Day 24: Ratatouille

Today I asked my local legumiere, in staggeringly articulate French, whether he could give me a recipe that was extremely fast, extremely French and extremely vegetarian. Responding immediately, as if by reflex, he unfurled a single word: Ratatouille.

Let's do this shit.

I should mention before going any further how ridiculously lucky I am to have a fresh vegetable vendor not ten minutes from my house, one that doesn't require a second mortgage to buy a head of broccoli. Any dedicated reader of this blog will be well familiar with the Laws of Paris. Law #1: Shit's expensive. If you don't believe me try buying an espresso at the Eiffel Tower, or equivalently try buying a single goddamned apple from the fruit stand next to the Pompidou Center. What you realize in both cases, having just made yourself 4 euros poorer, is that almost every single fiscal transaction that takes place in Paris accrues a location-based markup. In other words, while a traditional economic framework recognizes both exchange value and use value, a complete understanding of the French economy requires a sense of scene value. If I buy a loaf of bread from you it might have some intrinsic value, but much more important to the price is the backdrop against which the sale takes place: the scenery, the humidity, the birdsong, the very esprit of that moment in time.

Of course, my vegetable hook up is in Montreuil. On en profite.

Both my vegetable dealer (with whom you can hear me having a conversation about social versus monetary capital, below) and ratatouille itself claim Mediterranean ancestry, the former in Algeria and the latter in southern France, near Provence and Nice. The dish basically consists of a whole bunch of vegetables thrown together and cooked tender (although I guess you could say the same of most dishes, if you were a complete idiot), reflecting its utilitarian and military origin. Given how quick and easy it is to prepare, it's not hard to imagine seeing it served at a military rata, or mess hall. Tradition dictates only the presence of eggplant and tomatoes, with other ingredients like peppers, squash and onions adding timbre to the fundamental culinary frequencies. As is usually the case, well-to-do, self-described gourmets sometimes add olives, a gesture that transports the ratatouille to the bohémienne languedocienne style.


My recipe could not be simpler. Anyone who's made pancakes with me before knows my deep affection for reductionist recipes, especially those that can be reduces to a single number. Maybe you've had the chance to try my stupid-hot fajitas? What about all-ones pancakes?

All-ones Pancakes

•  1 cup flour
•  1 tablespoon sugar
•  1 egg
•  1 tablespoon melter butter
•  1 teaspoon salt
•  1 cup buttermilk
•  1 tablespoon baking powder

1. Heat a large skillet. Add oil to coat.
2. Combine all ingredients
3. Add as many one-tablespoon dollops of batter to the pan as will fit. Cook until done on each side, turning once. Serve.

 Easy as a piece of piss. Anyway, here's my reductionist Ratatouille:

Ratatouille à la Rata

• 1 eggplant, about eggplant sized, chopped
• 1 squash, about squash sized, chopped
• 1 bell pepper, about bell pepper sized, chopped
• 1 tomato, about tomato sized, chopped
• 1 onion, about onion sized, chopped
• Olive oil, salt, pepper, extant

1.  Heat the oil in a large saucepan.
2. Add the onions and a pinch of salt. Cook for about five minutes.
3. Add the eggplant. Cook for about five minutes.
4. Add the pepper and the squash. Cook for about five minutes
5. Add the tomato. Cook for about five minutes
6. Maybe cook a little longer until shit looks basically done?
7. Add oil, salt and pepper to taste. Server hot, cold, lukewarm, as a Popsicle, fucking whatever, man. But have bread for sure.

Easy as a recipe gets, making that pancake shit look like building an atom bomb. Which might not even be that hard, I don't know.

Before

After

Baguette et fromage obligatoire

Now granted, if you spent a lot of time comparing recipes, were willing to buy a few more ingredients and spend a little more time cooking, would your ratatouille turn out a little better? Simply put, no.