When Jean Nicoletti-Butler, owner of Stella's restaurant in Newburyport, first learned fresh squash blossoms were available from an organic farm in Salisbury, a twinkle came to her eye.
"She said she wanted a few dozen," said Darlene Sweeney, who with her husband, Mike, owns and runs Salisbury's Reluctant Farmer. "She didn't plan to serve them at Stella's. She said she was going to bring them to her nanna in Methuen, who'd cook them for her."
Nicoletti-Butler did indeed take a few dozen fresh squash blossoms to Methuen, where her grandmother was visiting from Florida over the July 4th holiday, so her beloved cooking mentor could fry some up for the family.
"I just remembered that I always loved those little things," Nicoletti-Butler said of cooked squash blossoms. "My nanna makes them in a heavy batter, and they'd come out like a fried little dough ball. They're delicious. I used to look forward to them (as a child), because they were such a special treat. They maybe came out once a year."
Genoveffa Nicoletti may be in her 90s, but the woman who taught Nicoletti-Butler to cook hasn't lost her touch. Last month, she produced a big bowl of blossomy goodies, lovingly referred to as fiori di cucuzza by many Italian-Americans.
"I told everyone in the family," Nicoletti-Butler said. "My husband isn't Italian, but he had some, and he liked them. They were wonderful."
Nicoletti-Butler said the source for squash blossoms when she was a child was her grandfather, who planted a vegetable garden every summer at his Methuen home. It's the same neighborhood Nicoletti-Butler and her husband live in today.
But since homegrown Italian vegetable gardens have waned as grandfathers and fathers gave up the task, Sweeney's crop grown at her Ferry Road farm is finding favor with many fiori aficionados.
"I heard about them because they're considered gourmet now," Sweeney said. "When people asked for them, I said, 'Sure, I can do that.'"
Sweeney doesn't sell full-grown zucchini because they're such a commonly found vegetable. That allows her to harvest all the bright yellow blossoms, male and female. As she keeps picking them, blossoms keep reappearing, she said. And the organic nature of her garden means no one has to worry about the very fragile blossoms being sprayed with pesticide.
The growing fascination with squash blossoms has extended to some of Sweeney's childhood friends. One of her prom dates, Brian Cresta of Middleton, recently shared his fondness for the little treasures growing at the Reluctant Farmer.
"The way that we have always prepared them was to stuff them with cheese (usually ricotta) and coat them with an egg mixture and bread crumbs," Cresta wrote to Sweeney. "We fry them and then cover them with a little light tomato sauce. Then I eat them all and usually do not share with anyone else."
Nicoletti-Butler laughed at the concept of the current gourmeting of squash blossoms.
"They were like peasant food," she said. "They were a way to use every edible bit of the things people grew in the garden."
Although she promised to learn to prepare her grandmother's fried fiori di cucuzza — "My nanna never has a recipe written down" — Nicoletti-Butler makes a squash blossom frittata that's light, fluffy and savory with the delicate taste of the blossoms.
"You know, people always ask me what they taste like, and I can never really tell them," Nicoletti-Butler said. "I say they're just delicious."
Other Italians believe when cooked correctly, the fiori di cucuzza has a taste that's fresh, clean and savory, like sunshine and summer and memories of home.
Cooking up nostalgia in a fry pan
I remember squash blossoms as an integral part of my Italian-American summer culture. These tender, succulent flowers are wrapped around some loving recollections.
The culinary anticipation of my youth started on warm summer afternoons as soon as my brother and I bounded up the stairs to our screened-in back porch and heard the telltale sound of sizzling. After a hard day at play, we knew what we'd find, and the smiles on our faces started before we reached the third step.
Mumma would be standing over her electric frying pan set up on the table on the porch, her cheeks pink from the heat. She'd be smiling, dipping and pan-frying squash blossoms, or sciuri di cucuzza in the Sicilian, second-language tradition of my Italian home.
When I was very young, the blossoms — the male flowers of zucchini or other squash varieties — most likely came from my nano's small Methuen farm. And, Mumma was cooking out on the porch because she didn't want to heat up the house with stove-top frying. Yet, not once did she consider not making this special treat for us, even though they needed a hot pan and constant cooking attention.
