A Story of Squash Blossoms and Slow Living
There’s something sacred about a slow Saturday morning at the farmer’s market. Not the kind of slow that means lazy or unproductive—but the kind of slow that invites presence. The kind that lets you linger a little longer with your coffee, make eye contact with your neighbors, connect with local farmers and artisans, and let the seasons tell you what to eat.
This weekend, I wandered past mountains of heirloom tomatoes, sun-warmed peaches, and bunches of fresh herbs. Music played under the shade of the well-known arbor of the Vineyard Farmer’s Market. The air smelled like basil and baked bread. And just when I thought I couldn’t carry one more thing, I saw them:
bags of delicate, golden squash blossoms—still closed from the morning chill, like sleepy petals waiting to bloom.
There’s something wildly romantic about squash blossoms. Fleeting and fragile, they don’t last long off the vine, which makes them all the more special. They’re not something you find on a grocery store shelf or tucked into a weeknight meal plan. They are for slowing down. For savoring. For saying yes to what the earth is offering right now.
I picked up a bag from one of my favorite local growers and was immediately inspired. With an extra pep in my step, I gathered the rest of what I needed.
Back at home, I knew I wanted to honor them simply. No deep frying, no fussy batters—just a light frittata that would let their color and texture shine. Eggs from a neighboring farm, a touch of goat’s milk cheese, fresh herbs, and some leftover sausage. Breakfast—or brunch, or lunch—was served.
And now I get to share it with you.
This dish is a little celebration of seasonality and slowness. It’s about more than food—it’s about connection. To the land, to the growers, to ourselves. If you make it, tag me or send a photo. I’d love to see what your corner of the world is offering up right now.
Here’s to savoring the season—one blossom at a time. 🌼