I do not relish eggplant. Of course I loved my mothers. She thinly sliced and coated it with egg, breadcrumbs, cheese and spices, and then fried it in olive oil. It was wonderful. But this has not been my experience with the eggplant of friends, relatives and restaurants: it is too thick, it is sopping with oil, and it is under or overcooked. Commonly it exists, like subatomic particles, in both states at the same time. I keep my distance.
That is until this year. Spring started out with a bang. April was already hot. Unlike the summer of 2009, which consisted of two warm weeks this year we had only two cool weeks all summer. The garden was premature. A month prior to Labor Day it had already yielded up a freezer full of pesto and tomato sauce and something new – eggplant.
Nature and the Japanese eggplant that my wife Charlotte planted in our backyard forced my hand. I needed to cook it because my 94-year-old mother no longer could. My past attempts had been failures. I just never knew how to start, but start I did for it is hard to ignore the fruits of three prodigious plants.
Several years ago I found a reasonably priced French copper saucier at a discount store. I bought it despite not knowing its purpose. This pretty copper pot sat taking up space on top of my stove with nothing to do. Then, when I brought the first batch of eggplant into the kitchen I knew it was the correct vessel.
Instinctively I moved the pan to the largest burner, turned the heat on low and poured in some of Alberto Passigli’s olive oil (another story). I added finely chopped Vidalia onions and a little salt. With the lid on I puzzled about what to do with the eggplant. I needed to make quick work of this, so I divided the banana-sized eggplants into four quarters and then cut half-inch thick wedges.
I know the prevailing wisdom is to salt eggplant to remove the bitterness, but being restless due to the shot of espresso I had just treated myself to, in it went on top of the onions. I did not mix the eggplant with the sautéing onions just yet. A little more salt and oil on top, and on with the lid to let the mixture steam. Next came carrots and garlic, and when the onions were caramelized I mixed it all up with fresh basil, ground pepper and a few dollops of Tabasco sauce.
All this chopping over an open flame worked up a thirst, so I had a glass of last nights wine and for good measure poured some into the pot. As I lifted the lid the smell of my labors became evident, the way only Italian cooking can.
Now I was confronted with one of those judgment calls that mark the difference between art and science: how long should I cook the eggplant. Fresh eggplant has a creamy color and a spongy feel not unlike the foam found inside of seat cushions. Once cooked, the flesh takes on a greenish-grey translucent quality. Having been the recipient of many a semi raw eggplant, I knew it would be a mistake to under cook it.
When it seemed almost cooked, I added a can of diced tomatoes, San Marzano’s I think. I could have used skinless fresh tomatoes or stewed or any other type. I decided not to sweat the details, remembering the whole point of this exercise was to cook the eggplant, and it was getting close to 5:30, the time Charlotte arrives home from work. So on went a pot of water for the pasta.
I had ten minutes to reflect as the penne cooked. I learned to be grateful for the memory of my mother’s cooking and the legacy she instilled in me. I learned to sauté the eggplant in oil first and not water. I learned that in 30 minutes it is possible to make a passable meal from ingredients out of a bungalow’s backyard garden. And as a bonus I had enough left over after dinner to freeze, so in February, 2010’s garden can be enjoyed all over again. What could be better than that!
P.S. Alberto’s olive oil is available at: http://www.zingermans.com/product.aspx?productid=o-pod.
Volume 5828 (4), 10/22/2010
