Late summer to early fall was harvest season for my Sicilian grandfather's garden, where he grew, among other things, five-foot-long cucuzzi (also known as snake squash or bottle gourd) with seeds from Palermo. He'd bring it in for my grandmother, along with some of the leaves they called tenerumi, and she'd cook both in soups and stews.
You won't find cucuzza in a supermarket. Most cucuzza cooks grow it themselves. I recently spotted cucuzzi hanging from a fence near my home in the San Fernando Valley.
But every so often, this Sicilian specialty makes an appearance at farmers markets. That's where Northern California food storyteller Simona Carini encountered her first U.S.-grown cucuzza, a squash she'd only previously seen in Sicily.
Simona bought that cucuzza along with its leaves and created her own recipe, cucuzza e tenerumi al pomodoro. She shared with me the story behind the recipe and what she hopes readers will take away from her blog.
Tell me about your background.
I was born and grew up in Perugia, Central Italy, where I spent the first half of my life. I went to school there, my friends are there, and my family is there. At age 30ish, I moved to Northern California. My husband is American.
My last name is Sicilian. Carini is an ancient town not far from Palermo. However, my immediate family is not from Sicily. On both my mom's and my father's sides, our family is from Lazio, about 40 miles north of Rome, although my maternal grandmother was from Croatia, from Split.
When did you first encounter tenerumi and cucuzzi?
So it was 1980, which historically, for Italy, was a very hard summer. In June, a passenger plane was shot down over the island of Ustica. And shortly after that, there was a bomb in the city of Bologna. That was the year I flew for the first time.
We spent a couple of weeks there in this little town not far from Carini, which is called Villagrazia di Carini. And why there? It's because three of my classmates from elementary school were originally from Sicily. And I guess their uncle had a house there. We were basically 17 or 18; there were seven of us. And we hopped on a plane. It was my first flight, and we spent two weeks there. So that was the first time I had tenerumi.
We weren't really cooking, but we were in this small community, mostly of locals. We were not in a tourist place, so they kind of took pity on us because we were without anybody. And so I remember this neighbor bringing over pasta with tenerumi. I asked what it was, and I was told it was the leaves of young zucchini, but that was it.
Fast-forward. In 2007, I went back to Sicily with my husband, and we stayed in Palermo. We went to the market, and finally, I saw the cucuzza with the tenerumi. However, at the time, we were staying in hotels, so I couldn't really cook anything, but I took pictures.
So, for the first experience, we had the kitchen, but we weren't cooking, and for the second, I was cooking, but I didn't have a kitchen.
Then, in 2019, we were living in Berkeley, and I used to go to the farmers market on Saturday morning. I got there, and it was really funny because there was this group of people crowding around something. And this something was actually cucuzza and tenerumi.
They had never seen it. And one of the farm helpers was explaining.
The cucuzza had been harvested young, so it was shorter, but I bought it, and people were looking at me like, "How are you going to cook it?"
I was like, well, I know in Sicily they make pasta, they make soup. I developed my recipe mostly because I didn't want to make soup. I wasn't interested in trying to make pasta, so I wanted to cook it as vegetables. And so I basically put together what I had—the tenerumi and the cucuzza, tomato from the farmers market, and onion. So that's how I kind of developed the recipe.
What is the history of the cucuzza?
The thing about the cucuzza is that this plant actually came from Africa. It's been in Europe for a lot longer than zucchini. Then zucchini kind of took over.
Can you speak to the idea of consuming the whole plant?
This idea just speaks to me. It's a little bit like the tradition we have in Italy of using everything.
What do you hope that at-home cooks will take away from this recipe and your work?
Things don't have to be complicated, particularly Sicilian cooking. I mean, look at desserts, for example. Sicily has quintessentially decadent desserts if you think of cassata and all that kind of stuff. But the food itself is very simple. They cook fresh fish, they have vegetables, they have fruit, they make wonderful bread. And so I really try to make it so that people are less worried about the end result or if it fits some specific idea or if it is authentic.
The whole thing about authenticity is very difficult because if we look at the history of migration from Italy, people left because they were starving. I mean, not everyone, but there was an enormous amount of poverty. They came from Sicily or, in general, southern Italy; they arrived in New Jersey or New York.
I remember a friend of mine told me that she could always tell an Italian family because, in the winter, they would wrap up their fig tree. And I understand that everybody has fig trees in Italy; they don't need any care, and the fruit is good. But if you live in New Jersey or New York, you have to be careful about the winter. So what happened is that people had to adapt because they just didn't have the ingredients. So, already, to me, authenticity is not the right way to look at this. It is adaptability, which is how these people try to hold on to their traditions in a place that is completely foreign. And that's beautiful.
