Ratatouille

This ain’t your momma’s ratatouille – nor is it my father’s, whose ratatouille closely resembles every other kind of ratatouille I’ve ever had; that is to say, a stewed tomato dish with large chunks of irregularly shaped eggplants and other squashes, and if you’re really unlucky, bell peppers too. Except for the bell peppers, there’s usually nothing itself that I find too disagreeable, and a tomato-eggplant combo, such as that found in Pasta Norma, is normally a singular delight, but there’s something about the heap of the humbler vegetables, bleeding a thin, warm tomato/vegetable water into the other stuff on your plate, that upsets me terribly. There’s a blandness and over-cookedness that I associate with ratatouille, as if all the concentrated flavors of each of these delicious vegetables has been leached out and evaporated from the pot.

This recipe contains none of these attributes. In fact, it barely resembles what most people would consider ratatouille and one could argue that it should be called something else. I’ve often seen people either turn up their nose or sigh with resignation when I tell them what I’ve made them; seeing their faces crinkle with surprise and delight when they take their first bite is a singular pleasure. I’ve never thought to analyze it before sitting down to write this, but the fact is, all of these vegetables – eggplants, zucchinis, summer squash, tomatoes – contain a vast quantity of superfluous water (so much so that the first two on the list are often salted and pressed in advance of cooking to rid them of some of the excess), and simply dumping everything in one pot just means that they’re just sitting there, slowly leaching their flavor into a thin disappointing mess, like so many hot dogs at a stand across from the Natural History Museum. Part of the success of this recipe is that we relieve each vegetable of its excess water content, allowing it to maintain its shape and texture while concentrating its flavor. The result is just wet enough to cling to itself – you can even make quenelles out of the finished product – but won’t bleed and disturb anything else on the plate. This is achieved by cooking each vegetable separately, then adding to the communal mixture once it is cooked. In this way, I suppose it’s not really stewed vegetables, but a happy communion of flavors which, having first been concentrated unto themselves, are then served in very close association with one another but not so close that they lose their individual identity. Each of the vegetables has a different water content, so that’s a good clue as to why you want to cook each one individually – they will each need their own amount of time, and you don’t want to rob the eggplant, say, of what it needs, just because it’s sitting in the water that the zucchini has already shed.

The technique must make it one of the more labor-intensive approaches to ratatouille, but it is a must-try and makes a stunning, almost show-stopping side which can be transported and served at room temperature just as easily as it can be warm. In fact, this dish and a gratin – usually this one or this one – have been my stand-by side dishes to bring to peoples’ houses on Thanksgiving. To me, they’re more exciting than the bird.

Also, don’t be afraid of the capers. Nobody likes capers, and I’m no exception. But they add an important acid that gets evenly distributed and is a crucial part of the finished flavor. The basil and the capers cut through the deep, slightly sugary, slightly rooty flavor of the eggplant, zucchini, and squash, while the tomato also adds umami and heft.

A large part of the success of this dish depends on the uniformity of the pieces of vegetables. They need to be perfectly evenly distributed amongst one another for maximum effect, which means that if the eggplant is larger than the zucchini or the squash larger than the eggplant, for instance, the effect will be ruined. There is a certain pleasure derived from eating foods of equal size and shape, which I’ve mentioned elsewhere in this collection, and it’s one of the things which separates professionally-prepared foods from amateur ones. It’s not to say that it always holds true, but think about it like popcorn – if every kernel was a different size and shape, it wouldn’t be quite the same as when shoveling handfuls into one’s mouth. So the bottom line is keep your knife work strong: use a sharp knife, be patient, discard oddly shaped ends where necessary, and hold yourself to a high standard. In fact, I really shouldn’t have to mention this, but just in case one or two morons are reading this, you should hold your vegetables to a very high standard too. You’re not hiding these vegetables in some out of the way part of a dish like in rice or pasta, they’re not here to compliment something else like a pork chop or whatever – they’re the stars of the show, so make sure that they are the absolute finest specimens available.

Ingredients:

• 2 medium eggplants
• 2 medium zucchini
• 2 medium yellow summer squash
• 2 medium tomatoes
• 4 cloves garlic
• 1 small jar capers in brine (not salt), drained
• 1 large handful basil
• Olive oil
• Salt and pepper

Directions:

Begin with the eggplant. You’ll want to work as quickly as possible, so it doesn’t turn brown. Wash the skins and trim the ends, then cut into a small dice – say, ¼” sides. You can use the oddly-shaped ends or not – use your judgment, but for the most part, I recommend discarding them or saving for another use.

Place a large skillet over medium heat and film the entire bottom with olive oil, let’s say about ¼ cup. When the oil is shimmery, add the eggplant. It’s not going to be possible to only have one layer of eggplant in the pan, but you need to be able to move it around, so if your eggplants are big enough or your pan is small enough, you might have to do this in batches.

Watch your heat to make sure it’s cooking properly – too fast, and the stuff on the bottom will burn before the stuff on the top will cook; too slow and the water exiting the eggplant will gather in the pan and ruin the whole thing. If you cook it too slow you’ll risk turning especially the squash and zucchini into mush. You can go up to medium high or even high heat if you need to, depending on how your pan is situated and how much water content the vegetables contain. Ultimately, you don’t want it to be going to crazy, you want a firm, steady cooking process that doesn’t need too much movement or scraping. Cook, shaking and scraping with a fish spatula (a wooden spoon may crush or smush the vegetables, so try to avoid) occasionally, for about 5 minutes, until fully cooked through and nicely browned.

While the eggplant is cooking, cut the zucchini into a small dice, exactly the same size as the eggplant. When the eggplant is finished, pour the entire contents of the pan into a large bowl. Wipe out the pan with a paper towel, film the bottom with another ¼ cup, and repeat the process with zucchini, dumping into the bowl on top of the eggplant when it is finished.

Follow the same procedure with the yellow summer squash. While the summer squash is cooking, dice the tomato into the same size, mince the garlic and the capers (separately) very fine. After you’ve dumped the summer squash on top of the zucchini in the finishing bowl, wipe the pan out, add more olive oil, then add the tomatoes, garlic, and capers. These only need to cook for about two minutes, and you can feel free to stir these up a bit. You do want to make sure the garlic cooks so it mellows a bit, and the tomato should lose it’s shape and let go of much of its moisture. Add this to the bowl on top of the summer squash when it’s done.

Separate the basil leaves from stems, rinse them well, and shake vigorously to dry them. Stack them and roll them, if desired, and cut into a ¼” julienne. Add to the bowl, along with salt and pepper to taste, stir to thoroughly combine all the elements. Taste and evaluate, adding a dash more olive oil if necessary. Serve at once or at room temperature, enjoy, and reap the rewards of your labor.