accepted
that sounds better ... maybe that's what I'll do! 
Not a chance! 
It was a hit for the family dinner.
Diana. Can't even begin to imagine what you must have gone through! 
To a large extent, the size of zucchini is its destiny -- a signal of its bitterness or sweetness, of the firm density or pithy woodiness of its flesh. The various sizes of this summer squash, in fact, suggest the different things you can do with it. Small, large or medium means a lot. That doesn't, however, suggest that one size is necessarily better than another, but that the cook has to gauge and then imagine. And reimagine.
Itty-bitty squash, esteemed by chefs more for their looks than for their taste, inspire tenderness. They appear, often with blossoms still attached, early in the growing season. At this point, weeks before the vines gain their creeping imperialism, the zucchini plant is all gangly enthusiasm.
The baby models are mere suggestions of zucchini. They are also so cute that they divert you from the unfortunate reality that they are harsh-tasting, almost acrid. The responsiveness and magnanimity that their size inspires should be enacted in the kitchen: envelop them in butter or very good olive oil, braise them long and slowly, infuse them with fresh herbs, basil or oregano, chervil, dill or tarragon. Adorn them with love.
But season them lightly. Be judicious and kind. Your efforts will be rewarded with a delicate flavor, a hint of zucchini that leaves you yearning for more. And this is a good thing: for as the vines prosper, there are always more zucchini.
Zucchini, fortunately, outgrow their early nastiness. In fact, adolescent and young adult zucchini -- narrow 4-to-8-inch wands -- tend to be sweet. Their flesh is more giving than that of the taut, 1-to-3-inch babies. Their flavor is a balance of herbal and buttery tones. But, mostly, teen-age zucchini just want to have fun. They are up for anything: toward that end, they are willing to be sliced lengthwise and stuffed, minced, shredded or diced. They will brown on the grill or in a buttery pan. They will fold into an impromptu frittata or even a hearty bread.
There will, of course, be too many of them, but the sheer affability of early-adult zucchini makes them seem more of an opportunity than a burden. This can change, however, with a good rain and a few hot sunny days.
Practically overnight, you see, the adolescents turn into monstrous, thick, Three Mile Island-size zucchini, too heavy for their vines. They threaten tomato plants, pepper plants and, like Audrey in ''Little Shop of Horrors,'' anything within reach.
No wonder that gardeners begin to feel punitive toward late-summer zucchini. They try not to blame the squash for the grasping aggression of the vine. But when the vegetable becomes the size of a baseball bat, it is not easy to love. Its skin turns tough, its flesh spongy and full of water, and its whole demeanor becomes sullen at having grown past its prime.
The only solution is to grind these oversize squash down to create a
vegetable forcemeat. You might also make a shepherd's pie, a souffle, a summer
soup. Or fold some of the zucchini into pasta or rice salad for the whole
family. And if you have extras in your garden, share them with the town, the
city or even the county. Sometimes the only way to handle an abundance of big
things is little by little.
