Tuna Zucchini Cakes

Late March. Spring cleaning in the apartment — reorganizing the kitchen, deep-cleaning the shelves, washing Fumiko's ceramic bowls with extra care, each bowl held like a sacrament, each chip a geography of use and love and time. The bowls are eight years older than when I packed them from Fumiko's apartment. Eight years of daily use. Eight years of miso soup and rice and nimono and all the food that has passed through them, the food as current, the bowls as the riverbed that shapes the current.

I made spring soba — cold buckwheat noodles with a dipping sauce of freshly made dashi, the clean, bright version that celebrates the season's arrival. The soba was simple and necessary and exactly the food that spring cleaning produces: you clean the kitchen and then you cook the simplest thing you can, because the kitchen is clean and the simple food deserves the clean kitchen and the clean kitchen deserves the simple food.

I am thinking about the Japan trip. Miya is seven. The plan is twelve. Five years. Five years of saving, of planning, of dreaming. I have been saving since she was born — a small amount each month, a fund labeled "Japan," the fund growing slowly, the way everything in my life grows slowly, the way shiso grows slowly, the way dashi improves slowly, the way my writing improved slowly. The slowness is not a flaw. The slowness is the method. The Japan fund is the method applied to geography: slowly, steadily, toward the place where Fumiko came from, toward the markets and the ramen shops and the valley in Nagano where the family story began.

I told Miya about the trip — not the timing, not the specifics, just the dream. "Someday we'll go to Japan," I said. "When?" she asked. "When you're twelve," I said. "That's in five years," she said, calculating with the instant arithmetic of a child who has been counting since she could talk. "Five years is forever," she added. It is. And it isn't. Five years is the length of a kindergarten-to-second-grade education. Five years is the length of a grief. Five years is the length of the time it takes miso to truly know itself. Five years is exactly the right amount of time to prepare for the most important trip of your life.

After I’d washed every one of Fumiko’s bowls and set the kitchen back to rights, I wanted something that honored the cleanness of the space — something simple and crisp and unfussy, the way the soba had been. These tuna zucchini cakes are that kind of food: pantry tuna, fresh zucchini just coming into season, a little egg, a little heat, and then you eat them from a bowl that has eight years of love worn into its glaze. The kind of meal that doesn’t ask for much but gives back everything.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 4 (about 8 cakes)

Ingredients

2 cans (5 oz each) tuna, well drained
1 medium zucchini, grated and squeezed dry (about 1 1/2 cups)
1/3 cup panko breadcrumbs
1 large egg, lightly beaten
2 green onions, thinly sliced
1 tablespoon mayonnaise
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil, for frying
Lemon wedges, for serving

Instructions

Prep the zucchini. Grate the zucchini on the large holes of a box grater. Place in a clean kitchen towel and squeeze out as much moisture as possible. This step is essential for crispy cakes.
Mix the batter. In a large bowl, combine the drained tuna, squeezed zucchini, panko, egg, green onions, mayonnaise, Dijon mustard, garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Stir until evenly combined.
Form the cakes. Divide the mixture into 8 equal portions and shape each into a patty about 1/2 inch thick. If the mixture feels too loose, refrigerate for 10 minutes to firm up.
Cook until golden. Heat the olive oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Working in batches if needed, cook the cakes for 4 to 5 minutes per side, until golden brown and crispy on the outside.
Serve simply. Transfer to a plate lined with a paper towel to drain briefly. Serve warm with lemon wedges alongside.

Nutrition (per serving)

Tuna Zucchini Cakes — The Simplest Thing a Clean Kitchen Deserves