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Vegetable Love Zucchini hasn’t been popular in this country long enough for it to have developed a hate literature. Which is surprising because you’d think most people would have a natural suspicion of a vegetable whose only virtue is that any fool can grow one. In fact, the whole problem with zucchini is that you can'’ grow just one. An amateur gardener’s first blush of pride in the vulgar fecundity of this squash soon enough turns to terror. Its much-stated versatility is just a polite way of saying that it is constantly underfoot in a culinary sense. The vegetable form of that glaringly banal slogan, “Have a nice day”. I
would hardly bother concerning myself with a vegetable with the
nutritious value, flavour, and texture of rained – on newspaper, if it
hadn’t somehow insinuated itself into one of my very favorite late
summer dishes, rendering it totally diluted and unappetizing: the
ratatouille of southern France. This dish was once made of only onions,
peppers, eggplant, garlic and tomato puree with sprinkles of fresh thyme
and basil. Now, I understand, even in its home turf, the locals have
given the nod to zucchini. The
goal of a good ratatouille, in Richard Olney’s perfectly evocative
phrase, is to end up with vegetables that are “intact but puree
tender, cloaked in a syrupy reduction of their own abundant juices”.
And the problem with zucchini is strictly that its juices are
overabundant: by the time they cook away, the dish has simmered to mush. Even
with zucchini omitted, the dish is not all that easy to make. Difficult
not because of what it asks you to do, but what it asks you not to do,
which is stir. This seems an easy enough to follow injunction, but
stirring turns out to be a tremendous temptation during that dish’s
long cooking. Logic constantly insists, all during the cooking process,
that stirring is exactly what you should be doing to vegetables cooking
in so little liquid. Resist
… resist stirring will quickly break them up. The secret is to
ever-so-gently shake them, especially at first, so that they do not
stick. This soft but persistent shaking, which should send barely a
tremor through the pan, is an art and requires practice, but you will be
well rewarded, for it is truly the secret of this dish. Ratatouille 8
tiny eggplant, ends trimmed away 4
red or yellow sweet peppers (or 2 of each) 4
perfectly ripe tomatoes ½
cup good fruity olive oil 6
cloves garlic, minced 12
fresh basil leaves, minced Pinch
thyme Sea
salt and fresh pepper 3
medium onions ½
cup dry white wine Additional
fresh basil and lemon wedges for garnish 1)
Cut eggplant in half and then cut the halves into slices.
Sprinkle these with salt and let them sweat out their liquid in a
colander in the sink for 30 minutes. Then spread them out on paper
towels and press firmly to squeeze out as much additional liquid as
possible. Meanwhile, stem and seed the peppers and cut the flesh into
strips. 2)
When the eggplant is removed from the colander, put in the ripe
tomatoes and pour a kettle of boiling water over them. When they are
cool enough to touch, slip off their skins, quarter them, and squeeze
out the seeds. Place the tomato pieces on paper towels; drain away any
excess liquid. 3)
Heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil in a heavy skillet. Add the
garlic and sauté it until it just turns soft and translucent. Don’t
let it brown. Then stir in the tomatoes, the basil, and the thyme,
seasoning with salt and pepper to taste. Cook, stirring gently until the
tomatoes begin to break down into sauce, about 5 to 10 minutes. Pour
this mixture into a bowl and reserve. 4)
Wipe out the pan and heat in it ¼ cup of olive oil. Add the
eggplant slices and cook these for 5 minutes, turning them over once
gently during the middle of the cooking. Add these carefully to the
tomato mixture. 5)
Again, wipe out the pan and again heat more olive oil in it, this
time 2 tablespoons. Add the onion slices and pepper strips and sauté
these for 5 minutes or until the peppers are soft and the onions
translucent. At this point return the reserved vegetable mixture into
the pot. 6)
Over this mixture, pour the wine and stir just once with a wooden
spoon to mix it in. Bring the mixture to a simmer, then lower the heat
down to a mere flicker –the contents should gently steam but never
bubble – and cook uncovered for about an hour, shaking the pan gently
as necessary, until the liquid has thickened into a sauce and the
vegetables are meltingly soft but still intact. 7)
Ratatouille should be eaten hot, but I think it is best served at
room temperature, strewn with bits of fresh basil leaf and with lemon
wedges set at the side. With it offer the rest of the white wine and a
good baguette. |
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