Friday, September 30, 2011
Putain de merde de courgettes!
C'est le fin d'été et j'en ai bien, bien marre de ce putain de courgette qui pousse, qui pousse, qui pousse. Si par contre il avait un goût bien, mais non. Son goût fade, sans intérêt ne m'attire pas. Son goût est si fade en fait que les gens du potager parle de faire broyer et de le mélanger avec d'autres ingrédients pour le faire disparaître. Pour ne pas gâcher leurs légumes, cultivés avec tant de soin pendant tout l'été. Ceci n'est pas un poivron ou un tomate, des legumes qui vaulent leur poids en or. Non, c'est une merde facile à cultiver, quelque chose que n'importe quel con puisse avoir dans son potager. Qui donne des résultats qui sont (pour un con) étonnants. Des courges grandes,gigantesques, comme si ils étaient des exemplaires de son sexe. L’aspect du virilité, sans goût autre que de l'eau mélangée avec de la terre. Bien, peut-être, pour les jardiniers machos, mais pour les amateurs du goût, décevant.
Today, we had to grill this shit in class. As if that would make it taste better. Zucchini grilled is better than say, boiled, but that's not saying much. Now, if this vegetable had some wonderful taste or could be made into interesting things... like a tomato or a pepper. Or an eggplant. But, no. These things are the wonderment of idiot gardeners everywhere since they produce, produce produce. The garden is a success, measured in kilograms of zucchini spewed forth from even a small number of plants. No matter that it tastes like leafy mud. If not picked young, they grow huge, perhaps equated by some to the gardener's virility; yet still tasteless soggy blobs of vegetable not really worth the effort of cooking.
So, I applied heat to vegetable, searing attractive char marks into its soggy virtually tasteless flesh. In the process, it lost it's crispiness. That was the whole idea, because grilling concentrates what meager flavor these poor things have even if it makes them limp as a wet noodle. Well, not quite that limp, but still not exactly erect. Then I compounded my sin by liberally dousing the things in za'attar spice mix to cover their tastelessness. This was apparently a crime against zucchini, an insult to chefitude, and a total lack of respect for their subtle essence. What f'ing subtle essence? Mud and lawn clippings? No, lawn clippings would probably have more flavor (and pesticides and herbicides and toxins...).
So, limp lifeless zucchini slices grilled to death, drowned in an excess of spice. Is that such a bad thing? At least they didn't taste like zucchini any more. After four months of eating zucchini from the garden, they could have tasted like natto and it would have been an improvement. Alas, I was scorned by all.
The first was the skinny woman, a student. "Too much spice!", she hiss-snarled, wrinkling her nose and giving me a look that would wither, well, zucchini. No, she's not a fan. Quite the opposite, in fact.
The person whose opinion counted, the chef, also hated the things. Overcooked, over spiced. Yeah, that's so it doesn't taste like zucchini. I know, not an excuse. She probably hasn't been eating it all summer, but still.
I scraped the rest into the trash, sending it on its merry way to the landfill where it can no doubt nourish hordes of bacteria, fungi and worms who will enjoy it much more than did my classmates.
Well, fuck zucchini. Who the hell orders a plate of that shit in a restaurant, anyway? $12 for a plate of stuff that tastes like whatever spices you happened to put on it, but not to excess, please. I might order fried zucchini flowers, or quesadillas de flor de calabaza, but that's different. No mush.
Well, that's what cooking school is for. So you can screw stuff up where it doesn't really matter so that when it does matter, you'll get it right.