The eggplant is a pretty divisive vegetable. For all the richness of its lushly purple skin, some can't get past the slimy texture. I happen to be pro-eggplant. I haven't had a lot of it my life, but the Crescent Moon Bakery, an Afgani restaurant in my neighborhood, has a Chef's Special pizza with eggplant as its primary topping that won me over. So I planted an eggplant in the garden this year, and this morning harvested the first beautiful veggie.
Tonight I made Salsa di Melanzane per Spahetti, a thick pasta sauce with the eggplant, zucchini and tomatoes, all from my garden. The description in Extending the Table declares this recipe as "a good way to introduce eggplants to skeptics" (194). There were no skeptics at our table tonight though, as we all dug into our penne, sauce and mozzarella.
I like the idea of certain eaters as skeptics. It's not a bad thing to question what we eat or how it might taste. It is especially important to question where our food comes from and how it gets to our table. I even think we should be skeptical about what we consider food. Just one page prior to this recipe, there is an anecdote that explains that North Americans tend to believe that anything one can eat is indeed food, while Ugandans only label those very necessary staples of the diet as food (192).
The reasons why I garden are many. It's fun. The produce just tastes better. It costs less to produce our own foods, which we eat all year. And there is an ethical reason as well lurking in the leaves. When we blindly grab a box from the shelf or a bushel from the produce aisle, without questioning ingredients or origins, we risk perpetuating unhealthy and destructive practices across the globe, ones that disregard fair trade practices, environmental health, and the humane treatment of animals.
Before I get all Michael Pollan here, I am not a perfect eater. But I am willing to indulge my inner skeptic if means an occasional eggplant or two.
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