Grilled Ratatouille

It is that time of year again. The time which some greet with excitement and as a sign of summer abundance. The time which anyone who has a garden or anyone who knows someone who has a garden or anyone who has left their car unlocked or doorstep unguarded at this time of year is all too familiar with. It is zucchini(courgette) time.

People here in Nova Scotia say it is the only time of year people lock their doors here. Guarding against the product of the glut that even one prolific plant can provide. Everyone seems to have about fourteen recipes to deal with the stuff in all its forms - long or round, forest green to speckled pale, almost blue green to bright yellow - yes, I lump summer squash in here too.

Eggplants (aubergines) are starting here as well, shiny and jewel-coloured. So, in combination with the zucchini, it kind of shouts out ratatouille. But, ratatouille? Yawn, yawn, yawn. 

I think ratatouille is great but it isn’t very exciting, is it? I have spent many a month in the south of France looking at various renditions of the stuff on every menu. None of them bad, but few of them jumping up and screaming, ‘Eat me!’ Consequently, my mission was to revitalize the ratatouille concept for, well, for my family, I guess.

The days are still hot here and, as I far as I am concerned, it is never too late for another salad days recipe. This one is great hot or warm or cold. It travels well and is easy to eat with just a fork so ticks the ‘great for a picnic’ box as well. 

It is great on its own, with a hunk of feta and some olives and fresh bread but serves as a worthy side dish to any grilled meat or fish. Stephen and the girls had some grilled chicken with theirs’ and, at least in the girls’ case, the ratatouille disappeared first. I faintly recall Stephen declaring that it ‘wasn’t bad for aubergine’. I felt like I had done my job. 

‘Ratatouille renovated?’ 

‘Check.’  

I used garlic scape pesto in this but a clove of minced garlic would be just fine. The dressing uses the remaining mixture that you brush the vegetables with before grilling. 

I contemplated tomato for this. Had they been ready, as in ripe, I may have tried grilling some with the rest of the vegetables but, they weren’t. I then considered dicing some and adding to all the vegetables after grilling but we were eating this warm the first time around and I had a vision of tomato mush gluing the whole lot together. I did add some to the cold leftovers and it was a really good cooked/fresh contrast. So, if you are going to have this cold or when you re-purpose it, I would throw in a handful of chopped fresh tomatoes. I used some halved cherry tomatoes which I rescued from Poppy, who was about two-thirds of the way through the entire pint. 

I used summer squash here but any zucchini, summer, patty pan, etc. squash would do just fine. I also used some fennel fronds, because I have some growing but these are easily omitted.

Grilled Ratatouille

1 large eggplant (aubergine) sliced lengthwise in 1cm(ish) slices

3 medium summer squash sliced in half lengthwise

6 scallions (spring onions)

1 medium red onion sliced into 1cm rounds

2 red peppers tops, bottoms and seeds removed

Marinade

1/8 cup garlic scape pesto

1/8 cup olive oil

Dressing

1 tablespoon marinade from above

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 1/2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar

1/4 teaspoon salt

Handful of chopped flat leaf parsley and fennel fronds (if you have fennel to hand)

Brush eggplant and zucchini slices with the marinade. Let sit while preparing other vegetables and heating the barbecue.

Grill over medium heat and in batches, if necessary, all of the vegetables until they are nicely marked and just cooked through. None should take more than a couple of minutes on each side. Remove from the barbecue.

Chop all of the grilled vegetables into bite-sized pieces and put in a mixing bowl.

Whisk all ingredients for the dressing together and pour over the vegetables. Toss to combine with the chopped herbs.

Serve warm or cold, with or without feta, on its own or as a side.

Who Ever Said There is no Such Thing as a Free Lunch?

There are many great things about this time of year - daffodils, tulips, hyacinths, people cheerier and smiling in shirt sleeves, longer days and promises of fresh, local produce. Until that produce kicks in, we starve it out, willing ourselves not to buy the clamshell strawberries that taste of nothing more than the plastic they come packed in, salivating at the thought of the market and bags of Wanda’s salad mixes, looking at the rhubarb to see if it is tall enough to cut yet. We overlook one of the most plentiful and delicious, especially at this time of year, greens that comes free to any lazy gardener - the evil dandelion.

This early, dandelion greens are tender and still fairly mild. Later in the year, they get tougher and stronger tasting, sometimes furrier and need more heavy handed cooking. And, let’s face it, if your lawn is anything like mine, there is no shortage of them.

Poppy and I spent a beautiful morning, pulling dandelions out of the path in front of our house. Poppy, after listening to me whine about them all morning, asked, ‘What are we going to do with all these horrible weeds?’ 

