Eggplant

R. B.’s childhood campout hobo packet memories have inspired many of our favorite side dishes. He’s put just about every vegetable combo imaginable in a foil packet on the grill. Without added water, vegetables steam in their own juices and roast beautifully over the direct high heat of the grill. Even better and easier than the grill is the even heat of a hot oven. If there were a hobo packet merit badge, R. B. would have definitely earned it.

Have we cheesed you out? Take a cheese break and try this straight vegetable-bean puree with nutty sweet garlic and smoked paprika. It may not be the lead-off dish to a night of Crock Dogs, but it fashionably introduces dressier barbecue dinners. We especially like it with Tandoori BBQ Chicken Thighs (page 96), Cider-Soy Pork Tenderloin (page 79), House Lamb Shanks (page 128), and Ultimate Cheater Oven-Smoked Salmon (page 132).

It is neither a purply, sugared mass nor cold and puckery pap, the true caponata, but a baronial dish first fashioned by the great monzù—dialect for monsieur—the title given to the French chefs imported by the nobility during the reign of the Bourbons. Borrowing from a dish left by the Arabs and tinkered with by the Spanish, the monzù exalted the simple braise of eggplant and tomatoes, building a set piece of it, spicing its sauce with oranges and cloves and even a whisper of cacao, then bejeweling it with roasted lobsters and prawns. I thought it, alas, only an historical dish. But with some supplication of a Palermitano friend, ricette antiche—ancient recipes—were unriddled and, after days of bombast and wrangling discourse, one cook was fixed upon who might still build The True Caponata. Two evenings later, I was indulged. The dish is a beauty even if one wishes not to garnish it with the roasted seafood. Then, one calls it la caponatina. Stuffed inside the belly of a whole fish—a sea bass, a salmon, a cod—and wood-roasted, it is splendid.

There is wild tufted mint between the megalithic stones of its befogged and silent fields. And Africa whispers up sultry winds, caressing the place, adding to the sensation of faraway. This is the island of Giovanni di Lampedusa, author of Il Gattopardo, The Leopard. It is a mystical space etched by the ancients, one after another of them who, having stayed for a while, imprinted it, abandoned it, to its own muffled secrets and to the great lumbering turtles and seals who live there still. Surely not Italy, not, perhaps, Sicilia nor even Africa, it is somewhere else, this Lampedusa. Inhabited, finally, without interruption since 1843, when the king Ferdinando II came to claim it, a family descended from this settlement was once our host. The children and their nanny showed us the best, most secret places to collect the wild mint of which we’d grown so fond, we making a salad of its leaves and other wild grasses when enough of it could be foraged. One afternoon, after a particularly good harvest, we emptied our pockets of it onto the kitchen table, thinking we’d all feast on it at dinner, and went upstairs to bathe and rest. Later, the loveliest of perfumes told us that the mint had been seized by the cook and that she’d done something magnificent with it and tomatoes. Here follows a version of her gorgeous frittelle.

A gastronomic heirloom of the coast, this is a humble recipe made from the bits and pieces of what was at hand, sometimes eaten as a principal dish or a contorno, a side dish, other times as a sweet. It is still presented— though in dramatically different versions—in cherished places such as Da Gemma in Amalfi. This take, however, is lighter, less vegetal than most of those with which we’ve been presented, the trick being the absolute thinness of the eggplant slices. This enables them to blend better with the other components, all of them then settling down together into a nicely married sort of flavor and texture. More eccentric than it is bizarre, this version of the ancestral dish turns out to be quite luscious.

This dish was inspired by a trip to Tunisia a few years ago. I fell in love with the Tunisian cooks’ use of spices and the bowls of harissa served with every meal. What surprised me most was the use of caraway, which I had always thought of as an Eastern European spice. For this Tunisian-flavored stew, I season the lamb shoulder overnight with caraway, coriander, chiles, cayenne, and paprika, and then braise it in an aromatic broth with cinnamon and allspice. For a traditional braise I usually deglaze with wine, but in keeping with Muslim prohibitions common in Tunisia, I refrain and substitute lemon juice, which also adds a bright, acidic note to the stew.

Part of what makes these marinated peppers and eggplant so delicious is the involved process they go through to get to their seemingly simple final state. In her book, The Zuni Cafe Cookbook, Judy Rodgers suggests that the chef’s eternal quest is to make the simplest process more difficult: “Stop, think, there must be a harder way,” she writes. There are easier ways to make peppers and eggplant, but once you taste this version, it’s hard to go back. If you like, make them the day before and let the vegetables marinate overnight.

