Zucchini Johnnycakes

Last week of school. Again. The cycle that never gets old and never gets easy. Four hundred and thirty-one children this year — five more than last — and I fed every one of them, every day, from September to May. I stood behind that counter and I put food on trays and I said "eat, baby" four hundred and thirty-one times a day, five days a week, for nine months, and if you multiply that out it's a number I can't calculate because I am a cook, not a mathematician, but it's a lot of plates and a lot of love and I don't regret a single one.

The quiet girl. I have to tell you about the quiet girl because this is the end of the school year and I need to tell you what happened. She came through the line on Thursday — the last lunch of the year — and she was wearing the same braids and the same careful expression, but something was different. She was taller, obviously. But she was also — I don't know the word. Steadier. Like she'd found her footing. She had her friend with her, the girl with the glasses from January, and they were talking and laughing in the quiet way they do, and she came up to the counter and she looked at me and she said, "Miss Dot, I'm going to miss you this summer."

Seven words. The most she's ever said to me at once. I put an extra piece of cornbread on her tray and a bag of fruit in her hand and I said, "Community center, Tuesdays and Thursdays, you remember?" She nodded. I said, "I'll be there." She said, "I know." And then she walked away with her friend, and I stood behind the counter and I thought about the first time she came through this line, two years ago, eyes down, silent, eating like each meal was her last. And now. Now she has a friend. Now she has words. Now she knows I'll be there. That is not my doing. That is a child's resilience, which is the most powerful force on earth. But maybe — maybe — the extra rolls helped a little.

I packed the brown bags again. Fourteen of them. Fruit and granola bars and juice boxes. I left them at the end of the line. Fourteen children took them. Fourteen children walking into summer with a bag of food from a woman who remembers being hungry. The circle doesn't close. It just keeps going.

Now go on and feed somebody. Summer's here. The children need us.

I’ve been putting cornbread on trays all year — extra pieces for the ones who need it, always — and when summer comes and the cafeteria goes quiet, I find myself making some version of it at home just to keep my hands busy and my heart full. These zucchini johnnycakes are what I turn to when the school year ends and the garden starts coming in: crispy at the edges, tender in the middle, made from the same cornmeal that got me through nine months of mornings. They’re easy enough to make in a big batch, good enough to give away, and they taste like exactly what summer should feel like — warm, uncomplicated, and fed.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 12 johnnycakes (serves 4–6)

Ingredients

1 cup yellow cornmeal
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 tbsp granulated sugar
1/4 tsp black pepper
1 cup shredded zucchini (about 1 medium), moisture squeezed out
2 large eggs
3/4 cup whole milk or buttermilk
2 tbsp unsalted butter, melted and slightly cooled
1 tbsp neutral oil or butter, for the griddle

Instructions

Prep the zucchini. Grate the zucchini on the large holes of a box grater. Pile it onto a clean kitchen towel or several layers of paper towels, wrap it up, and squeeze firmly over the sink until as much liquid as possible is out. You want it dry — wet zucchini will make the cakes fall apart.
Mix the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the cornmeal, flour, baking powder, salt, sugar, and black pepper until evenly combined.
Mix the wet ingredients. In a separate bowl or large measuring cup, whisk together the eggs, milk (or buttermilk), and melted butter.
Combine. Pour the wet mixture into the dry ingredients and stir until just combined — a few lumps are fine. Fold in the squeezed zucchini. The batter will be thick.
Heat the griddle. Warm a large cast-iron skillet or griddle over medium heat. Add a small pat of butter or a drizzle of oil and let it get shimmery but not smoking.
Cook the johnnycakes. Drop the batter by heaping 3-tablespoon portions onto the griddle, gently pressing each one to about 1/2-inch thick. Cook for 3–4 minutes until the edges look set and the bottoms are deep golden brown. Flip and cook another 2–3 minutes. Do not rush the flip — they need time to build that crust.
Keep warm and serve. Transfer finished johnnycakes to a baking sheet in a 200°F oven to stay warm while you work through the remaining batter. Serve with butter, honey, or alongside any summer meal.

Nutrition (per serving, 2 johnnycakes)

Zucchini Johnnycakes — The Cornbread I Keep Coming Back To