Grilled Aubergine and Courgette Parmigiana
From North to South, Things That Unite or Sliding Doors and Slow Moments
It turns out that I remembered it wrong. Somewhere in Instagram squares, I have written about Roberta, my Italian sister friend from Trento who came to our private Catholic school in Springfield, Massachusetts as an exchange student. In history class, she sat two rows down from me on the right, and apart from Mr. O’Shea, and Ukraine as the breadbasket of Europe, her presence was the most interesting thing happening in those days. At the tender age of fifteen, I invited her to join me and my friends on some evenings out even if she was a few years older and she accepted.
I had convinced myself that we stole or even rescued her from a very unhappy host family situation, but last week, Roberta reminded me that there were two families willing to host her so that she would not be shipped out to a new family in California. There was another girl in our friend group whose father hailed from Amatrice and she raised her hand as well. I did not know that Roberta had chosen our family based on “feeling” which says a lot about her as a person, because the other family, living on the other side of the tracks, had a much nicer setup. Maybe she was entranced by our wit and good looks, maybe we had better tuna.
I’m not sure if I was keen to invite Roberta into our home because of the friendship, or because I had discovered that she could produce a delicious meal using the tins and boxes that my divorced single mother left in the cupboard so that we could attempt to nourish ourselves as she worked double shifts. But whatever the reason, it happened, and it worked. She was my exotic big sister who called home in a language that I could not understand, drank coffee from a small aluminum contraption, brought bubbly home from NYC, skied like an Olympic gold medalist, and gifted scrunchies and key chains made of fur.
Now. With great enthusiasm, I introduced her to the Italian family of my new first-generation boyfriend who hailed from a small mountain village smack dab between Naples and Salerno, and I clearly remember them being friendly and gracious to one another. I also remember them interacting as if they had come from two different planets. At the time, I did not understand that they were united by the same sustainable rites and rhythms of food and life bound by the border of the boot. People who were eating seasonally and locally, slowly living, pausing, and sleeping in the midst of nature, mountains, and sea. On the surface, the consumption of pasta and coffee meant that they had everything in common when I had zero notion about Italian history or geography and in turn, Italian regionality and identity.
I also did not know that Italian cuisine differed from North to South and that cultural roots in these regions were impacted by immigration and ever-moving geopolitical borders. Today I am still fascinated to learn that it was in places like the South End of Springfield and in Little Italies all over the East Coast where the Italian cuisine that we know today was born. Where immigrant women from the North who never saw pasta found themselves living next to a woman from the South who had never made risotto and they all started growing their own urban gardens and swapping and cooking in their melting pots.
Alberto Grandi, Professor of Food History at the University of Parma on his podcast DOI – Denominazione di Origine Inventata speaks about this moment when addressing the importance of America in Italian cuisine more specifically relating to pasta:
“At the end of 1800’s, and the beginning of 1900’s, it was Sicilians and Neapolitans who ate pasta, in the rest of Italy it was unknown, they were eating other things, like as usual up North they were eating polenta and other bases of their diet. Then Italians went to America, in particular the ones from the North, and in America they encountered Neapolitans and Sicilians where in Italy they would have never crossed paths, and in these Little Italies they started to consume pasta.”
Throughout our friendship, Roberta would continue to open my eyes to another Italy and its culinary gems. Hopping flights from New York City to Milan and then making more accessible trips from Dublin, our dates in Trento, Milan, Torino, and Liguria always centered around the enogastronomic experiences and aspects of la dolce vita that formed run-of-the-mill experiences of her everyday life.
In the winter of what might have been 2004 and 2005, on a break between freelance jobs, I went to stay with Roberta and her mother in their family home where I presented with a folder full of recipes that I had ripped out of Irish and British Sunday rags. In this stack, there was a recipe for a Grilled Aubergine and Courgette Parmigiana or it might have even been called a bake. I have failed to retrace the original recipe, but my memory tells me that it was from Nigel Slater.
This was the first recipe that I ever cooked Italy side and for these reasons, it will always hold a special place in my heart. I still remember the slow joy of cooking in that quiet moment in the pristine and still modern, streamlined, and fully stocked turquoise Miele kitchen. Meticulously following the steps on the tear sheet as the cast iron grill smoked, I was so pleased with the ability to be able to pick fresh basil from the pot basking in the pallid October sun. I used the same basil and excess mozzarella to lunch in a ceremonious and conscious way. That evening when we sat down to dinner, Roberta’s mother relished in the result, and I was delighted that she was delighted and even more delighted with what had formed out of stillness and love.