These skewers of sea bass are seasoned with a North African condiment called charmoula and served over marinated eggplant and peppers. Charmoula, like so many Old World recipes, has as many versions as there are cooks. Although the proportions and some ingredients vary, everyone seems to agree that charmoula must have cilantro, garlic, cumin, and paprika and then be finished with olive oil and vinegar. One Sunday when we were working on this dish, Julie Robles, then sous-chef at Lucques, suggested adding rice wine vinegar to our charmoula experiment. It’s certainly not authentic, but we both liked the milder, sweeter nuance it gave the sauce. In fact, the charmoula was so good we decided to use it twice. First we marinated the fish in the spicy condiment (acid-free, so it wouldn’t “cook” the fish), and then, as we pulled the kabobs from the grill, we slathered them once again in charmoula.

At the height of summer, I’m always thinking of new ways to combine farmer’s market vegetables. Eggplants and peppers are a natural pair, and I like to highlight their different textures here. I roast the eggplants until they almost collapse, but quick-char the peppers to keep their crunch while giving them a smoky flavor. Perfectly seared scallops tie the two textures and flavors together.

This is one of my favorite things to make in the late summer—a gorgeous platter that’s really less work than it may seem at first glance. It’s an extravaganza of flavor, and though it’s perfect for late summer or early fall, with these particular veggies there’s no reason you can’t make it year-round.

The time for this recipe may stretch to forty minutes or so, due to preheating the oven and roasting the vegetables, but it’s one of my favorites, and I think it’s worth that tiny bit of extra time. I hope you will, too.

Here’s an offbeat way to present a stir-fry. Tofu-filled ravioli are like little dumplings in this dish. Do try to use hoisin sauce to finish the dish. It creates a nice brown glaze and adds just the right flavor kick to the mild ravioli.

This recipe is based on one of my favorite Chinese take-out dishes. The problem with the restaurant version is that it is often rather oily. I’ve devised this low-fat version as a way to satisfy my craving for it.

It’s not so important which vegetables you use in these colorful, nutritious tarts—rather, that there is a seasonal bounty. Here, eggplant, red onion, zucchini, yellow squash, cherry tomatoes, kale, and red bell peppers fill cornmeal crusts, but you could easily use green beans, corn, or mushrooms. The crust is light and crisp, with less butter than many pastry doughs. To make free-form versions, spoon filling onto center of each dough round, and fold the edges inward. Serve each tartlet with a dollop of fresh ricotta cheese, if desired. Add a green salad to balance out a healthy lunch.

Another addictive antipasto dish—the smoky grilled flavor here is a bright note with the marinade. This is best served at room temperature, so plan on making it in advance. Eggplant is extremely absorbent—don’t worry if it soaks up all of the olive oil. The oil provides plenty of flavor and helps prevent the eggplants from burning over the open flame.

Imam bayildi, as this dish of Turkish origin is called in Bulgaria, Albania, and Greece, and its story have a special place in my cooking repertoire and in my heart. It was introduced to me by Susanna Hoffman, my longtime friend and sometimes cookbook coauthor, who is, among other things, an esteemed social anthropologist whose special field of endeavor is Greece. The story of imam bayildi has many versions, but details aside, it is essentially a tale of love and household thrift. A bride new to the house of her new husband, an imam, came with a dowry of olive oil. But there was only a certain amount. And the imam loved eggplant above all other foods. In practice, because eggplant, as it cooks, is a great gulper of olive oil, and olive oil is the equivalent of kitchen gold, the dish was using up too much of the bride’s dowry. What to do? How to please the husband and keep the eggplant rich and unctuous without blowing the kitchen budget? Susanna solved the dilemma by having the thoughtful bride coax the eggplant into softening with the addition of some water, thereby requiring less of the precious olive oil and with equally excellent results. Was the imam thrilled? Did he faint as the original story line suggests? We don’t know, but we presume the clever, money-minded bride kept her place and the imam was happy. In yet another, latter-day telling of the story, I call the beef and eggplant filling a sausage and the eggplant shells the casing, and imam bayildi winds up in a new sausage cookbook.

This is a good old Italian recipe that makes an appearance on our menu every once in a while. It’s brimmin’ with Old World flavors and looks damn good on the plate. It’ll keep your main courses from gettin’ boring.

Just like the name says, this is a big chicken dish. Grilled whole boneless chicken breasts are layered with eggplant, prosciutto, basil, provolone, and BBQ sauce for a heaping meal-size portion. For those with dainty appetites, the same approach can be applied to half chicken breasts. You might even want to come up with your own grandiose combinations, like grilled zucchini, oregano, and feta; grilled portabella mushrooms, bacon, sautéed onions, and Cheddar; or grilled tomatoes, sliced sausage, chopped cilantro, and pepper-jack cheese. Remember, just think big.