I do not have a zucchini bread recipe in my recipe index. Perhaps you have noticed? Perhaps it has bothered you that I have neglected to include such a seasonal no-brainer staple? Perhaps the lack of zucchini bread has led you to the conclusion that I’m a mediocre cook, or even worse, a cook wannabe? Because really, how could a home gardener with a food blog not have a zucchini bread recipe in her arsenal? It’s practically blasphemous!

Or, perhaps you don’t care. Perhaps you hate zucchini. Perhaps you never even look at the recipe index or, horror of horrors, know it’s there.

However, after I get done with this post, there will be a zucchini bread recipe in the index because I have found my dream zucchini bread, glory be!

Zucchini bread has been the bane of my July zucchini-eating existence. Every summer I dig through my files and try to find one that I like. But because I never take notes (because they’re not that note-worthy), I never remember which one it is that I’d like to make, so I hem and haw around, make several kinds of bread and stick them in the freezer and then leave them there. Not because we don’t like zucchini bread, because we do, but because the breads are always rather unmemorable. Just, you know, plain old zucchini bread. Bah humbug, let’s make scones.

This year I made two new kinds of bread. The blueberry zucchini bread was good but it didn’t inspire any kitchen jigging. The lemon rosemary zucchini bread was more savory and quite fine, but again, no jigging. (Mr. Handsome and I both agreed it’d be improved by a hot lemon syrup baptism.) And that was the end my zucchini bread making experimentation ’cause my plants keeled over and I switched from get-‘em-used-up-now mode to the-precious-few-zucchinis-in-my-crisper-must-not-be-squandered mode.

And then, kind of out of the blue and thanks to the Fresh Air Fund (how random is that?), I got served the zucchini bread I’ve been looking for all these years.

Here’s how it came about.

Saturday morning I got a call from a prospective host family. “Is it too late to sign up?” the mom asked.

“No, no, no!” I assured her. “The program desperately needs more families—they have something like 900 kids on their waiting list—and you still have a couple weeks before the next trip. But we need to do the interview as soon as possible so we can get the paperwork in.”

And so it was that I found myself sitting at her dinning room table that very afternoon, enjoying the view of the valley through the large, open windows, listening to her mother tell stories of the Fresh Air children they had when she was little (“We had a boy named Enry-kay.” “Enry-kay?” “Yes, E-N-R-I-Q-U-E.” “Mom! That’s EnRIque! Oh my goodness, Enry-kay! The poor kid!”), a plate of freshly baked zucchini bread sitting temptingly directly in front of me.

I only had one piece because I can not pretend to be semi-professional and eat at the same time, but I was fully aware of what I was eating. There was definitely some whole grain in it, and the bit of chocolate, just on the top and all melty and soft, was quite lovely. There was toasted coconut, too, and I was pretty sure that it also was just a topping. I contemplated asking for the recipe but restrained myself. Perhaps random recipe requesting wasn’t what normal people did? I certainly didn’t want to appear more discombobulated and weird than I was already (quite naturally) acting. So I kept my mouth shut, collected the paperwork, and took my leave.

Less than 24 hours later, I caved. I had to call the family back with a couple questions about their references, and at the end of the phone conversation I piped up with, “And one more thing—it’s kind of an odd request—but may I have your zucchini bread recipe?”

“Of course!” she said cheerfully. “There’s really nothing fancy about it—”

“But there’s some whole grain in it, right?”

“Oh yes, I use all whole wheat—I grind my own. It still calls for a lot of oil, but I cut back on that and it turns out fine.”

“All whole wheat? Wow.”

She promptly emailed me the recipe and today I made it.

And now there is a zucchini bread recipe in my recipe index.

Whole Wheat Zucchini Bread
Adapted from Andrea’s recipe

Andrea says she uses freshly-milled hard white wheat. I used (home-milled and frozen) Prairie Gold wheat.

I’m not a fan of chocolate chips in my zucchini bread, but they are delicious as a topping. I sprinkled just a few on my loaves before baking, but next time I’ll do more (just down the center top for the trough-of-molten-chocolate effect) and kind of press them into the batter a little—my chips stayed on top and pop off when I slice the loaves.

