Fiori di zucca fritti

Roman fried zucchini blossoms stuffed with ricotta and anchovy

Origin: Rome, Papal States, Central Italy

From the journey of Zucchini.

Few dishes capture the soul of Roman cucina as completely as fiori di zucca fritti; zucchini blossoms battered and fried in the old Jewish Roman tradition of vegetables cooked in abundant oil until gold and crackling. The Roman affection for edible flowers long predates the arrival of the zucchini from the New World: the ancient Romans fried squash blossoms, rose petals, and elder flowers in olive oil, and the technique survived unbroken in the kitchens of Trastevere and the Roman Ghetto into the modern era. When zucchini arrived in Italian gardens via Spanish trade routes in the sixteenth century, the flower; delicate, orange-yellow, trumpet-shaped; was immediately recognised as something to be battered and fried. The filling of ricotta and whole anchovies pressed inside the blossom before battering reflects the Jewish Roman tradition of combining dairy and fish: a preparation unconstrained by the kashrut restrictions on meat and dairy; and the particular Romanesco genius for contrast: the mild, yielding ricotta against the salt-sharp anchovy, all enclosed in a light beer batter and fried in sizzling oil. Street stalls and trattorias in the Campo de' Fiori neighbourhood have served virtually identical preparations for at least four centuries. The flower is edible only for a brief window in summer; two or three days after it opens on the vine, making fiori di zucca fritti a seasonal privilege, available only to those close to a garden or a market that supplies them fresh.

Ingredients

Main

  • 12 fresh zucchini blossoms, stamens removed, wiped gently clean

Filling

  • 150 g fresh ricotta, well drained
  • 12 fillets good-quality anchovy fillets in oil, drained
  • 1 tbsp finely grated Parmesan
  • 1 tbsp finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
  • black pepper

Batter

  • 120 g plain flour, sifted
  • 150 ml cold light beer (lager)
  • 1 tsp fine salt

Cooking

  • vegetable or sunflower oil, for deep frying

To Serve

  • 1 lemon, cut into wedges, to serve

Method

  1. Make the filling: mix the drained ricotta with the Parmesan, parsley, and a generous grinding of black pepper. The mixture should be thick enough to pipe or spoon; if the ricotta is very wet, drain it further in a fine sieve for 30 minutes before using.
  2. Gently open each blossom, removing the stamen inside with your fingers or a small knife. Spoon or pipe about a teaspoon of ricotta filling inside each flower, pressing one whole anchovy fillet on top of the ricotta. Gently twist the petals closed at the tip to seal. Handle the blossoms with care; they are delicate.
  3. Make the batter: whisk the flour and salt together in a bowl. Pour in the cold beer gradually, whisking until you have a smooth, thin batter the consistency of single cream. Do not over-whisk once the flour is incorporated; a few small lumps are acceptable. Rest the batter for 10 minutes.
  4. Heat at least 5cm of oil in a deep, heavy pan to 175°C. Hold each stuffed blossom by its stem, dip it completely into the beer batter, letting any excess drip off, then lower it gently into the hot oil. Fry 3–4 blossoms at a time; do not crowd the pan. Cook for 2–3 minutes, turning once, until the batter is pale gold and crisp.
  5. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain briefly on kitchen paper. Season with a tiny pinch of flaky sea salt immediately out of the oil. Serve at once with lemon wedges; fiori di zucca fritti wait for no one. They must be eaten within minutes of frying.

Notes

Zucchini blossoms are available at Italian greengrocers and good farmers' markets in summer. Male blossoms, the ones on a long thin stem rather than attached directly to a small zucchini, are best for stuffing as they are larger and contain no embryonic fruit. If you grow your own zucchini, you will have an abundance of male flowers throughout summer. The blossom is also delicious simply dipped in plain batter and fried without filling; this is the version sold at Roman street stalls.

The Gastrographer

The Gastrographer

Mapping Culinary History

To explore — select an ingredient below.

Journey Point Map Key

Ingredient originTrade or transit route
Became a culinary stapleColonial / trade control
c. 1975
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17 of 17 stops
1975 CE
8000 BCE160018801975
Zucchini

Zucchini

Cucurbita pepo var. cylindrica

VegetablesCucurbitaceae

🌍Origin

Mesoamerican Highlands, Oaxaca & Southern Mexico — c. 8000 BCE

🌱Domestication

The zucchini is, in the strictest sense, a New World plant given an Old World form, and its deep ancestry lies far from the kitchen gardens of Lombardy with which it is now identified. Its wild forebears belong to Cucurbita pepo, a squash first taken into cultivation in the highlands of Mesoamerica around 8000 BCE, amongst the earliest of all the domesticated plants of the Americas. Rind fragments and charred seeds recovered from the dry cave sites of the Oaxaca valley, notably Guilá Naquitz, place squash alongside the bottle gourd at the very beginning of American agriculture, a thousand years and more before maize was tamed. The earliest growers did not prize the plant for its watery flesh, which in the wild forms was thin and bitter, but for its seeds, which are rich in oil and protein and could be dried and stored against the lean season, and for the hard, durable rinds of the mature fruit, which served as bowls, scoops, and containers. Over the following millennia the cultivators of Mesoamerica selected this single, endlessly plastic species into a great range of forms, from sweet autumn pumpkins to acorn and crookneck squashes, and squash took its place as the third member of the Three Sisters, the milpa polyculture in which it was sown together with maize and beans. The arrangement was a masterpiece of agronomic logic: the maize stood tall as a living trellis, the beans climbed it and fixed nitrogen into the soil, and the broad, sprawling leaves of the squash shaded the ground between, suppressing weeds and holding the moisture in the earth. Yet the slender green vegetable we now call zucchini did not exist in the Americas at all. It was bred from C. pepo stock only after the plant crossed the Atlantic, the work of European, and above all Italian, gardeners who selected for a long, thin-skinned, mild-fleshed fruit eaten immature, before the seeds hardened and the rind toughened. So thoroughly was the squash naturalised in its new home that one of its parts was embraced almost at once: the golden blossom, the fiore di zucca, was prized long before the modern fruit was perfected, and within a generation of the squash reaching Italy the flowers were being stuffed with ricotta and anchovy, sheathed in a light batter, and fried in the kitchens of Rome and Naples, in a preparation that has scarcely altered to this day.

