It started with a smell. not the zucchini—those don’t smell like anything. not really.
But the oil. hot, floral, with a sharp edge. it reminded me of that time I over-fried the oyster mushrooms and the dog barked like I’d lit the porch on fire.
Anyway. it was raining sideways and I hadn’t planned to cook. but Her Highness’s zucchini fritters were scrawled on the back of Mae’s old math homework. I think I wrote it down last summer, when I was still pretending the garden would yield more than one confused cucumber.
What the Original Looked Like
Martha’s version is what you’d expect: tidy. scallions snipped like they got a haircut that morning. zucchini squeezed dry like it owed her money.
She calls for just a few things—egg, flour, salt, pepper, oil. crisp little rounds, stacked like coins on a white plate with one perfect blob of sour cream.
Of course they’re golden. of course they hold together like they’ve been coached.
It’s her.
She doesn’t slouch. even when frying.
What I Did Differently
I didn’t have scallions. used half a shallot and a whisper of dried dill I found behind the sugar.
The oil was… not what she wanted. mine was half olive, half mystery bottle with no label.
And the zucchini? I didn’t wait the full ten minutes. squeezed it like I was in a hurry. because I was.
Mae was on the phone with her ex and I was pretending not to eavesdrop.
So. not quite the version in her magazine spread.
But close enough to feel like I was trying.
The Way It Happened In My Kitchen
Grated the zucchini with the coarse side. which I regretted immediately.
Used the green Pyrex to mix—still stained from beet soup.
Egg in. flour in.
Stirred with a fork because the spoons were all still in the sink.
The batter was wetter than I wanted. but it smelled like rain and onion and something fried at a church fair.
Dropped dollops into the skillet, too close together. one touched the other.
Didn’t matter.
The first batch burned a little. Mae said it “smelled familiar.” I didn’t ask what that meant.
Second batch was better. flatter. louder.
The oil spit onto the window above the stove.
I laughed. didn’t wipe it.
Third batch—I ate straight from the pan.
With fingers.
Didn’t wait for sour cream.
Didn’t wait for anything.
A Few Things I Learned
Don’t trust zucchini. they look dry and lie.
Also, don’t skip the salt-on-top at the end. it’s not garnish. it’s memory.
And the noise the fritters make when they hit hot oil—
like applause.
for surviving the day.
What I Did With the Extras
Left three on the stove.
Mae wandered in, mid-argument, bit one without asking.
Said “these are weird” and finished it anyway.
The last one went cold in the pan.
I ate it over the sink. didn’t mind.
Would I Make Them Again?
Yeah.
Especially on a day that needs something loud and hot and pointless.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The window’s still greasy.
The rain stopped.
I’d make them again if the house got that quiet.
If you want something warmer, I did a leek thing last December that hit harder.
FAQs
You can,but they lose that crispy edge. better to eat them cold the next day with a little salt and zero expectations.
yeah. unless you want them soggy like the first batch I pretended was “rustic.”
Sure. I tried chickpea flour once by accident. still edible. kinda nutty.
don’t overthink it.
Check out More Recipes:
Martha Stewart Zucchini Fritters
Description
Fried, salty, and louder than the weather outside. Exactly what I needed.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Grated the zucchini and tossed it with salt, but only let it sit while I looked for the spatula.
- Pressed out the liquid over the sink with an old tea towel (burn mark shaped like Maine). In the green Pyrex, I beat the egg with the shallot and stirred in flour until it clumped.
- Tossed the drained zucchini in and stirred fast, because Mae was yelling upstairs. Heated the oil until it shimmered—too hot, probably—and dropped in spoonfuls that flattened like soggy pancakes. Let them crisp until brown and loud.
- Flipped with a fork. Ate one before it cooled. Added salt after. Didn’t wait for sour cream. Didn’t need to.