I made a mental note to once again be careful of what comes out of my mouth in front of her, ‘We can eat them all up.’

‘You can’t eat plants that you find because they might be poison,’ she replies, hand on hip.

‘Dandelions are safe darlin’. We can eat them and they are really good for us.’

‘Can we eat some for lunch Mommy?’

‘You betcha!’

I also had some fresh eggs, from my grandfather’s chickens and I thought, how perfect, a free lunch.

If your eggs are this dirty, please wash them before cracking. Also, don't forget that the omelette is cooking while you are busily playing restaurant. As you will see, mine got a little darker than it should have. 

Dandelion Omelette

4 nice fresh eggs beaten

1 or 2 nice big handfuls of dandelion greens

1/4 onion finely diced

1/2 cup feta cheese

1/2 teaspoon butter

1/2 teaspoon olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Rinse or soak dandelions in cold water. Dry them off but no entirely, the extra few drops of water will help them to cook.

Heat pan over medium heat. Add oil and butter. When butter is melted, add onion and saute until translucent. Add dandelions and saute until soft. Pour in egg and quickly stir to mix. Turn heat to low and gently cook omelette. Add feta and roll omelette. Or, if you prefer just fold it over. Flip it onto a plate and feel very virtuous while eating.

Okay, so it wasn't entirely free. I paid for the feta. And for the onion. And for the olive oil and butter. But, most of it was and that felt good. 

Beans, Beans...

Baked beans, like sauerkraut, can cause mixed emotions. There are the dark, molassesy rich ones sometimes with a hint of bacon and delicious with brown bread slathered with salty butter. There are tomatoey ones with vegetables and delicious with rice. There are the nasty ones that come in a tin, a staple of the ‘full english.’ Then, there are Gigandaes Plaki.

Pronounced yigantas, gigandaes literally means giant beans in Greek. Cooked with stock and diced vegetables and tomato. Finished with olive oil and dill. Served with fresh bread or pita, feta cheese, maybe a couple other meze - tzatziki and calamari or greek sausage. And, if you are feeling brave, cold retsina, or at least a pint of cold Mythos.

When I was pregnant with Poppy in England, I wanted to eat Gigandaes all the time. Luckily, or not, they are available in jars in nicer supermarkets there. With Tilly, the same craving returned but there were no Gigandaes available in this little town. So, I had to make them, because there is no point denying a pregnant woman something she really wants. Making the Gigandaes makes me, and Poppy, happy. We usually make fresh bread when we make them and supper is stress free on those days.

Post pregnancy, the Gigandaes have maintained their place at the supper, or lunch, table. I don’t always use the big beans and the recipe works well with most beans. These are giant limas. Here in Nova Scotia, we have Soldier beans and Jacob’s Cattle beans and it works well with those.

The recipe I start from is in The Livebait Cookbook, by Theodore Kiriakou and Charles Campion. I change the quantities often and have never followed it to the word. Here is how I do it.

Gigandaes Plaki

1 pound gigandaes (or butter beans or giant limas or soldier or white kidney or cannelini or Jacob’s Cattle beans or ..., you get the idea)

3 ribs celery

2 medium onions

2 leeks

3 carrots

4 cloves garlic

2 cups diced tomatoes (fresh are super, but you can use frozen, or tinned)

750 ml (3 cups) stock (if you have homemade, great. If not, use the lowest sodium version you can find.  The original recipe says chicken stock but you can substitute vegetable stock, I do.)

Black pepper (a little or a lot, depending on how you like it)

2 bay leaves

Large handful chopped parsley

1/2 large handful roughly chopped fresh dill

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

Salt to taste (I don’t put salt in anything these days, because I whizz a little bit of most things up for Tilly, be careful if you add salt if you are going to use feta. I would suggest a little sprinkle of sea salt when you serve or eat the beans.

Feta cheese (as much or as little as you like)

Soak the beans overnight. Or, if you are using big beans (gigandaes, butter, giant limas) for 24 hours.

Dice the celery, onions, leeks and carrots. Mince the garlic.

Drain the beans, cover with cold water and bring to the boil. Cook for about 30 minutes to an hour, until the beans are not quite soft. The cooking time will depend on the size of the beans you are using. Drain the beans.

Preheat the oven to 350º.

In a heavy pot, with a lid add the tomatoes, stock, diced vegetables, bay leaves and pepper to the beans and bring to the boil.

Put it in the oven with the lid on and cook until beans are tender, 2-3 hours.

Remove from oven, add parsley, dill and olive oil.

Serve with feat cheese and pita, on their own or with other meze.

Pregnant or not, it is totally heartwarming stuff.