Champagne Fried Squash Blossoms
Squash blossoms are the party dresses of the vegetable world: delicate, special, and lovely. And like party dresses, they get better with a splash of champagne in a recipe that is playful without being fussy. Inspired by my Culinary Pen Pal and admittedly, my unofficial cuisine confidant consultant, Colman Andrews, who roused some squash-blossom-sense into me, this recipe honors both the celebration and the “dress.”
I had been overdressing these little beauties with a typical batter of egg and flour. They were tasty sure, but were more akin to puffy, greasy carnival corny dogs than graceful flower festive delights. However, replace the egg with sparkling wine and everything is coming up squash blossoms.
What makes squash blossoms so exciting is their efflorescence of flavors. When you bite into the petals, at first there isn’t an explosion of flavor, it’s quiet. But keep crunching, indulging, waiting and suddenly you get to the substantial bit and then everything changes! The texture is sturdy and the flavor is bright and well… yellow! It’s an unfurling that’s subtle, but once you get it, you get it. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, that tastes like this.
I have found that unlike many foods, most people can recall the first time they had a squash blossom and it’s usually with much finesse and fondness.
My first encounter with the canary yellow floral wonders is a dreamy summer fairy tale. A little seven year old Jolie, I followed my Aunte Babette through South of France fields, the sound of a cicada symphony permeating the provencal prairie, until we reached a cascading bed of squash. Speaking no English, Babette silently showed me how to snip the colossal trumpeting lemony blossoms from the fuzzy squash jungle. Everything was golden: her blonde hair, the straw woven basket holding the blooms, the sunflower field turning their heads to le Soleil, the custard hued tiles on the kitchen walls, and most magnificently, the squash blossoms.
We had an Abundance with a capital A. Flowers spilling from the baskets onto the counters! Blocks of sweaty cheeses prepped for stuffing and roasting! Dark green olive oil, flour and wild herbs at the ready for frying! Knives at attention for chiffonading! Something about the preparation of squash blossoms made me feel like I had taken my first step toward ladyhood. The blossoms were ladies and I was now in training.
My second encounter with squash blossoms involves a nostalgic moment in time when my brothers and I still lived at home with our parents. There were so many of us and our family was chaotically whole, busy with our own individual lives, but thriving and loving. Daddy and Mama would pick them from our very own Texas hill country garden (another land of cicadas) and in my memory it was like we had endless trays of them, glistening in the hot Lonestar State sunshine. These memories are less precise, more of a melange of family and laughter, warm waterhose scents and wet bathing suits at the table, and blossoms. Sweet, crisp, special squash blossoms.
I think the take away here is that squash blossoms generously give three things: a sensation of abundance, a magical flavor, and the understanding that all of that is temporary. Because one day the blossoms are done and you will wait for an entire year for their return.
Worth the wait I’d say.
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