At the back of my Sicilian grandfather's impressive rose and vegetable garden, there stood a cage where, at the end of summer and early autumn, you would find enormous squashes hanging from the trellised roof. Nonno would pick these sometimes five-foot-long fruits, called cucuzzi, and bring them in for Nonna to prepare in a stew.
Marcella and I sat down to chat about her Great American Recipe experience and the Sicilian art of growing and cooking cucuzzi.
What is your background?
My parents were both born in Sicily. My mother is from Siracusa, and my father is from the Province of Catania, a really small town right outside of Catania called Palagonia. My dad did not come to this country until much later in life, in his early thirties, maybe very late twenties. My mother came when she was 10.
My mom speaks perfect English, but my father, Luigi, not so much. They live in Connecticut, which has a pretty large population of Italians, particularly Sicilians.
I've been an avid cook my whole life. I've no formal training whatsoever.
You were a finalist on The Great American Recipe. Tell us about that experience.
I made it to the finale, which was really exciting. One of the last dishes you make before the finale is something called "Your Recipe DNA." And it's supposed to be a dish that literally defines who you are both culturally and spiritually.
So, for me, there was absolutely no question that I was going to make cucuzza. And I was probably, in the same token, going to be introducing many, many people to this idea of this gourd.
Most people don't know what it is. It's not found anywhere in groceries or even at most farmer's markets. It's not found. And really, the only way you can come across cucuzza is if you grow them or you have an uncle or grandfather who grows them.
I knew the culinary producers would not be able to find a cucuzza for me. They told me, "I'm sorry, you're going to need to come up with an alternative dish. This isn't going to work for us." We don't know what that is, and we can't find it.
So I said, "If I can get my hands on one and have it shipped, may I use it?"
They said, "Good luck finding one."
This was in October, so we were at the end of the growing season. I called a million places, and I found J. Louis Liuzza of Liuzza's Cucuzza Farm in Independence, Louisiana. I messaged him on Facebook. He next-day air-mailed the most beautiful cucuzza I've ever seen in a wooden crate to the show.
I was so happy that I was able to prepare this dish on national television, which was really a really unique opportunity and a really sort of proud moment for me culturally from my perspective of growing up with this food, which, to me, is just synonymous with love and health and healing and history and simplicity. I mean everything that you would think of when you think of Sicilian culture; I just can't think of a better representation in one food that sort of encompasses all of that.
What cucuzza dish did you make on the show?
I made a classic cucuzza stew with broken spaghetti, tomatoes, potatoes. I really wanted the essence of the squash itself to stand and speak for itself without overcomplicating it. Because to me, even though there are myriad ways you can prepare cucuzza, this was the way that I remembered it as a kid. And so I wanted to make sure that I kind of did that process justice just by presenting it in its simplest form.
How was your cucuzza recipe received by The Great American Recipe judges?
Well, I made one of the judges, Francis Lam, cry. Tiffany Derry, a restaurateur, has been to Sicily, so she had heard of it but never tasted it. Tim Hollingsworth, a famous chef from L.A., had never had it either.
It was greatly received. I won that round.
The show is not a cutthroat competition. It's really more about showcasing how food connects us in America because we are a melting pot. We are made up of so many different cultures and so many different traditions. And food is sort of that common denominator. Even though we all have different traditions and flavor profiles, it's what kind of brings us all together.
I think the way I expressed my excitement for the cucuzza and the joy it brought me, that storyline… They liked that.
How did you land on the show?
I was contacted by a casting agent out of L.A. who happened to stumble across my Instagram. They were looking for different pockets in different regions of the country to ensure that they had good, well-rounded representation. My Instagram handle is @BostonHomeCooking, and they were trying to check that New England box. So it just happened to be really good luck.
You say you geek out about cucuzzi.
People laugh. So many people have tasted cucuzza for the first time because of me. It's just my love language. It's weird. I know it's a weird obsession, but I do love it.
Do you grow your own cucuzza plants?
I did this year, yes.
Every year, I go on this pilgrimage to find cucuzza somewhere. Somebody's got to be growing it. One of my uncles, one of my cousins, whoever it is. But because we live in New England, and this is a very sensitive squash that requires a lot of heat and a good setup, some seasons they would yield a lot and others they wouldn't.
I was just so tired every year of begging to people for their cucuzzas. So I just decided that I was going to just grow them myself. Fortunately, I had an excellent growing season this year. I think I yielded six, and I still have two more on the vine, which is a lot for the space that I allotted.
What's your cucuzza-growing set-up?
I used netting initially for the vines to climb, just to facilitate the climbing. There's a couple ways you could do it. You do not need anything fancy. You could grow snake squash on the ground.
