Light summer eggplant burgers

I can't believe I have been M.I.A. for almost two weeks. I think this is probably a first for me.

The three words that sum up my lack of cooking and posting these days are: work, diet and work.

I won't get into the whole description but I promise every child-free minute I had these days (and some none free-child hours) I spent working.

Oh, and of course my son got the dreaded stomach flu just as I was nearing my deadline... but I will not go into that either, because I really think that would be too much information.

Last but not least, when you are desperately trying to drop a few pounds, having a cooking blog is not ideal. So the only logical thing for me to do (yes, I know it is not an original solution, but hey, I missed you guys) is to share some of my ideas. I know some of you out there are in the same situation and even if you don't need to get rid of some winter blubber, who doesn't want to eat healthy, right?

Because the word diet makes me run (excuse the pun), I need to convince my brain I am eating normal food, real food. So I try to use the best quality ingredients, I make my dishes colorful, I try to come up with original ideas and to keep things as tasty as possible. Which, by the way, helps convince my family to eat what I am having without too much of a problem.

And so I present you the eggplant burger... yes, a vegetarian burger made with eggplant, but an inverted one, and lighter than the one I made here.

Enjoy!

Baba ghanoush or...

When the wisteria outside of my kitchen window starts blooming, I know spring is finally here.

I invariably start craving more vegetables and healthier and lighter meals.

Spring is a time to enjoy the longer evenings, sipping white wine in front of open windows with friends. Or to stare up at the clear blue skies from your picnic blanket before the hot stickiness and mosquitoes of the metropolitan summer hit full force.

Dips are the ideal addition to this kind of gathering, delicious concoctions to smear on bread, scoop up with crunchy vegetables and chips or eat with a spoon directly out of the bowl once the guests have gone (if you are actually lucky enough to have leftovers).

Oh, and of course dips are my kind of thing right now: the less I chew these days the better.

This is a Levantine classic, along with other favorites like hummus. It calls for the same traditional base: garlic, tahini and lemon juice. There infinite versions: you can add cumin, vinegar or herbs like mint or parsley. You can dress it with a mix of olive oil and pomegranate concentrate/molasses or just drizzle it with some olive oil and paprika. In some countries it is eaten as a starter or a meze, while in others - like Egypt - it is a side dish.

Not only are the versions infinite, but also its spelling, local variations and translations. 

- Spelling: Baba ghanoush, Baba ghannouj, Baba ganoush, Babaganoush, Baba ganush, Baba ghannoug, Babba ghannoj, Abu gannoush (Abu being another word for Daddy, like Baba)

- Translations: spoiled Daddy, cuddly Daddy, cuddling Daddy

- Variations: Blagadoush (Ethiopia), Baingan ka bhurta (India and Pakistan), Salata de vinete (Romania), Kyopolou (Bulgaria), Melitzanosalata (Greece), Patlican salatasi (Turkey)

I could probably start an endless debate by asking what the right way to spell it, make it or translate it is. I won’t, although I will be more than happy to read your five cents in the comments.

Make it however you want to, spell it however you like, it is so easy and good, you probably won’t go out and buy it anymore.

Eggplant burgers - polpette di melanzane

It is hard to think of little else here besides the cruise ship that ran aground off of the coast of Isola del Giglio in Tuscany last Friday night. It is all over the news, on every paper, every TV channel, day in and day out. Why is it that we feel this need to become voyeurs of other people’s tragedies? Nowadays media coverage is so extreme, with its real time updates of every minor happening, that it is impossible not to be sucked in. A journalist of a regional paper is tweeting regularly and we are being flooded by photos and videos of the evacuation and the rescue operations by the coast guard, divers and now the marines.

Naturally, we are distressed about the fatalities, worried about the unaccounted passengers (where are they? what happened to them?) and shocked, to say the least, about the dubious behavior of the captain, allegedly (more like definitely - while I was writing the infuriating call between the harbour office and the culprit was broadcast) more concerned about saving his life than his passengers after deviating from the ship’s standard course. There is controversy about his authority to make this kind of decision and the fact that the ever-growing size of cruise ships for profit affects onboard safety. Last but not least, we are once again concerned about another ecological marine disaster, about 500,000 gallons of fuel spilling into the Tyrrhenian Sea.