Every meal in Trento was pivotal in learning, both the ones that were cooked for me and the ones that Roberta and I cooked together. I still find local recipes scribbled in notebooks filled with the first practices of basic Italian grammar and I am thankful.
To celebrate the moment of reconnecting with Roberta and her family for the first time in seven or so years, I made this recipe at her home in Trento last week and I was so happy that her mother was there to join us. Parmigiana di melanzane e zucchine, is prepared in so many authentic and regional forms. As my favorite summer dish, I have indulged in the more popular versions and appreciate them all. With that said, this is my favorite version especially for right now. It’s smoky, it’s light, it can be slowly prepared in different parts, feeds a crowd, and benefits from a long resting time making it zero sweat (excuse the pun).
In the reflection of these events, I am left in awe of these sliding door moments and how the small life decisions made by both ourselves and others have such a major impact on the direction that we take.
At the end of March 2009, I spoke to Roberta on a Sunday night, her boyfriend had proposed to her in Paris, and she asked me if I would like to come to Trento before meeting up with some ex-colleagues to attend a series of events in Rome. I decided to decline the invite, and a few days later, I met Riccardo on a day when I would have been North had I accepted.
If Roberta had another “feeling” while wearing a gray wool pleated skirt and knee socks on a cold autumn day, and if I had joined her in Trento on a cool Spring day, would the five of us have been sitting on a collina in Trento drinking wine and grilling eggplant with our children running around in wet bathing suits? Probably not.
Grilled Aubergine and Courgette Parmigiana GF, GRF, LF, VG
Parmigiana di melanzane e zucchine grigliate
Serves 8-10
Ingredients:
3 large aubergines, sliced
4 medium courgettes, sliced
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 cloves of garlic, thinly sliced
3 mozzarelle fiordilatte
100 g Parmigiano Reggiano DOP, finely grated
1 kg of tinned plum tomatoes
Handful of fresh basil leaves
Splash of white wine
Extra virgin olive oil
Sea salt and black pepper
Optional: 1 small dried hot red pepper
Method:
Slice the aubergines and the courgettes lengthways into 5mm slices, sprinkle lightly with salt, and leave in a colander to drain for at least half an hour. Put the mozzarelle in a small colander to drain.
Prepare the sauce. Cover the bottom of a wide heavy-bottomed saucepan with a thin film of olive oil. Add your onion and your garlic (and hot pepper) cooking gently over low heat until the onion is clear. Add the tomatoes crushing with the back of a wooden spoon then add a splash of white wine. Tear in half of your basil. Season and cook over low heat for 20-30 minutes stirring occasionally until it darkens. If it reduces too much you can add a bit of water near the end of the cooking time.
Wipe the salt and liquid from the vegetables with a paper towel. Heat your outdoor grill or cast iron range grill. Brush the vegetables lightly with olive oil and grill on both sides.
Assemble the parmigiana in a casserole dish or aluminum baking tin measuring approximately 25cm x 30cm. First, cover the bottom with a thin layer of sauce, add one layer of aubergine, then add another thin layer of sauce, a few fresh basil leaves, a torn mozzarella, and a generous sprinkle of Parmigiano. Add a layer of courgette and repeat with sauce and cheese. Add the last layer of aubergine and finish with sauce, mozzarella, and Parmigiano. Heat the oven to 180° Celsius and cook for about 30 minutes.
Notes:
Cut the aubergine lengthwise if they are long and into discs if they are round.
They say there is no need to salt aubergines and courgettes these days, but I am a traditionalist and still hit the odd bitter one so I’d rather be safe than sorry. Feel free to skip this step. When grilling the vegetables you want them cooked but don’t grill them to the point where you can use them to make shoes.
The amount of my sauce might be slightly in excess but I prefer not to run short. The sauce can be run through a food mill for those who prefer a smoother finish.
As mentioned above, this recipe doesn’t have to be prepared all at once but can be prepared in steps during the cool hours of the day (ie. make the sauce and grill the night before. Assemble and bake the next morning or evening to serve the same night). Rest for at least a half hour. This dish is best served warm.