ratatouille
Do you remember when Pixar was really making movie magic? Back before all of the serialized sequel-ing and excessive merchandising. If you're anything like me, you remember fondly the days of olde when there was only one single toy story and that's just the way you liked it. My more critical thoughts on the entertainment industry as a whole aside, one of the last really great films those guys in Emeryville put together was a little ditty by the name of Ratatouille. Ratatouille is about a rat with some big dreams. Man, did that movie ever get me thinking.
Ratatouille is, apparently, French, but I promise you that when I initially set out to do this I was under the impression that it was an Italian dish. I guess there's just something about peasant food and my people that I tend to associate mentally right off the bat.
one zucchini
one eggplant
one anaheim pepper
one shallot
two roma tomatoes
three cloves of garlic
two table spoons of olive oil
salt
pepper
thyme
We're wrapping up Zucchini Week with a bang. You cannot possibly understand how long I've been waiting to do this one. I'm sitting here, right now, in a blanket, laughing my ass off as I type these words.
This was another recipe that I was pulling out of my ass on the day of. I checked out a couple of versions other people have done of it online, but my main inspiration for this project was the famous one Remy made for the food critic at the end of the film. I haven't seen it in a while, I don't know how obvious that is to somebody looking at what came of the endeavor. Wash the veggies. I'm pretty sure this is how they did it in the movie.
My most visceral memory of it would have to be the uncanny, eerily wafer-thin slices of produce that comprise the body of the casserole as it appears in its original context. This part definitely took the most time; try to cut everything to about one-eighth of an inch in terms of width. If you've got a mandoline slicer, all the better. Your dish will really embody that essential, early-2000's CGI look that is so chic right now.
Get your thyme, salt, and pepper into a dish with some olive oil. Using either a press or a microplane, shred the garlic and stir that in, as well. Nuke the mixture for about fourteen seconds or so, just enough to imbibe the oil with the flavors of the seasoning.
My mom got me a silly little silicon brush to go along with my silly little pink spatula for my birthday earlier this month, and thanks to this blog post I finally have a good excuse to use it. Brush the olive oil all over the vegetables, taking care to saturate the zucchini and eggplant fully.
I have no idea why I didn't anticipate the mess this part was; the garlic slop does tend to separate from the oil in a way that hinders productivity quite a bit. Just take your time and make sure each slice has a little bit of schmutz on it before moving on to the next. Everything seems to sort of stick together better when there's at least some amount of garlic between every veggie. I know, it's a lot of oil. Let's start our diets tomorrow.
Coat the bottom of your baking dish with some sauce. Those familiar with the movie will remember the striking presentation Remy accomplished with his version of the dish. While mine certainly does not compare to his in terms of craftsmanship, I did try my best to emulate his design.
This part actually took an embarrassingly long time to do. I tried to choose the configuration that would allow the pungent-ness of the aromatics to penetrate the beefier, blander vegetables as thoroughly as possible. The shallots wouldn't stop getting lost underneath my zucchini slices, though, so I kept losing my place. I was never very bright as a kid.
She's all dolled up, ready for the big dance. Light your oven up to 350° and cover the dish up with some tinfoil. Bake this thing for forty-five minutes, removing the foil for the final fifteen.
It came out...just a little bit disappointing. It lost quite a bit of volume and density while it was roasting, and that's nobody's fault but my own.
My biggest regret from this day was not brushing any sauce or oil over top, same as when I made that pie a while back. If you're going to try this at home, do not skip this crucial step, as the edges do lack a certain moistness. With that being said, though, I was quite satisfied with this dish otherwise. The vegetables were soft and tender. The thyme imparted an unusual floral note that elevated the entire thing beyond the taste of plain old garlic and spaghetti sauce. Magnifique. Job well done.
I tried to do the fancy little stack Remy made for the food critic, whose name I am still struggling to recall. I'm not going to break down and Google it. I've got too much pride for that, and a reputation to maintain.
This is probably one of those meals that was invented out of necessity in a time of great need, before humanity was fortunate enough to have movies about sentient race cars to see in the theater, or even toilets that flush in their own private homes. I can't even imagine what it was like to be living in France in the 1800's. From what I understand, there was a lot of fighting going on, and almost certainly no WiFi to help pass the time. It really makes you think about how lucky we all are to be alive now, in 2017, where none of us will ever know what it's like to be more than eight hundred feet away from a brick-and-mortar Starbucks at any given moment.
This dish does particularly well left over; something about having everything sit together in a big pile seems to intensify the flavor impact. Enjoy alone or with friends.