It does not need to be elevated. The only reason why people do that is because it grows straight. When it's on the ground, it's really going to be formless, and that's when you get a lot of those spiral ones.
I wanted mine straight though. I had a vision in mind, and so I used some netting. What I did was I took one of my kids' old soccer nets that they were no longer using, cut it into pieces, and hung it down from the top of a pergola. It kind of grew up from there, and then it grew so out of control that it was over the fence, well into my neighbor's yard. He's the nicest guy and very tolerant of my hobby.
I think my biggest one was almost four feet long, and it was hanging in his yard. He had no idea what it was. As a thank you, I'm going to make him and his wife a pot of cucuzza stew just to say thanks.
You said your father grew cucuzza plants when you were a kid.
My dad had a very elaborate, thriving garden and still does, but because they spend time in Italy, he can't really go too crazy.
To the cousins and family members that I have in Italy, getting excited about cucuzza would be the equivalent of getting excited about a piece of gum. They're just like, "Okay, calm down."
"It's not that deep," my son says.
It is to me!
My daughter is 15, and I've made it my life's work as her mother to teach her how to make this dish because I am scared that this will sort of get watered out of our cultural identity.
For me, it's very important to make sure that I continue those traditions with her and to emphasize how important it is for her to do the same.
Where do you get your cucuzza seeds?
So, my dad brought me some Sicilian seeds, but to be honest with you, the best seeds I got were from my contact in Louisiana. My dad's are this monochromatic lime green—nothing special, but the three-tone from Louisiana… It's almost like tie-dyed or tiger-striped. I've never seen it in Sicily, and neither has my father.
How long does a cucuzza take to harvest?
I indoor plant my seeds in April. They sprout very quickly. Within two weeks, they're about six to 12 inches tall. From there, once they can sort of stand on their own, I then plant them in ground or in my raised garden bed. And it's a very quick growth in terms of leaves and vines, but the cucuzza themselves didn't start growing until July.
It's all temperature-dependent. Our summers don't start to get very hot in New England until mid-July, and the cucuzza is a very heat-loving plant. Once you get past the six inch mark, you're past the danger zone. You'll get 30 or 40 little ones that are maybe four or six inches, and they'll die on the vine, shrivel up, and die.
If you are having problems producing at all, it might mean that you don't have any insects pollinating for you. So you can self-pollinate. You can take a Q-tip. Or if you're really rustic, you just rip the flower off and [rub the male and female flowers together]. I did that for a few flowers, but most of the ones that grew, I didn't have to do.
It sounds intimidating, but it's really not. You've just got to water them every day, and you to have a good hot summer, which is why Sicily is the perfect island to grow them on.
Is there a secret to growing a bountiful cucuzza harvest?
There's all kinds of wives tales about what you should add to your soil. My dad is adamant that he takes the old espresso grinds from his coffee machine and then sprinkles them into the soil, which I did that. I have no idea if that really does anything. I also use manure just to sort of naturally fertilize and that's it.
How do you store cucuzzi after harvesting?
They don't all come out at once. They're very scattered in terms of the rate of growth and production. I prepare one almost immediately, and then a week later, another one will be ready to pick, and another. So it is spread out.
The best way to maintain your stash would be to cut it, peel it, and blanche it. Then drain it, airtight it, and then freeze it.
What's the texture and taste of cucuzza versus zucchini?
I always have the hardest time describing cucuzza to people. It's not like a zucchini. Zucchini, to me, does not have a sweet undertone at all. This does, and it's almost like the texture and consistency of what you'd have if you were to cook a cucumber.
Zucchini has a very distinct, almost earthy flavor, whereas a cucuzza, to me, tastes like candy.
My kids are like, "Do you know what candy tastes like?"
Maybe that's the wrong word for them. But when I say that, I just mean the sweetness. You really don't have to do much in terms of enhancing it.
What are some ways to cook cucuzzi?
The classic way is just the stew, which ironically is a soup essentially, and nobody would ever think that you would eat soup in the summer, particularly in Sicily, when it can be upwards of 110 [degrees Fahrenheit]. But they do. It's like this weird exception where they just eat it in the summer.
What I've been learning from some cucuzza Facebook groups is that down south, they marry it quite often with shrimp, which is something I had never done or thought to do. They almost do a jambalaya-type dish.
I like it fried, just straight-up fried with a little balsamic vinegar, and then obviously the pasta. I make different versions of it. I'll add sweet potatoes just to give it a different flavor profile.
When you share your love for growing and cooking cucuzza, what do you hope people take away?
I hope people are open to the idea of connecting to produce that is so indigenous to such a small island and appreciate its uniqueness because it is not plentiful where we are here in the United States. I want them to appreciate it in a way that you wouldn't necessarily give a regular vine vegetable. It's really a marvel.
