Squash Flower Zeppoles

*Recipe follows story

I went kind of crazy at the farmers market this weekend.

I woke up at 7am, walked a lovely and quiet 2 miles to Socrates Sculpture Park, to be greeted by a piece of my childhood.

No, my Uncle Louie was not standing in the park trying to push his excess bulk of 4th of July fireworks on the cheap (to rowdy teenagers and daring dads who wanted to stock up early for next year).

No.

But there was a man, at a stand, selling sumptuous squash flowers.

And not to sound all: I’m so Italian my grandpa and I would pick squash flowers on Summer mornings - and we’d give them to my grandma to make for us after dinner -but we did.

I remember waiting all winter long.  Waiting for that moment I could enjoy a deep fried and salty squash flower again.

I would sit at the dining room table, in our apartment, in the chair that faced our big picture window.  I’d stare out into the garden, right where the squash flowers would grow, and I’d will them to bloom. All while I pined over my childhood crush Robert Kelly III.  The squash flowers never bloomed in winter, much like my love for Robert Kelly III which was unrequited.

When summer finally came, which felt like forever (when you’re cooped up in an apartment with your 2 siblings, mom, dad, grandma, grandpa and 3 uncles), I was partially liberated.  

Squash flower picking was the one time my grandpa would let me step on his soil - the one time I could grace a yard filled with grass - that was otherwise deemed untouchable - except when grandpa wasn’t home and Uncle Gino was watching my brothers and I.

And, so, after I would bring my grandma a basket of freshly picked squash flowers, she would trim the bottom, remove the stamen from the flower, pat them clean, and prep the dough.

The dough was simple, just flour, water, salt, pepper and parmigiano.  She then sprinkled a little yeast on top then, finally, the flowers were folded in.

I would watch her move the bowl of dough, that was covered with an old Corelle plate, to the top of the stove, so it could sit and rise.

I would be thinking about zeppoles all day long.
The thought of that bowl covered with a Corelle plate tortured my tubby existence.  
It would be 7am and I couldn’t wait until 7pm.

Much like I longed all year for my grandmas Easter Lamb,  sitting in church, waiting for the moment we would gather at the table and eat;  I wished away my summer days - hoping my prayers would bring a faster approach for the zeppole to meet my mouth.  

If I could have pressed fast forward, most of those flower picking days, I would have.

My mom sent me to free summer camp.
I hated free summer camp.

And when free summer camp was over, she sent me to vacation Bible school.
I hated vacation Bible school.

These were not very good distractions.  
At all.
While other kids made lanyards, painted popsicle sticks and played dodge ball, I fantasized about fried dough.  I kept to myself, reading in a corner, wishing my family could have enrolled me in competitive eating camp - or better - to be allowed to stay home, pick squash flowers and play on the grass all day long; then I wouldn’t have to wait until dinner time for zeppoles, I could eat them all day.     

Right after my farmers market find, the first people I needed to call were my mom and dad.  They moaned.  They moaned with a huff which denoted a longing to go back to 1988. I heard this tone in my dad’s voice.  Half happy I stumbled upon the squash flower, half sad he wouldn’t reap the benefits.  He asked if I could ship them down to him.  And, if it were possible, I would have. He’s made my mom look all over Murrells Inlet South Carolina, and the surrounding towns, for squash flowers, but to no avail.  

Not a single squash flower to be found around their parts.

So, this is for you - dad.

You know how you tell me I light up your life - every time I call the house and you pick up the phone - well, you do the same for me.  My lessons on food love were always taken to heart.  

I ate enough zeppoles for you, mommy, Tommy, Louie, Grandma, Grandpa, Uncle Anthony, Uncle Louie and Uncle Gino.

You would have been proud.  

12 squash flowers (trimmed, stamen removed and cleaned)
1 1/2 c. all purpose flour
1 1/4 c. tap water
1/2 c. grated parmigiano cheese
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 T. (or so) of dry active yeast

-Place flour, water, cheese, salt, pepper and yeast in a large bowl - and whisk until blended
-Fold in squash flowers, cover bowl, and let rise for a few hours
-Fill a sauce pan with 1 quart of vegetable oil, let heat, and add dough (one by one) and let fry until golden brown (repeat)
-Sprinkle with coarse salt and serve hot and oily