But let’s face it, we are all victims of reality TV nowadays. How many of us here have not been sucked into the frenzy of watching every detail of these peoples’ nightmare? Who hasn’t clicked onto the blue-tinged photos of the eerie underwater world of luxurious salons and lopsided corridors, where walls have become floors and ceilings walls? Who can suppress a shudder while watching the infra-red images of thousands of people climbing down the side of the ship with rope ladders like ants in a line, such is the size of the capsized monster. Or when listening to the screams in the dark filmed by a helicopter and the victims with their cell phones?

The truth is that, whilst we are all incensed and truly preoccupied, we cannot resist the lure of the Titanic-like imagery, as the NY Times rightly defined it. We are mesmerized because that horrible night of a century ago has taken on a legendary status in our minds. Which one of us has not at one time or another imagined what it would have been like to be on the Titanic as it sank to the bottom of the sea? The ice cold deep water, the dark night, the sound of clanking metal and waves? I can’t help but wonder if some of those missing people are still blocked in their cabin or in one of the many other rooms of the ship. I can’t help imagining what it would be like to be alone on a dark, half submerged ship, I cannot resist directing and acting in an imaginary movie of which I am the sole spectator. The waiting, my calls for help echoing in the empty halls, the fear, the desperation, the cold. Hearing distant sounds and searching for other survivors…

What attracts us is that human trait, mostly compassionate but at times a little twisted, of identifying ourselves in others.

This was supposed to be a post about the sea, the sun, the island of Sicily and a traditional recipe. It turned into a post about the sea, an island and a tragedy.

Once again, we are the lucky ones, enjoying a meal with our family on a Saturday afternoon. My prayers and thoughts go those who were not so lucky on that day.

I made this vegetarian lunch because F and I were going out that evening with friends to a Brazilian restaurant and I knew I would be having enough meat to last me a week. It isn’t really the season for eggplant on this side of the world, but I couldn’t resist the huge offer in my local supermarket the other day since I recently came across a recipe I had bookmarked from Manu’s Menu a while back. It is the season for this vegetable in the other half of the world so I thought there surely would be someone out there who would enjoy this dish as much as we did.

Moussaka-inspired lasagna

I am sure at least some of you are wondering why the heck I didn’t just make moussaka. I'll get back to that in a minute. First I wanted to share with you one of those unique moments of motherhood.

Those of you who have (or have had) young children know that many earnest conversations take place in the bathroom. Little ones rarely answer important questions if posed directly, but they somehow seem to reveal a lot of essential information in the most unexpected moments. We had one of those mother-daughter moments just last night.

My daughter: “Mommy, when we grow up we leave to go and look for a husband, right?”

Me: “…” (quick mental note to self: never ever let daughter watch another princess movie).

My daughter (misunderstanding my snort of laughter): “no, I mean, not go all around the world. I mean in the city we live. I’m scared, I don’t want to go”.

Me: “Sweetie, first of all your husband could be from anywhere in the world. Secondly, there are a lot of things you will do when you grow up. You will study something you are passionate about and hopefully find a calling or a job you will love and that will fulfill you. You will travel and meet lots of people and make many friends. And maybe on one of those trips or when you are having fun with your friends you will meet the person you will fall in love with. And then maybe you'll get married, or maybe you won't. You certainly don’t have to. But when it is the right time it will happen, you won’t look for it” I sentenced, proud of my women's lib talk.

My daughter: “But I want to get married. Voglio cercare marito (I want to look for a husband. I just had to leave it in Italian for those who could appreciate the choice of words of my five year old, so quaint and old fashioned, something out of a nineteenth century novel)”.

Me: “Well then you should (get married I mean). Love will find you when the time is right”.

My daughter: “But I’m scared anyway”.

How did I get from trying to convince my daughter to eat her vegetables to trying to dissuade her from becoming a wife as her sole reason of adulthood in a matter of a few days?

Which leads me back to where I started. Why did I make a moussaka inspired lasagna instead of a moussaka?