In the oven the coconut gets toasty brown which makes for one heck of a fabulously crunchy topping. Do not neglect this step. (You can add nuts to the topping, too, but I did not. I think a some walnuts or pecans would make an German frosting-type topping.)

Note from July 2, 2014: Today I under-baked a double batch. The edges were pulling away from the pan, the top of the loaves were nicely browned, and the toothpick came out clean. However, the inside of the bread is still dense and soggy. The take-away? Bake these another 5-10 minutes after you first think they are done. The bread is in no danger of drying out. In fact, it needs to.

Note from June 27, 2015: One recipe fits perfectly in a 9-inch springform pan. Sprinkle the top liberally with chocolate chips and then a lot of coconut. Bake at 350 degrees for 60-70 minutes.

2 cups whole wheat flour
1 ½ cups sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
3 teaspoons cinnamon
3 eggs, beaten
3/4 cup neutral-tasting oil
2 teaspoons vanilla
3 cups grated zucchini
½ to 1 cup chocolate chips
½ cup coconut, give or take

Stir together the first six ingredients. In a separate bowl, beat the eggs and add the oil and vanilla. Stir the wet ingredients into the dry and add the zucchini.

Divide the batter between 4 small, greased loaf pans (or 2 regular-sized). Sprinkle a row of chocolate chips down the center of each loaf, pressing the chips into the dough just a little. Sprinkle the loaves with the coconut (all over, not just the center). Bake the loaves at 375 degrees for 30-40 minutes (or, for the large loaves, close to an hour). Cool for ten minutes before running a knife around the edge of the pans and inverting the loaves onto a cooling rack.

To freeze, wrap each loaf in plastic before placing in another plastic bag and transferring to the freezer.

The birthday celebrations are over. My girl is now completely ten.

Her first-ever birthday party was on Friday. I think she had a good time.

I was a little worried that we didn’t plan more activities for them to do, but every time I brought it up to Mr. Handsome, he’d just wave at me like I was a gnat and say, “They’ll just go play. It’ll be fine.”

He was right. As soon as the girls arrived, they all holed up in the clubhouse and it was perfectly quiet.

Which was a startling contrast to my son’s party where all the boys ran around waving sticks and yelling. They played hard, threw popcorn, gorged on candy, and were sound asleep by 11:30.

The girls, on the other hand, were generally quieter though a little screamy, perhaps. They made up organized games, play-acted intensely (when delivering some popcorn, I unwittingly interrupted a childbirth), had deep discussions (“Isn’t it ridiculous how women used to be treated?”), pooled all the pinata candy and then divided it out evenly, and stayed up till two and got up at 5:30 (and a couple of them reportedly stayed up all night).

The birthday supper was a little controversial. My daughter wanted fried chicken and corn-on-the-cob, but I had a better idea, I told her: raclettes! Having never eaten them before, she was noncommittal. And after showing her the one I was borrowing from a friend, she remained apprehensive. “I thought the birthday kids get to choose what they want to eat,” she said sadly.

Despite my certainty that my idea was a good one, I started to doubt myself. Mr. Handsome was no help. “You’re going to make them cook their own supper? Are they even going to want to do that? Wouldn’t it be easier to just feed them hamburgers or something?”

“Oh, come on!” I huffed. “Of course they’re going to love it. They get to sit around and cook. It’s the perfect meal for a bunch of little girls!”

And you know what? I was right! The girls were totally enthused. One of them kept saying, “This is the greatest meal! We get to cook whatever we want!” I think she said that fourteen times. At least.

And when my daughter told them what they would’ve eaten had I not gotten the raclette maker, they said, “That would’ve been good … but this is better.” My daughter was visibly (to me) relieved. I think she was a little nervous about what her friends would think of her mother’s weird idea.

What I gave them to cook with:
Fat: butter, olive oil
Veggies: onions, garlic, steamed broccoli, boiled new potatoes, tomatoes
Dairy: two kinds of cheese
Meat: eggs, chicken, beef, sausage, ham, bacon
Condiments: barbecue sauce, soy sauce, fresh basil, ketchup, S & P
Also: a double batch of breadsticks, which was really smart (if I do say so myself) because it takes a little while to cook and eat, cook and eat, and the girls needed something to munch on while they were waiting for their food. And munch them down they did, every last one of them.

