Zucchini Burgers

I used to dislike veggie burgers. There was something about the inevitable smell of patchouli that came along with them. Plus, the tie-dye and hemp shoes. It didn't promise much. Was there going to be anything to chew?

One day, when I was in graduate school at UW-Madison, birthplace of patchouli, I went out to lunch with some fellow earnest English types ("Of course Shakespeare was the first transsexual"). As we stepped into the restaurant, we got hit with the strangest question I've ever been asked from a hostess at her little stand: "Scent or no scent?"

This particular establishment actually had a scent-free section: a place for people who didn't wear cologne, didn't use scented hair products, didn't put on lotion. It was also run by the kind of vegetarians who would whip you with a celery stalk if you mentioned pork chops. I'll admit I was a tad worried: I wasn't too sure I didn't have some sort of scent somewhere. But I bit the bait, went to the scent-free section, and tucked into a vegetarian burger--to never once hesitate again.

These days, I crave the things as a simple lunch (or dinner). This recipe today is for Bruce's zucchini patties, great on a bun with lettuce and mustard as well as in a pita pocket with a creamy blue cheese dressing--or simply as Bruce and I had them: on a plate with a little Pickapeppa Sauce and some sliced tomatoes sprinkled with crunchy sea salt.

Here's the drill for 8 zucchini cakes:

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All-Vegetable, No-Noodle Lasagna

We're closing in on writing our 19th cookbook (that's counting the two for the fussy celebrities) and there are a two things I've learned over the years: 1) some people like exact recipes and 2) some people don't.

I'm a recipe-follower. Probably the debt of a stern Protestant upbringing. I follow the rules, make it as it stands. If I make it again, I might alter the recipe. Maybe (after a glass of wine). Mostly, I do it by the books. Give it to me in grams and I'm happier.

Bruce never met a recipe he couldn't disregard. He rarely follows one. Even his own. Right now, we're cider-curing a bone-in, big-butt ham for a cookout this weekend, using the recipe from our up-coming book on ham (AN OBSESSION WITH THE HINDQUARTER), and yesterday I had to walk him carefully through the procedure to make sure he observed his jots and tittles.

Even when we're done recipe-testing for a book, Bruce will read through the manuscript and say, "Oh, you know, we could make that with thus-and-so."

"Did you?" I'll ask, a little exasperated.

"No, but you could."

So this post is for him--to celebrate one of his on-the-go, never-the-same-way-twice summer veggie casseroles. It's like a lasagna, tomatoey and cheesy, but without any noodles. And the recipe's going to be inexact. Very.

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Tabbouleh With Grilled Vegetables

Back in graduate school, I was a tabbouleh-phobe. OK, maybe I'd been to one too many parties where earnest medieval scholars and post-modern poets in ill-fitting shoes shoved bowls of it under my nose. All I could smell was parsley and onion. Well, that and the patchouli. Blech. The whole thing added up to dirty socks to me. (I'm even more phobic about dirty socks. But that's a whole different story--and way too much information.)

I got over it. Not the sock phobia. Rather, the tabbouleh one. Because Bruce has taught me that it has nothing to do with parsley and raw onion. Rather, it's simply a whole grain salad with veggies, pitched together as you will. Sign me up.

So we've been having a summer of tabbouleh because 1) we're both under book deadlines (me with the step-by-step plan to get off processed food and Bruce with his knitting book) and 2) it's just so darn easy, a vegetarian meal for several days in a row, even better when combined with a couple other easy salads for a lunch spread.

So here goes.

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