Simple: I had some fresh packaged lasagna that needed using up, two large eggplants that I didn’t know how to convince my kids to eat and a jar of ragù sitting in my fridge. If you decide to make it from scratch, you could use lamb for your ragù, but I had beef ragù. And since my ragù was the Italian kind, lacking those flavors so unique to Greek moussaka, I made a cinnamon flavored béchamel sauce.

 

I am aware that eggplant (aubergine for many of you) is no longer in season in this part of the world. I made this a few weeks ago when it still was. I decided to post this recipe because so many of my readers are in the other hemisphere. You Australians, New Zealanders, Chileans and so forth and so on must be sick and tired of reading recipes for stews and gingerbread when you are getting ready to pull out your flipflops and head to the beach. So this is for you, although I have to admit that lasagna isn’t exactly beach fare.

It served its purpose at my house. The roasted eggplant puree was perfectly nestled between the béchamel sauce and the ragù and although adult taste buds can easily detect the smoky flavor, my children didn’t and gobbled it up. After they swallowed the last bite, I of course informed them of what they had so much enjoyed, as I always do when I have to resort to this method. They giggled.

Roasted eggplant salad with tzatziki herb dressing

My daughter will be back tomorrow and I can't wait to see her. This week, however, has given me time to spend with my youngest.

He never had the fortune of being the first, that little creature who totally capsizes your world in wonderful (and not always so wonderful) ways. The baby you spend hours staring at, playing with, nurturing. Your first baby is the one you take endless pictures of, you make scrapbooks for, recording every detail of her growth. You scrutinize the content of each and every diaper, you count the strands of hair and sprouting teeth over and over. The first is the baby you play classical music for when she is in your tummy, you do not allow near sugar and salt or anything with a bit of flavor for the first two years of her life. Your first child starts watching TV (10 minutes and no more) when she is a toddler and is only allowed to watch educational programs. You buy her specific toys and/or books for every stage of her devolopment and spend time playing/reading with her. You take her to baby massage groups and English playgroups (if you live abroad) and hum lullabies to her in a semi-dark room at naptime.

By the time your second comes along it is a whole different world. Whilst in your tummy he is already a comfy perch for the older child, forget Mozart's sweet notes. As soon as he is out, his world is a place of noise and light. No lullabies in cool, dark rooms. If he survives his older sibling he will be picking up the crumbs from her cookies and initiating his sugar intake long before he is two. Every time he starts playing with a toy, his older sister will grab it from him (well, to be fair, he will do the same). He will constantly be sucking on that made-in-China barbie or car made out of toxic materials and with a million detachable pieces that his sibling got as a present from their great aunt's cousin twice removed last month.

When I had my second child, my sister warned me I would not take as many picture of him. I promised myself I would, that he would get his personal storyboard, just like my first. I have stuck to that. But that is pretty much it.

He had his first taste of ice cream before he turned two and when he watches TV it is usually Barbie and the 200 Dancing Princesses in the friggin' Diamond Castle. Or Shrek when he gets lucky. His bedtime books are usually more intricate than the Dr. Seuss and Baby Einstein we read to him every once in a while. He has never known the delight of playing with the floating letters and Sesame Street characters all on his own.

All in all, he does have the constant entertainment and company of another child, unlike his sister did. He has a very active social life, I'll give you that, but it is really his sisters'. No fancy English playgroups and massages for that guy. He hangs out with snotty-nosed babies and cool three-year olds because they are his sister's friends'younger siblings. All in all he has it pretty good, he is stimulated (albeit in a different way than my first), he is 2 going on to 6 and has a sugar and salt-coated life.

But I for once I wanted him to feel like my first. The last and only time his sister went away he was too distraught to enjoy it. This week he did a lot better and I pampered him and cuddled him and kissed his little cheeks sore. We read the Foot Book and Good Night Gorilla over and over, we played with non-toxic games that are age appropriate and I sat with him and taught him all the tricks. He splashed in the bathtub to his delight and we watched The Bear in the Big Blue House and Thomas the Train. We both miss his sister a lot, and every time he asks where she is I am wondering the same thing, but I am grateful for every extra cuddle I can give him this week.

Since he loved the yogurt sauce (and posing with it) I made recently so much and because I am always thinking up new ways to get him to eat vegetables, I decided to make this to spoil him a little. He did not mind in the least.

