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Zucchini Butter — What You Make When the Garden Won’t Quit

August. The garden work of it, the relentless production, the weeding and watering and picking and canning and freezing. Made twenty-four more quarts of tomato sauce for the freezer — the year's biggest batch, the slow cooker running for two days, the kitchen smelling like July in concentrated form.

Connie and I went to a bluegrass festival Saturday in Lexington — lawn chairs, a cooler with sandwiches and lemonade, music under a tent. I don't play music but I feel music, especially bluegrass, which is the music of Harlan County, the music of porches and hollers and people who know that the banjo is the happiest and saddest instrument ever made, depending on who's playing it. A man played "Will the Circle Be Unbroken" and I thought about Earl and Betty and the circle that has expanded from two people in a company house to a family that includes a Nigerian son-in-law and a grandson named after a dead miner, and the circle is not unbroken — the circle is broken and repaired and broken and repaired, which is stronger than unbroken because unbroken has never been tested.

The cough is quiet in summer. Almost gone. The inhaler routine continues but the rescue inhaler hasn't been touched in two months. I am managing. The word has stopped sounding like a consolation prize and started sounding like a strategy, which is what it is — a strategy for being alive as long as possible, for as many summers as possible, for as many bluegrass festivals and tomato sauces and grandchildren's kitchen words as I can get.

The tomato sauce got all the glory this week — two days in the slow cooker, twenty-four quarts banked against winter — but the zucchini was piling up in the meantime, the way zucchini does in August, silently and without apology. This recipe is the answer I keep coming back to when the garden is producing faster than I can think: you cook it all the way down into something sweet and almost silky, something you can put on toast or stir into pasta, and it keeps. It’s preserving in the same spirit as the tomato sauce — the idea that summer is long enough to store, if you’re paying attention.

Zucchini Butter

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 55 minutes | Servings: 8 (about 1 cup total)

Ingredients

  • 2 lbs zucchini (about 3–4 medium), coarsely grated
  • 1 tsp kosher salt, divided
  • 3 tbsp unsalted butter
  • 1 tbsp olive oil
  • 4 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1/2 tsp black pepper
  • 1/4 tsp crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
  • 1 tbsp fresh lemon juice
  • 2 tbsp fresh basil or thyme, finely chopped

Instructions

  1. Salt and drain the zucchini. Place grated zucchini in a colander, toss with 1/2 tsp salt, and let sit for 10 minutes. Working in handfuls, squeeze out as much liquid as possible. The drier it is, the faster it cooks down.
  2. Start the butter base. In a large skillet over medium heat, melt the butter with the olive oil. Add the garlic and cook, stirring, for about 1 minute until fragrant but not browned.
  3. Add the zucchini. Add the drained zucchini to the pan along with the remaining 1/2 tsp salt, black pepper, and red pepper flakes if using. Stir to combine.
  4. Cook it down slowly. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook, stirring every 5–10 minutes, for 35–45 minutes. The zucchini will go from pale and watery to a deep golden, jammy spread. Don’t rush this step — the low and slow cook is what gives it its depth.
  5. Finish and season. Remove from heat. Stir in the lemon juice and fresh herbs. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed.
  6. Store or serve. Serve warm on toasted bread, stir into pasta, or spread on sandwiches. Keeps refrigerated in a sealed jar for up to 1 week, or freeze in small containers for up to 3 months.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 75 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 5g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 180mg

Craig Hensley
About the cook who shared this
Craig Hensley
Week 431 of Craig’s 30-year story · Lexington, Kentucky
Craig is a retired coal miner from Harlan County, Kentucky — a man who spent twenty years underground and seventeen hours trapped in a collapsed tunnel before he was twenty-four. He moved his family to Lexington when the mine closed, learned to cook his mama Betty's Appalachian recipes from memory because she never wrote them down, and now he's trying to get them on paper before they're lost. He says "reckon" and "fixing to" and means both. His bourbon-glazed ribs are, according to his wife Connie, "acceptable" — which is the highest praise she gives.

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