On Time, and Eggplant

With luck and certain advantages, we can do most things so that the consequences of our actions are tolerable. Always there are things we wish would have gone differently.

My son's first dentist, I wish I had choked him. I have carelessly lost an address or two I wish I had today so that I would not feel a dear friend out in the big world somewhere, dangling in my mind where we left off years ago.

Out of the past, which lies there warm and seething like a great compost pile, full of decaying matter, shells and seeds of old things rotting into soil, cut hair, blackening rinds, pits, crusts, scraps, bruised areas, discarded, the everyday spoils all returned to chaos.

Out of this teeming mess, sprouts the incipient greenery of wisdom, our personal savvy and ken, the insights and methods that we have learned and tended and which define us explicitly. Our pearls of great price.

How can we forget them so easily? Why do we overlook them and relegate our finest hours to the scrapbook and then let them slide away entirely?

Why do we shelve some of our best recipes for years at at time? Because we have children. Children, moreover, who whine about eggplant. Who revile and avoid it and seek shelter in other homes when it appears. Who engage in outbursts of temper or indulge in long drawn out hissing noises or an array of the most unseemly and contrived guttural moans at its mention. Who stoop to tossing about intimations of abuse and love withdrawal at the very sight of that flamboyant purple coat in the shopping bag.

Eggplant, they accuse, is slimy.

I have come to regret that I chose the easy path in this respect, and left many a splendid eggplant to languish in the market with just a wistful glance over my shoulder. How many of these cherubs, so mild and mutable inside, are left to shrink and wither in their bins because, with no intention to offend, they are inclined to ooze when cooked? Another mystery left unsolved.

But now that my children are tall and full of the hungers of the teen years, I am encouraged -- by six o'clock they will eat almost anything and eggplant has begun its triumphant return to our table via Eggplant Cutlets with Beautiful Sauce. It is easy, quick, rich, very high in flavor, changeable with your mood and supplies and even to the most critical palates, it circumvents the slime factor.

First, make a breading--your own favorite or crumble in a blender:

3 - 4 slices of bread, broken into pieces (fresh, dry crusts, even saltines work equally well)

Add to the crumbs:

1/4 C. Parmesan cheese

dashes of salt, pepper, paprika

1/4 tsp. dill weed

Pulse until you have a good, uniform mixture.

Leaving the skin intact, slice into 1/4" slabs:

1 large, glossy eggplant (1 1/2 #)

Spread each slice, both sides, with good real mayonnaise (not the sweetish salad dressing unless you are solely committed to it). Dredge the slices through the breading and pat it down gently.

You can do this much the night before, and feel commended.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Place the slices on an oiled baking sheet and bake them for 20-30 minutes, or until they are golden and crisp on the outside and tender on the inside. Test with a fork so you know for sure.

About ten minutes before they are done, arrange a thin, quizzical slice of red pepper on each slice where it will roast nicely and add color.

Meanwhile, to make the sauce, sauté until almost limp in a little butter:

1/2 a large onion

Add:

3-4 cloves fresh garlic, minced or pressed

Stir and cook very gently until the garlic is glazed but not brown, altogether about 5-8 minutes.

Add, ad lib:

3/4 # sliced mushrooms

chopped celery

green or red peppers

Roma tomatoes

Sprinkle in:

1 Tbsp. flour

Cook, stirring, over medium heat, for another 5 minutes or so.

Now lower the heat and add:

1 1/2 C. plain lowfat yogurt (part buttermilk is fine) 3/4 C. blue Roquefort cheese

a goodly dash of pepper

2 T. chopped fresh parsley

1/2 tsp. dill weed

salt to taste

1 T. fresh lemon juice.

Heat to thicken, stirring frequently.

Serve on top of the cutlets.

So go shopping and buy an eggplant, whose color even to that dry scholar, the lexicographer, is bluer and deeper than burgundy.