As my Nano Busty grew older, he stopped farming. But I was able to persuade my parents to put a victory garden in our backyard in the 1970s, along with just about everyone else in our Reading neighborhood. After that, the sciuri were homegrown, picked by my father and cooked by Mumma to the delight of us all.
Although my mother's sciuri were food for the gods — savory and delectable — Daddy's part in this heavenly food equation was equally important. He was the only one who knew which flowers to pick for eating, and which to leave (the females) so they could grow into another of summer's bounties, fresh zucchini.
Mum's process for making them was simple. She dipped the blossoms in beaten egg, liberally laced with grated Pecorino-Romano or Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese. Then, she lightly dusted them with flour, and into a hot frying pan with about one-sixteenth inch of cooking oil they'd go. The flower cutlets puffed up in the pan and were crisp and golden after only about two minutes of frying per side.
They didn't get to drain long on the brown shopping bag Mumma would spread out before the eager fingers of my brother and I would snatch them up. None of Mumma's tasty sciuri nuggets ever made it to the dinner table. Long before suppertime, they were gone — we were all unable to resist them.
Few things bring back the memories of lost loved ones like the smells and tastes of the homes we grew up in. When I reenacted this culinary nostalgia in my own kitchen recently, I could feel my parents smile.
— Angeljean Chiaramida
Fiori Di Cucuzza Frittata
4 eggs
Splash of milk
Handful grated Parmesan cheese
Salt and pepper, to taste
Beat eggs together well with a splash of milk, a handful of grated Parmesan cheese and salt and pepper to taste.
In an oiled, 7-inch hot frying pan, saute squash blossoms until well wilted and golden brown. Remove from skillet.
Pour eggs into a hot, oiled or buttered frying pan and add wilted blossoms when the bottom of the eggs are set, but the top is still loose.
Place a cover over the pan and continue cooking until nearly done.
Remove from stove-top and place in the oven to finish cooking.
Plate whole or in wedges and serve hot. Frittata is also great cold.
— From Jean Nicoletti-Butler, owner of Stella's restaurant of Newburyport
Squash Flower Fritters
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 teaspoon vegetable oil
About 8 to 10 squash blossoms
Flowers should be fresh; they spoil fast. Remove the inside pistils They are also delicate; wash gently and pat dry carefully
Heat 2 to 3 inches of oil, preferably canola, in a frying pan to 375 degrees.
Beat batter ingredients in a bowl with egg beater until smooth. Add flowers.
Drop into hot oil and fry until cooked to a golden color, about five minutes.
Drain on a paper towel.
— From Lillian Riccio of Plaistow, N.H., based on a recipe from her Irish immigrant mother-in-law
Fried Squash Blossoms
Squash blossoms should be cooked right after they are picked or soon after.
Beat eggs with a fork in a bowl until mixed. Add salt and grated Parmesan or Romano cheese.
Heat oil in a fry pan to coat.
Dip blossoms into egg mixture and place in fry pan. Brown on one side, then turn to brown on other side.
Bread crumbs can also be used to coat the blossoms before frying if a firmer coating is desired.
— From Mary Zappala of Haverhill
Stuffed Squash Blossoms
Like many Italians, Brian Cresta's Italian grandmother didn't have a recipe to make the delicious stuffed squash blossoms he loves so much.
Cresta advises patience when stuffing the blossoms because they are so fragile. Dredging the stuffed blossoms and frying them is equally difficult, he said, but the results should be worth it.
The blossoms are stuffed with ricotta cheese mixed with eggs and parsley, similar to the ricotta filling in a lasagna.
Cresta's mother said the stuffed flowers are first dredged in flour, then in a beaten egg, and then lightly in bread crumbs. Then, they are fried and served with a light tomato sauce.
— From Brian Cresta, of Middleton,
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More squash blossom recipes can be found on the Web site of the Reluctant Farmer in Salisbury, www.thereluctantfarmer.com.
