The window wouldn’t close right. Again.
Cold air slid under the cabinets and up my spine while I stood barefoot, staring at a zucchini I didn’t remember buying. Maybe Mae did. Maybe it came from that woman two doors down who always leaves things on the porch without a note. It was one of those days when the silence hums and you start baking just to give it something else to do.
Martha’s Chocolate Zucchini Bread came up like an old bruise—soft, sudden, familiar. I didn’t need bread. I needed the distraction of grating something into a bowl until my wrists ached.
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness, of course, makes it look elegant. Melted butter, four eggs, exactly 3 cups of grated zucchini like the math of it means something. Cocoa powder, semisweet chocolate chunks, poppy seeds in the glaze like freckles on a dressed-up dessert. She calls for dusting the pan with flour and lining it with parchment, which I did, mostly because I’ve learned the hard way not to pick a fight with Martha and baked goods on the same day.
It’s structured. Sweet. Almost too composed for what it is.
What I Did Differently
I didn’t have whole milk. I used half-and-half and a splash of water, which felt dishonest but tasted fine. I added a little cinnamon without thinking—then remembered him and got angry about it mid-whisk. I didn’t measure the chocolate, just dumped what was left in a bag from god-knows-when.
Also… I skipped the poppy seeds. Couldn’t find them. Might’ve thrown them out the day the measuring spoon melted and the smoke alarm wouldn’t shut up.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
The butter cooled while I grated. Loudly. Zucchini isn’t meant to sound like grief, but it did. Mae texted me from college—“how do I fix clumpy mac and cheese?”—and I answered her with one hand while the other dropped half an egg shell into the bowl. Fished it out with a spoon. Thought of Nan and her dry pie crust, how she’d slap my hand away if I so much as glanced at a wet batter.
By the time it was mixed, the whole kitchen smelled like something damp and sweet. That weird middle ground between chocolate and vegetable. I tapped the dented Dutch oven even though I wasn’t using it. Just needed the sound, I guess.
It baked forever. The top cracked like old paint. I pressed on it and it sang back with that soft resistance that means done-but-not-dry.
The glaze never really set. Too much milk, probably. But it dripped like a memory and I let it.
A Few Things I Learned
If you stir too long, the chocolate starts to disappear into the batter. It’s not a problem. Just a metaphor.
The smell will stay in the house for hours. Especially if the window won’t close.
Also—this bread feels heavier the second day. Not worse. Just more serious.
What I Did With the Extras
Mae’s coming next weekend. I froze a few slices like I’d save her part. But I already know I’ll eat them before she gets here. Maybe with butter. Maybe with nothing.
Would I Make It Again?
Yes.
But not on purpose.
That’s As Much As I Remember
The window’s still cracked. But the house is warmer now.
I might fix it.
Or I might just bake something else.
If you want something darker, I made Martha’s bittersweet chocolate torte once when the power went out. Still don’t know how it worked.
FAQs
Not in a “vegetable in my dessert” way. it’s just moisture in disguise. like a green ghost holding the cake together.
Honestly? whatever you’ve got. i used the tail end of a baking bar and some leftover chips from mae’s failed cookies. it melted fine. it always does.
Nope. skip it if you’re tired. or drizzle it from too high up like i did and pretend it’s art. either way, it’s still bread.
It’s sweet but not cake sweet. more like “afternoon quiet” sweet. you could dial it back a bit if you want. i won’t tell her highness.
I like it alone. cold, maybe a little fridge-stale. mae likes it with cream cheese. once, i had it with red wine and felt weirdly elegant about it.
Check out More Recipes:
Martha Stewart Chocolate Zucchini Bread
Description
Fudgy, soft, and a little uneven—like memory, and like me that day.
Ingredients
Instructions
- I buttered the pan and lined it, mostly to feel like I had control over something.
- Mixed flour, cocoa, sugar, baking powder, soda, salt. In another bowl, the melted butter, eggs, vanilla, and zucchini.
- Combined them all with a wooden spoon that still smells like last year’s garlic soup. Folded in the chocolate.
- Baked in a 10×5-inch loaf tin for about 1 hour and 15 minutes, though I started checking at 1 hour because I get nervous.
- Let it cool while I stood over it with a spoon. Mixed the sugar and dairy into a glaze that refused to behave.
- Poured it anyway. Let it drip. Didn’t clean it up.
- Let the house smell like chocolate and endings. Then cut a slice and ate it like it was news.