Global Voyage

The squash crossed the Atlantic with the first returning ships of the Columbian Exchange, reaching the Iberian Peninsula in the opening decades of the sixteenth century along with maize, beans, tomatoes, and chillies. In Spain its welcome was cool: the Cucurbita pepo squash was grown more as a curiosity, an ornament, or a fodder for livestock than as a dish for the table, and the Spanish, well supplied with their own gourds, were slow to take it into their cooking. The more receptive kitchens lay further east, in the lands of the Ottoman Empire and the eastern Mediterranean, where the summer squash was embraced with an enthusiasm that Iberia never showed. Ottoman cooks took kabak into the great repertoire of dolma and meze, hollowing and stuffing it with spiced rice and herbs, and the cooks of Ottoman Syria and the Levant developed the pale, slender, tender-walled variety they called kousa, the foundation of kousa mahshi, the stuffed marrow that became an emblem of Levantine home cooking. Across the Aegean, Greek cooks grated it into the fritters called kolokithokeftedes, and in the Maghreb it slipped into the tagine and the couscous pot. It was in Italy, however, that the squash was most thoroughly transformed, and it was the southern kitchens that moved first. Neapolitan cooks sliced and fried the elongated zucca lunga in olive oil and steeped it in vinegar and mint in the manner called alla scapece, a technique descended from the ancient Roman practice of preserving fried fish and vegetables in acid, whilst in Rome the blossoms were battered and fried in a tradition rooted in the Jewish quarter. From these southern beginnings the cultivation of the long summer squash travelled up the peninsula through Liguria and into the Po valley, where it met the patient, decades-long work of selection that would at last produce the vegetable we know. The modern zucchini was born not in the milpa of Mexico but in the kitchen gardens of Lombardy: the market gardeners of Milan bred, over many seasons, a consistently slender, dark-green, thin-skinned cultivar at its sweetest and most tender when cut young, and by approximately 1880 this variety was being listed in Milanese seed catalogues under the name zucchino, 'little gourd', the diminutive plural of which, zucchini, would conquer the English-speaking world. From Lombardy the new cultivar set out on its final voyages. Italian emigrants carried its seed across the Atlantic to the United States, to Brazil, and to Australia in the great migrations of the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, planting it in the market gardens of Brooklyn, the interior of São Paulo, and the truck farms of Victoria, and giving the English-speaking New World its word, zucchini. The same vegetable reached Britain by an entirely separate path, through French rather than Italian channels: French gardeners had named the long green squash courgette, the diminutive of courge, and it was under that French name that Elizabeth David introduced it to British readers after the Second World War. This double transmission, Italian to the Americas and French to Britain, is the reason a single plant from Oaxaca is eaten today under two different names on opposite shores of one ocean.

🍽Modern Culinary Role

Zucchini belongs above all to the great tradition of cucina povera, the resourceful poor kitchen of the Italian south and the eastern Mediterranean, where its very abundance was at once its virtue and its difficulty. A single healthy plant fruits prolifically through the whole of summer, setting far more than any household can eat before each tender green finger swells into a watery, club-sized marrow and loses its delicate flavour, and it is this relentless surplus that has driven cooks to such inventiveness with it. The vegetable is sliced and slow-fried with garlic and basil into a sauce for pasta, as in the Neapolitan pasta alla Nerano with its melting Provolone del Monaco; it is puréed into the silky basil-scented crema di zucchine of Lombardy; it is grated and bound with feta, dill, and mint into Greek fritters; it is stuffed in the Levantine and Ottoman manner; and, where all else fails, it is grated into the sweet, spiced quick bread with which American cooks dispose of the August glut. What is most remarkable about the zucchini's long journey is that it was genuinely reinvented in each place it arrived rather than merely translated, transformed every time according to the inner logic of the local kitchen: stuffed and simmered in the Levant, fried and soured in Naples, slow-stewed into ratatouille in Provence, battered into feather-light tempura in Japan, and tempered with cumin and mustard seed into a dry sabzi in the cities of northern India. Today it is grown on every inhabited continent and ranks amongst the most widely cultivated vegetables on earth, with great commercial production in China, India, Turkey, and throughout the Mediterranean basin, and it is prized in the modern kitchen for its lightness, its low calorie count, and its willingness to take on almost any flavour. Yet its cultural heartland remains where it was perfected, in the kitchen gardens of Lombardy and the trattorie of Rome, the place where a squash from the highlands of Oaxaca was given a diminutive Italian name and sent out to the rest of the world as though it had always been Italian.

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