Later, when I was cooking my own dinner, I pulled out the heavy whipping cream. My garlicky chicken simmered in cream with basil and bacon was super-duper lush.

(The next evening, after the house had been cleaned up and everyone had baths, we had a relaxed family meal with the leftovers, of which there were many. The kids are head-over-heels in love with the new discovery. I’m thinking we may need to make an investment…)

After supper was cleaned up, there was the cake and presents.

She had requested a mint-chocolate cake. The dumped ice cream cone was my own personal touch.

Then there was the long night where I slept a little and the kids slept even less, and the next morning there were mountains of blueberry (and plain) buttermilk pancakes, sausages, and milk before the parents arrived to pick-up their bleary-eyed little girls.

I always feel semi-guilty, sending home such exhausted children. Like I should slip an apology letter into their backpacks—something that says, “Your kids are going to be bears for the rest of the day and I am so very sorry. A long afternoon nap and lots of vegetables may help.”

This same time, years previous: bacon-wrapped breadsticks, zucchini parmesan frittata, shrimp with coconut milk, the sex talk, alfredo sauce

Just when I think I have a handle on some recipe like, say, ice cream, I go and learn a bunch of new things that completely blows my afore-perceived expertise out of the water. This constant putting-of-me-in-my-place ought to be discouraging, but I can’t help not minding, especially when my mouf is full of ice cweam.

I discovered my latest obsession in the food section of our little newspaper. Usually the section’s two or three pages are full of recipes (that call for processed food) and info (calorie counting) that don’t interest me, but every now and then there is a nugget and I have to run for the kitchen scissors and cut it out right quick.

This week I clipped an entire article (not a recipe in sight) about a woman named Jeni Britton Bauer who purportedly makes the most fabulous ice cream ever. Her tricks? No eggs to eliminate the coating-on-the-tongue effect (not something I usually dwell on, but totally true), a little cornstarch to thicken it up, and a nub of cream cheese to give the ice cream body and heft.

At first I thought I’d have to create the recipe on my own, working under the little guidance that the paper provided, but then I started the Googling process, and after watching some videos about her shop and reading a couple articles and interviews, I finally happened upon a basic recipe.

Two nights ago, I made the ice cream. Oh! My! Stars! It is wonderful! The texture is clean and sharp and smooth, and the taste is full-on vanilla, rich and fragrant. The cream cheese doesn’t give flavor as much as it gives body—plus, they say it makes the ice cream scoopable. And because there are no eggs, the ice cream is a brilliant, classy white.

If any ice cream can surpass this one, I’ll eat my hat. (Or else the ice cream, because it would be stupid to fill up on hat if there is good ice cream around).

Next on my to-do list, incorporating other flavors into this base. The article mentioned something about a salty caramel….

Jeni’s Best Ever Vanilla Ice Cream
Adapted from Food and Wine

2 cups milk, divided
1 tablespoon, plus 1 teaspoon, cornstarch
1 1/4 cups heavy cream
2/3 cups sugar
1 ½ tablespoons light corn syrup
1 vanilla bean, split and scraped, or 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 ½ ounces cream cheese, at room temperature
1/8 teaspoon salt

Put the cornstarch in a small bowl and add 2 tablespoons of milk. Set aside.

Put the remaining milk in a heavy-bottomed saucepan, along with the cream, sugar, corn syrup, and vanilla bean. Bring the mixture to a boil and boil for 4 minutes. Off heat, stir in the cornstarch paste. Return the pan to the heat and boil for one more minute, whisking constantly. Take the pan off the heat and remove the vanilla bean.

Put the cream cheese in a medium-sized mixing bowl and gradually whisk in the hot milk mixture. Add the salt, and if using vanilla extract in place of the bean, add that now. Set the bowl in a pan of ice water to cool, or if you’re not pushed for time, put it in the fridge to chill.

Freeze the ice cream according to your maker’s directions.

Yield: about one quart.

This same time, years previous: preserving stone fruits, pasta with roasted tomatoes and summer squash (I’ve been craving this for weeks now), cooked oatmeal