit than a vegetable—but I still think of it as a veggie, so that’s what I’m going to call it for the sake of this post). Zucchini, like the tomato, is one of the most frequently grown home-garden vegetables, but this is a fairly recent development in home-gardening.

Thought to have originated near Milan, Italy in the late 1800s, the zucchini was a product of experimental mutation between squash-melon-like varieties. Since that time, it’s been dubbed the quintessential Italian summer vegetable (some could argue that the tomato might come out on top of that throwdown, should it happen). The zucchini didn't make it's Unites States' debut until the 1920s, when it is believed Italian immigrants brought the seeds with them.

Americans were already familiar with squash (don’t we hear stories about the Pilgrims and Indians eating turkey and squash on that first Thanksgiving?), so zucchini wouldn’t have been vastly foreign to them. Zucchini is a sort of squash, not too unlike cucumbers, although zucchini are typically cooked rather than eaten raw. One hint when buying or picking your own zucchini: it’s better to get the small ones, since the larger ones tend to be less flavorful (and can have a slightly bitter undertone). Often considered to be more of a complimentary addition, zucchini are delicious with just about any item in the Italian diet—tomatoes, prosciutto, pasta, Parmesan cheese, even cooked with just a little butter or olive oil.

For the longest time, the only way I would eat zucchini is if my mother had slightly cooked them (so they were barely tender, but still held onto a little bit of their crunch) in butter or oil and then grated a good helping of Parmesan cheese on top. The combination of the saltiness of the cheese paired with the hint of sweetness from the zucchini is divine! I am happy that my taste buds have since matured and are now able to appreciate some finer zucchini offerings, such as Saltimbocca Zucchini (pronounced salt-eem-boe-ka zoo-kee-nee), which essentially means “jump in your mouth zucchini” (please refer below for the recipe).

Another zucchini delicacy is not the zucchini itself but rather its flower. My Nonna loves eating the flowers. I remember watching her pick the flowers from the zucchini plants in their garden when the flowers were perfectly yellow, with a hint of green ribs along the underside edges (brown or wilting flowers simply won’t do). I thought it strange that she would eat the flower, but I’ve since come to realize that she had the right idea! The flowers are extremely delicate, which is why they must be picked and eaten almost immediately. You might be able to find the flower in the supermarket, but be warned, it is very expensive due to the difficulty in storing and transporting the flower. The best way to eat the flower is to fry it. Once fried, you can stuff it with anything you like (ricotta and Parmesan cheese are always good), however, it will taste just as good without stuffing as it will with.

Saltimbocca Zucchini (a slight deviation from the Michael Chiarello version)

Serving size: 4-6
Time: 15 minutes preparation; 8 minutes cooking

Ingredients:
2 lbs. zucchini (try to get each 1 ½ inches in diameter)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
8 thin slices prosciutto
20 leaves of fresh sage

1/3 lb. fontina cheese, thinly sliced
3 eggs, lightly beaten with a fork
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup pure olive oil
2 Tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan

Directions:
Cut each zucchini lengthwise into thin slices (about 1/4-inch thick). You will need 16 slices total. Lay them out in pairs and lightly season with salt and pepper.

Arrange prosciutto slices on half the zucchini slices, ensuring no prosciutto hangs over the edges of the zucchini. Place 2 sage leaves on top of the prosciutto. Set the fontina slices on top, again making sure no cheese hangs over the side. Then, lay the remaining zucchini slices on top of each stack. Using paper towels, press down firmly on each stack to extract moisture and firm the zucchini.

Pour the lightly beaten eggs into a deep dish. Season the flour with salt and pepper on another plate. Pick up each zucchini stack by both ends and hold it securely, dipping it first in the egg and then dredging it in the flour until evenly coated.

In a large skillet, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat until hot. Cook the zucchini, turning once, until golden brown (about 2 minutes on each side). Once cooked, place on a plate and keep warm until ready to serve. Add more oil to skillet if needed.

Add the remaining sage leaves to the hot pan and cook briefly until crisp. Arrange several crisped leaves on top of each saltimbocca. Sprinkle Parmesan cheese on top. Serve and enjoy!

Ristorante Italiana – Pasta Moon

First impressions can be difficult to overcome. If a person rubs you the wrong way upon first meeting, the likelihood of you wanting to continue any sort of relationship with them is much rarer than if you had a fantastic introduction. The same is true for places—restaurants in particular. We assume the outside reflects what’s inside; and in the case of restaurants, this would be the cuisine. There has been more than one occasion where I have written off a restaurant simply because of their décor or modernity (or lack of). But I have also dined at stunningly beautiful restaurants, only to have the food be mediocre. Pasta Moon in Half Moon Bay falls into an entirely new category for me.

