Can you guess which ones I grew myself, and which ones were grown and gifted to me by a neighbour?
My courgette harvest was something of, well, not exactly a disappointment, more of an expected poor outcome. I got one courgette that was pretty much like a courgette and three others that were… not.
I would have written a poem on this topic, but there’s not much that rhymes with “zucchini”. Just “martini” and, apparently, “insurance company”. “Courgette” would perhaps have had a little more milage, but by that time I was halfway through making soup, blending the variously sized local produce into one green and tasty pulp.
I had more success with my James Martin Blender this time. Managed to avoid that whole entire-worktop-disappearing-in-a-flood-of-ectoplasm as happened during my first soup-making attempt with the new blender. If you feel at all inadequate as a housewife, cook or launderer, please read this post which I promise will brighten your life. It was not one of my better days.
This was though. Looking forward to my soup tomorrow.
P.S. – Here’s a poem. It’ll have to do:
There once was a tiny zucchini
Who dressed up to have a martini
The drink that was wet
Was spilled by the courgette
Who was glad that she chose the bikini