The sun was shining bright. We were interrogating the timing of the blossoms and sharing thoughts on what to do with fully-grown courgettes. From under the pergola, some good advice: ‘Don’t forget about the leaves!’
November is when we expect to see the first courgette blossoms, so this month we’re exploring cooking with different parts of the plant. In this, the first part of three, we share how to treat the leaves and cook courgettes until meltingly soft. (Look out for more on the blossoms in the coming weeks.)
We once grew courgettes so we could harvest blossoms in the morning light. ‘Just press them in using your thumb,’ said Pops, encouraging us as we all stood in the garden for the ceremonial planting of the first seeds. It was a happy summer of fried flowers, which now always remind me my mum-in-law. She so enjoyed them.
We had no idea how prolific they could be and before long we were tripping over tangled vines and finding not-so-baby marrows – blown up like water balloons – under the leaves. So. Many. Leaves. It prickled as I walked through them and they brushed against my calves. Eventually we sent the rambling tendrils up a trellis.
If courgette is the vegetable that sticks around faithfully until the summer party is over, its flower is a fleeting luxury, and its leaves are like the bonus round – the greens you never expected, the harvest with so little impact it’s as if you were never there.
It was when working with a courgette harvest for a summer workshop that we really got to know the furry leaves and shoots in a way we hadn’t before. And the fine hairs are quickly subdued by a dip in briskly boiling water.
Once blanched the leaves have a nutty flavour that goes particularly well with wholewheat pasta. Chop them up and add some gently fried garlic slivers, and those greens start looking like supper.
To show them off at the workshop we served the blanched leaves topped with a mass of soft, buttery courgette, that was only just holding together in slices, with a lemon wedge for squeezing over the top – like a filled but not-yet-folded dolmade to be picked up for hand-held eating.
Courgettes as ‘butter’ | low and slow
Cooking courgettes gently works with their capacity to become quite creamy when fully soft. It’s an exercise in getting the heat really low but still high enough for them cook slowly and steadily. Using butter lends a rich flavour to the already creamy texture.
The worst possible incarnation of a courgette is mushy, watery, and bitter. Cooking in a pan in butter gets around the first two, but to keep them sweet they need to be used promptly after harvesting (or purchasing). They may be stored in the veggie drawer for a day or two, but any more and they can turn bitter.
See the quantities below as a guide and feel free to adjust the amount of butter to courgette to your taste and needs.
Wash 350g small, bright green, shiny courgettes (about 10) and slice thinly (around 1mm). If possible, use a mandoline to ensure uniform slicing, so all the slices cook at the same rate. Melt 50g butter in a heavy-based frying pan that can fit a lid on top and take all the courgettes slices more or less in a single layer. (We use a heavy-bottomed stainless-steel pan that is 28cm in diameter). Add two cloves of garlic, finely chopped, and cook briefly (maximum one minute), stirring, over a medium to low heat – it may start softening but shouldn’t brown. Add the courgette slices, season with sea salt, and stir to coat well. Cover the pan with a lid and cook over a low heat for 30 to 40 minutes, occasionally giving a gentle fold to make sure nothing is sticking to the bottom of the pan. (For the 28cm pan we cook on a medium burner turned to the lowest heat.) Cook the courgettes until they are completely softened but still holding a basic shape and without any browning.
From here you can take it in a few different directions:
Toss through 200g fusilli noodles (cooked in boiling, salted water), while cooking briefly (stirring constantly) over a medium-high heat and loosening with a small ladle of the pasta water. Divide between two bowls, top with freshly ground black pepper and a cloud of finely grated Pecorino (or Parmesan).
This is a summer weeknight staple in our house and, if not counting seasonings or water, essentially all you need is a block of butter, a pack of courgettes, and a bag of pasta.
Fold through finely chopped soft herbs like flatleaf parsley or basil, season with sea salt again (if necessary) and freshly ground pepper and serve alongside a piece of fish cooked in a pan so the skin is crisp but the inside is tender, or a chicken fillet cooked in grill pan – in both cases with a wedge of lemon.
Mash to become like a spreadable ‘butter’, seasoning with lemon juice, sea salt, and freshly ground pepper, and spread onto slices of rosemary focaccia.
Once you have the low-and-slow technique down, you can play with seasoning at the beginning (butter or extra virgin olive oil, garlic, salt) and the end (soft herbs, lemon juice, salt – perhaps even some fresh garlic pounded with sea salt).
Courgette leaves as greens
Harvest small tender courgette leaves and shoots and wash them well. Fill a large pot with water and bring to a rolling boil. Add the leaves – not too many at a time, you want space around them, so they come back to the boil quickly. Once the water is back to a vigorous boil let them cook for about 30 seconds. They should be tender and cooked but still a brilliant green colour. Take them out with tongs and lay on a baking tray lined with a tea towel to blot them dry. (If stacked in a colander, the residual heat can continue the cooking.) Once drained, use whole or chopped.
While finalising this story it was with great delight that we noted Oranjezicht City Farm have courgette flowers and now courgettes too, as that was the original source of courgettes, leaves and (carefullly nurtured!) blossoms for the workshop.