Located on Main Street in downtown Half Moon Bay, Pasta Moon is protected by a bridge on one side and little shops on the other. In other words, it blends into its surroundings, making it appear like any other shop along the main strip. Once it’s discovered, guests walk through its doors, surprised to find that instead of entering the foyer of the restaurant, they’ve stumbled into an entryway filled with adorable café-style tables and chairs and leading to several different shops. A little bar sits quietly to the side, serving liquid treats to those waiting for a table in the restaurant or who simply are looking for a respite from their shopping and wandering through downtown. Just past the bar, a door is perched open, inviting guests to explore the wonders of a small-town bookstore with soulful jazz wailing softly overhead. Opposite the bookstore, the sounds and smells of a restaurant warming up for the next meal slip between the bars of an iron gate.

The same aunt who introduced me to Vittoria’s in Los Gatos and I met for dinner at Pasta Moon one evening after work. I was delighted by the charming and cozy atmosphere presented by the town and shops. Since the restaurant was not yet open when we arrived, I ambled down the hall, past the restaurant. On my right, there was a bread room, with a floured work surface, ovens, and racks indicating the restaurant’s tiny bread factory where their bread is made fresh each day. The heat from the room and the smell of warm bread wrapped around me like a blanket and added to the cozy feeling I had from the moment I walked through the first set of doors. I peaked into the next door on my left, where two men scurried back and forth between counters, washing, chopping, arranging. Just past the kitchen door was a door leading to an intimate banquet room with a balcony overlooking a quaint country garden and meandering river.

The moment we had been waiting for arrived, as a waitress pushed open the iron gate allowing us to enter the comely setting. Wood beams proudly held their place above us, creating a rustic and down-home feel. The walls continued this feeling with their warm earthy-toned color. We were seated at a table underneath an open window that had a view similar to the banquet room balcony—a grassy picnic area and quiet stream. Even the windows conjured up images of an older time with their large wooden frames and small square panes.

We decided to attempt the full range of restaurant offerings starting with an appetizer. My Nonna is a huge fan of fried zucchini blossoms, although I myself had never ventured to try them due to the fact that I would be eating a flower; and flowers, as we all know, are for admiring with our eyes not our palates. The Zucchini Blossoms came stuffed with ricotta cheese, Reggiano Parmigiano, and fresh herbs, all things foreign to my Nonna’s method of preparing them. Fried little delights, zucchini blossoms are the perfect comfort-food alternative to Southern fried chicken. Despite being battered and fried, they are extremely light, aided by the cloud-like lightness of the ricotta cheese. I could have made a meal just out of the appetizer.

For the main course, my aunt ordered the Risotto of Dayboat Sea Scallops, which is locally grown morel mushrooms and peas in risotto accented atop by fresh scallops. The white wine added to the risotto while cooking brazenly commands attention over the natural richness of the rice without overpowering the entire dish. The mushrooms and peas add a slightly earthy hint to the Italian rice and wine combination, while the scallops provide a fresh, light balance to the whole plate. I ordered the Tagliatelle, a heady combination of smoked prosciutto and asparagus in a garlic-lemon sauce with jumbo white prawns. The lemon, like the white wine in the risotto, is very present and fresh without being overpowering. The garlic-coated shrimp is the perfect balance to the saltiness of the prosciutto and the mellowness of the asparagus.

My aunt had been eyeing the very large Meyer Lemon Parfait her past several visits, but had not yet ventured trying it. Since we’d already had a good run with the appetizer and entrees, we decided to give the lemon parfait a go as well. We asked the waiter if we could possibly have the dessert served in two glasses, which would make eating it much easier for the two of us. Instead of saying let me find out, he promptly bowed his head, stating, “I will do that,” and turned on his heals to bring it immediately to us. He reminded me of the waiters in Paris, where their job is their career and art form, rather than a holding zone until they get their big break—this provides infinitely better service. But back to the lemon dessert. Toasted on top, it looked like a fluffy cloud of crème brule. Dipping into the lovely, toasted, marshmallowy Italian meringue, the tartness of the lemon sorbet cut through the sweetness of the meringue bringing a surprisingly light and refreshing taste to the palate. Just below the icy layer of sorbet, passion fruit caramel sauce enveloped a dense dollop of lemon curd. The lemon curd combined with the caramel sauce was slightly sweeter than the sorbet, creating a sweet and tart sandwich of lemon flavors and consistencies. It was altogether delicious and refreshing after the heaviness of the previous course.

Pasta Moon surpassed any expectations I may have had; although, since it was again my aunt’s recommendation, I really should not have anticipated it being anything but exquisite. The space and the food were warm and inviting—a perfect example of the inside and outside being reflections of the other.

Pasta Moon

315 Main St.

Half Moon Bay

650.726.5125

www.pastamoon.com