When the plant will not stop, here's how you keep eating well.
Three moves that will save you
By late July, even the most courgette-enthusiastic gardener starts to look haunted. The plant doesn't slow down; you have to meet it with a plan.
Ribbons first. The smallest courgettes — fingers to a hand's length — don't need cooking at all. Run a peeler along them lengthways into long, thin strips, toss with good olive oil, lemon juice, torn mint or basil, and a scrunch of salt. Leave them five minutes and the ribbons soften just enough. Add shaved Parmesan or toasted pine nuts if you want a proper lunch. This is the move for the ones you catch early.
Fritters for the medium ones. Grate two or three courgettes coarsely — roughly 400 g — into a colander, salt generously, and leave ten minutes. Squeeze hard in a clean cloth until most of the water is out: this is the step people skip, and it's why their fritters fall apart. Mix the squeezed courgette with two eggs, 60 g plain flour, a small bunch of chopped spring onions, and a good pinch of dried chilli. Fry in shallow oil in batches — two or three minutes a side over a medium-high heat — until properly golden. Eat with yoghurt and a wedge of lemon. They keep in the fridge for two days and reheat well in a dry pan.
The squeeze is the step people skip — and it’s why their fritters fall apart. Squeeze harder than feels polite.
Soup for the ones that got away. That courgette you somehow missed, now the size of a small baseball bat — it's a little watery and seedy, but a good soup doesn't care. Sauté a white onion and two garlic cloves in butter until soft, add the chopped courgette (seeds scooped if very large) and a litre of light stock, simmer twenty minutes, then blend smooth. Season well. A spoonful of crème fraîche or a drizzle of good oil stirred through at the end makes it feel considered. Freeze in portions and you'll be glad of it in October.
The real trick is not letting them build up. Check the plant every other day; the ones you harvest promptly taste sweeter, and the plant keeps producing. Get behind, and you're in soup territory fast. Both outcomes are fine — that's the point of having a plan.
