An aubergine recipe, from my book

Here is the original recipe for "very sort of aubergine parmigiana" from Do Yourself a Flavour. I cooked it for dinner tonight and thought you might like to know about it.

Parmigiana, for those of you thus far unenlightened, consists of layers of fried aubergine, rich tomato sauce, mozzarella and lashings of a grated hard cheese, such as Parmesan. These layers are then baked, often with breadcrumbs and herbs on top. All in all, a parmigiana is a little like the outcome you might get if lasagne (page 112) had safe, meat-free sex with moussaka and invited caponata (page 129) to watch. It’s also a great recipe for people who usually say they don’t like aubergines.

The reason aubergine-haters usually abandon their previously held prejudices when they get a mouthful of this, is that they – the aubergines, not the people – are browned nicely in olive oil, with a good amount of salt, then covered in cheese. Clearly, this dish has no pretences of healthfulness, despite containing two vegetables. My parmigiana has the addition of pesto, because any notion of Italian authenticity can be firmly stuffed into cannoli and dipped in taramasalata.

This dish can be made mostly in a frying pan, and is a great meat-free main to bring hot and bubbling to the table. Choose Parmesan made without calf’s rennet if you’re feeding proper vegetarians.

YOU’LL NEED:

• 2 tins of chopped or plum tomatoes the smallest pinch of sugar

• some abstract splodges of pesto (about
  2 tablespoons), if you have it lying around

• 2 lovely, shiny purple aubergines

• an absolute shedload of olive oil (do use olive oil here, not vegetable¹)

• a honque of Parmesan or vegetarian Italian-style hard cheese, around the size of a big mouse

• 2 fresh mozzarella balls

• salt

OPTIONAL EXTRAS:

• warm bread and crunchy salad, to serve

Serves 2, takes 35 minutes

Make the sauce first, because then it’ll simmer happily while you take the time to fondle the aubergines. There are, of course, many different ways to make a tomato sauce, but this is so crude I feel I might be arrested any moment now for suggesting it.

Tip both your tins of tomatoes into a small saucepan over a low heat, and add a big pinch of salt, a little pinch of sugar and a tablespoon of the pesto, breaking up the larger tomatoes if you need to. If you want to add a splosh of red wine, or some dried oregano, please don’t let me stop you. I’ve avoided onions and garlic here simply because I don’t think it needs it, but feel free to disagree. Taste everything for seasoning, then keep the sauce on a simmer while you deal with your aubergines.

Preheat the oven to 190°C.

Slice your aubergines lengthways into 5mm-thick surfboards, and dust a sprinkling of salt over each slice. I like to slice them thinner than most recipes call for, so they absorb more fat and cook faster. Now, working in batches, fry the aubergine slices in a hefty amount of olive oil in a 20–23cm cast- iron skillet or other Ovenable Pan, until they’re browned on both sides. Transfer any cooked slices to a plate, and keep adding olive oil to the pan whenever you feel it’s going a bit dry. By the way, if you don’t have an Ovenable Pan, just use a normal frying pan, and we’ll worry about all that in just a tick.

Once you’ve browned all your aubergines, turn the heat off everything. If you don’t have a pan that’s oven-safe, find a square cake tin or a small ceramic roasting dish instead. Now, layer the aubergine slices with the tomato sauce in your chosen receptacle, spaffing the shaved Parmesan, torn mozzarella blobs and remaining pesto between each layer, as if Jackson Pollock was working with a caprese salad rather than paint.

Top your creation with a final layer of tomato sauce and some Parmesan (mozz will burn and go too crispy on top – I mean, if you like that kind of thing, go for it but I prefer it all gooey inside only), then bake for about 20 minutes or until proper bubbly and lush. Common sense would dictate that you wait for it to cool down before serving, but I like to give myself minor soft-palate injuries from time to time, just to keep things fresh.

Serve with hot bread. And you’ll want a crunchy salad with this one, probably.

Want more, but in physical paperback copy? Said book can be found online for £14.25 new, and by now, abandoned in several charity shops for the price of a Twix and a mouthful of cheap gin.

1. Editor’s note: this was written in May of 2022, when a litre of olive oil didn’t cost the same as three tonnes of truffle-shagged-gold-leaf-caviar so you’ll be forgiven for ignoring this advice in 2024. Use vegetable oil if you like.