Loosely inspired by Ottolenghi's recipe taught in person to the Heavenly Housewife.

Pasta alla Norma

I became an honorary Sicilian the other day.

How, you ask me?

I married a man who was born in Sicily.

No.

I carried two half-Sicilian children in my womb for eighteen months (that is 9 x 2, I am not an elephant. Yet.).

No.

I made something that is so second nature to a Sicilian that they wouldn't think twice about it, like when you lock your front door and don't remember doing it.

I deep-fried eggplant.

So what is the big deal? 

Well, first of all, deep frying has always scared the bejesus out of me. I do not deep fry anything. Ever. But I decided that now that I have a food blog I have to face up to my fears and tread into the unknown. Secondly, I have been eating my mother in law's fried eggplant for the last 16 years and it somehow never occured to me I could make it myself.

I had one, lonely eggplant in my fridge. I couldn't come up with any ideas and I wanted to make something quick on a week night. What else is new? I decided to make pasta alla Norma. Pasta with a simple, garlic-based tomato sauce, fried eggplant and ricotta salata (see below) sprinkled over it. The dish, which seems to have originated in Catania, was dedicated to the composer Vincenzo Bellini (from this city) and his best-known opera La Norma.

So chop, chop. chop and fry, fry, fry I went.

Result? It had to be good because my DH, who was presumably already drinking fried eggplant in his bottle, said it was perfect, or to be more accurate, perfetta!

Grilled eggplant and goat ricotta puree

I mentioned in my last post that in the morning, before getting all wrapped up in the LiveSTRONG initiative, I was getting ready to post a light, healthy recipe.

On Sunday our close friends C&R baby-sat our offspring and sent us off to a morning at a SPA. Not bad, huh? To then spoil us with a homecooked picanha (a Brazilian cut of beef) lunch.  

Now, we are not really SPA habitués, preferring to indulge in a meal in a restaurant over a hot tub (I am sure you knew that). But our four closest friends treated us to gift cards to this place just a few months after our  second child was born. I think they saw the dark circles around our eyes and decided we needed some quiet, alone time. Time passed and we never really got our act together. There was always some obstacle: finding a baby sitter, leaving the baby for more than a few hours, work...until we realized the gift cards were about to expire.

Elba part 5 - Mahi mahi, impepata di cozze (mussels in their broth) and pasta alla Norma

In Italian, watermelon is anguria, but here they call it cocomero. Stands sell it by the slice



I could just snack on some of these... 

 

The days are passing in a whirlwind of sun, sea, sand, food, wine and childrens' squeals.

My father-in-law goes every morning to Fosco's fishing boat to buy whatever the catch of the day is. Yesterday he came home with a 6.5kg lampuga, pesce azzurro, better known in English as mahi-mahi, dolphin fish or dorado. My mother-in-law cut 9 steaks and froze them to make with tomatoes and olives in the near future. She roasted the rest in the oven for 6 of us. As I write this she is in the kitchen making fish soup with its head and other fish. And my father-in-law made linguine with the roe we found in the fish (1kg!). Needless to say, it was fabulous. Talk about feeding a large family for days!



Mahi mahi: an ugly little huge sucker!

Elba part 2 - Pasta al forno alla siciliana

Greetings again from Elba.

This is the Sicilian dish par excellence, it is to a siciliano what a lasagna is to a bolognese (or a BBQ is to a Texan, lamb is to an Aussi/Kiwi...well, you get the ghist...). Every Sicilian family has a recipe for it, the best recipe for it. It will bring tears to a grown man's eyes when he tastes one that takes him back to his childhood and his mamma's apron strings.

End-of-the-week (not-so-Greek) tart

By the end of the week, my fridge gets empty. Veeeeery empty.

This is of course greatly reduces my cooking options but it also: a) allows me to find ingredients previously hiding in the back of the fridge; b) forces me to use up things that are no longer at their prime; and 3) it ultimately sometimes helps me to stumble across great new ideas. Not always I admit. Sometimes the results are less than stellar, but last night they made an easy and filling summer week-night meal. And office lunch for me today!