Crispy Tabasco Zucchini Chips

The soil temperature hit forty-eight degrees Tuesday, which is the threshold I have been waiting for to start the peas. Peas go in as early as the soil allows — they are cool-weather plants and will actually germinate in cold conditions that would rot other seeds, but forty-eight is the number I trust and Tuesday the thermometer confirmed it. I planted two double rows of sugar snaps and one row of shelling peas, pushed them in one inch deep the way I always do, soaked the bed, and was done in forty-five minutes. The peas require almost no intervention from planting to trellis — they find their way up anything you give them to climb.

I have been working on the fourth and fifth Helen notebook posts this week and the series is developing a rhythm that feels natural now. The fourth post was a 1984 beet salad she made every summer throughout the eighties — a composed salad with goat cheese and walnuts that was apparently considered quite modern for Vermont in 1984, based on her note in the margin: "M.B. said this was too fancy but she ate two helpings." M.B. is a neighbor from that period who I remember well. The comment is perfect: the mild dismissal and the evidence of genuine appreciation coexisting in the same sentence, the way people often move through the world.

Teddy and I spoke for an hour on Sunday, the first call since the consommé triumph that was not about curriculum but about cooking in a broader sense — what he wanted to do with what he had learned, what kind of cooking interested him beyond the technical foundation we had built over the year. He said he thought he wanted to cook the kind of food that had a place, the kind you could only get in Vermont or Maine or coastal Massachusetts — food that tasted of where it came from and that you could not replicate by buying different ingredients in a different state. I told him that was the most accurate description I had ever heard of what I try to do in my own kitchen and he laughed and said he had been reading my blog posts for two years. I told him that was terrifying and flattering simultaneously and he agreed.

Teddy’s description of the food he wanted to cook — the kind that tastes of where it came from, that you could not replicate by buying different ingredients somewhere else — stayed with me through the rest of Sunday and into the week. The peas are in the ground now, and the zucchini is months away, but this recipe has been in my notes since last August, when the garden was producing more than I knew what to do with and I wanted something that let the vegetable carry the dish with almost nothing in its way. A little heat from the Tabasco, a little salt from the Parmesan, and the zucchini does the rest — purposeful cooking, the only kind I trust.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 28 minutes | Total Time: 38 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 medium zucchini, sliced into 1/8-inch rounds
1 large egg
1 teaspoon Tabasco sauce (or more to taste)
1/2 cup panko breadcrumbs
1/4 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Olive oil spray

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set your oven to 425°F. Line two large rimmed baking sheets with parchment paper and lightly coat with olive oil spray. Using two sheets ensures the chips are in a single layer without crowding, which is what gets them crispy rather than steamed.
Mix the egg wash. In a shallow bowl, whisk together the egg and Tabasco sauce until fully combined. Taste the mixture — it should have a noticeable heat but not be overwhelming. Add another few dashes of Tabasco if you want more.
Combine the coating. In a separate shallow bowl, stir together the panko breadcrumbs, Parmesan, garlic powder, salt, and pepper until evenly mixed.
Coat each slice. Working one at a time, dip a zucchini round into the egg wash, letting the excess drip off, then press it into the panko mixture and coat both sides firmly. Set each coated slice on the prepared baking sheets in a single layer.
Spray and bake. Once all slices are arranged, give the tops a light pass of olive oil spray — this helps the panko brown evenly. Bake for 13 minutes, then flip each chip carefully with a thin spatula and bake for another 12 to 15 minutes until deep golden and crisp at the edges.
Serve immediately. These are at their best the moment they come out of the oven. Transfer to a platter and serve right away — they soften as they sit, which is the honest truth about all zucchini chips.

Nutrition (per serving)

Crispy Tabasco Zucchini Chips — The Kind of Food That Tastes of Where It Comes From