Skip to main content

Return of the eggplant II

OK, this will probably horrify some foodies, but I do occasionally rely on canned or bottled prepared ingredients. I am known to buy bottled spaghetti sauce, and bottled salsa. I do check the labels to make sure I am not being fed weird chemicals.

That being said, the following is another non-traditional pasta recipe making use of eggplant and another exotic, the artichoke.

Eggplant and Artichoke Pasta

1 15 oz jar spaghetti sauce
1 can artichokes (NOT marinated, you want fresh for this)
1 large black eggplant or an equivalent of smaller eggplant
red wine
2 cloves garlic
pinch of red pepper flakes
olive oil
Pasta (whole wheat penne is good)

OK, a splash of olive oil in the skillet, chop the garlic and throw it in along with the red pepper flakes, saute a minute or two until sizzling and smelling good but not browning. While this is going on, peel the eggplant if it is a biggun and cut into 1/2 inch cubes. If using baby eggplants, you can leave the skin on and cut into bite-size slices. Put the eggplant in the skillet, cover, and saute, stirring occasionally, until the eggplant has softened. Add the spaghetti sauc.Rinse the jar out with a half-cup or so of red wine, and dump the resulting liquid into the pasta sauce. Quarter and add the artichokes. Simmer for five minutes or so and toss with cooked pasta.

If you are eating mostly vegetarian and find yourself jonesing for meat, this can be particularly satisfying, something about the texture and flavor of the eggplant and the artichoke together.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Chicos and Beans!

Chicos and Beans, Ese! They go together like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. But what ARE they, and why are they so good? Chicos are as far as I know an ingredient peculiar to northeastern New Mexico. Chicos are sweet corn which is roasted in an outdoor wood-fired adobe oven called an Horno (pronounced or-no, as rhyming with “porno,” but don't make that association with the older generation.) The result is that the corn is preserved, but it keeps its sweetness and the sugars in the corn are caramelized, resulting in a wonderful, distinctive flavor. It is best to buy them from someone who has roasted them, as one never really knows how old the ones in the stores may be. Just like beans, if they are more than a year old, you have to cook them forever to make them tender. The classic winter repast of chicos and beans is about the sweetness of the ingredients and how they harmonize with each other. The chicos provide the sweetness of roasted corn, the smoked ham hocks provide the swe...

Oregano de la Sierra

One of the culinary herbs peculiar to this region is Oregano de la Sierra. It is used in place of oregano in the local cuisine. It is not oregano. The latin name for this plant is Monarda Menthefolium, and it is a variety of bee balm. It does have a flavor reminiscent of oregano with a bit of mint. It is a beautiful plant. It is normally foraged in the mountainous areas, hence its name, which translates as "oregano of the mountains."Those who enjoy word play will note that the word "oregano" itself derives from the Greek "ganos" meaning brightness or ornament, and "oros" meaning mountains. So cross-culturally, "oregano de la sierra" means "ornament of the mountains of the mountains." The photo at right is of oregano de la sierra growing in my back yard. It is drought-hardy and likes filtered shade. As you may guess, being a bee balm, bees love it, so it doesn't just feed you, it feeds our little friends as well. If you wan...

Machaca

OK, the recipe I will share with you is NOT the original, real deal machaca. In common parlance, machaca has come to be a reference to shredded beef cooked in the Mexican style. It is similar to the Cuban dish, ropa vieja (old rags, a reference to the appearance of shredded beef.) The original machaca was more of a reconstituted beef jerky. In rural Mexico, there weren't any refrigerators back in the day. So beef would often be preserved by drying. Slabs of the stuff would be sprinkled with lime juice, salted, and hung out to dry in the hot sun and wind. When completely dried, the beef would, texturally, have more in common with a wood plank than with something you would eat. So the cook would grab a machaca, a fist size rock, and the dried beef would then be machacado, that is, literally, beaten, pummeled, smashed, until the fibers of meat would seperate and the resulting fluff would be cooked with tomatoes, onions, chiles, etc, and sometimes scrambled up with eggs. If y...