Eggplant parmesan was a frequent Friday night, meatless fare in our Italian American kitchen. Eggplant parmesan conjures many memories. The smell of the eggplant and the sound of bubbling oil crisping the delicate sweet eggplant flesh still fills my nose and rings in my ears. Sometime in my childhood my father brought home a Ware Ever electric skillet. I can see it ever so clearly. It mesmerized.
The black plastic legs and black plastic lid knob set off the silver sheen of the metal. The plug-in electric cord and temperature regulator in its soft and shining pristine black plastic casing and white numbered dial entranced my sight a and seduced my touch. The lines of the skillet curved gracefully. You wanted to hug it in your hands. The invisible geometric arc that curved from the rounded square lid down and out to the extended and delicate black plastic feet enthralled my young eyes.
Here on our kitchen counter was the modern world. It was the world we had just seen at the New York World’s Fair. We were modern. My mother used that skillet for everything that called for frying. My father used it to make Sunday breakfast: first the bacon and scrapple, then setting them to the side to drain on a paper towel, he made the pancakes. Sunday breakfast was his specialty. On Shrove Tuesday, it was the hot oil bath of fasnacht doughnuts. On Christmas Eve it served up the fried crabs cakes and scallops. The Ware Ever electric skillet was at the heart of our kitchen.
In summer countless eggplants were sacrificed on the altar of that skillet. Eggplant was cut into rounds or into spears. The eggplant slices were coated with egg and flour and breadcrumbs and submitted to bubbling hot oil. No sooner were they on the cooling rack then we attacked: hovering vultures intent on their victim. I don’t know how our mother had anything left to use for dinner. Fried eggplant, direct from the fryer, are a sweet, mellow, creamy delight like no other. We devoured them.Odd to tell, of all of us, our mother, to this day, does not care for eggplant.
Melanzanne alla parmigiana, La storia.
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Other sources suggest that the word parmesan derives from the Sicilian word “palmigiana,” “slatted shutters” and suggests the layered slices of the eggplant.This explanation is all the more plausible when you note that many recipes in Italian are not called “melanzane alla parmigiana” (eggplant parmesan) but “parmigiana di melanzane,” (parmesaned eggplant.) In other words, to “parmesan” something means to set it out in receding layers.
As I have just mentioned, Italian recipes call for the eggplant to be sliced on its length. My mother, and I think many others, sliced the eggplant on the round. With the rounds, assembling the dish did not lend itself to the criss-cross Italian method that gave the dish its name. In our house, the rounds were stacked in layers of sauce and cheese. In that way, each serving was pre-set and each person received a stack of rounds, something like the way you serve pancakes.
The other big question with eggplant is that of salting and sweating. In the recipe I offer here, I follow the traditional method. But, it must be said, that there are no small number of cooks these days who contend that the process is pointless. Perhaps they are correct. They probably are. But, it’s always good to know the tradition before we cast it away. The first printed version of the dish appears in Vincenzo Corrado’s “Il Cuoco Gallante,” Naples, 1786. But this version does not use tomatoes, but only butter and spices.
The version we know today is first in print by Ippolito de Calvalcante’s ,”Cucina teorico-pratica”, Naples, 1837. The exact origin and meaning of the name of this dish is lost in history. What can be established however, is that the original dish is based on eggplant. While if we follow most Italian recipes, and if we ascribe to the history of the dish as a “shutter slats” then you would slice the eggplant along its broad side and set up the dish in a casserole form in a baking pan, just as you would the related “moussaka.” In our house, however, my mother always cut the eggplant in rings and stacked them in a little tower. My mother added another touch. If it were not Friday, she would usually stir the sauce into ground beef for between the layers.
I found this Italian website that shows the “shutter” version and the stacked version. http://www.dissapore.com/grande-notizia/la-ricetta-perfetta-parmigiana-di-melanzane-napoletana/ |
What you need
Preparing the eggplant
Tradition calls for eggplant to be salted to release its bitter liquid. Today, some cooks skip this time consuming step.
Tradition calls for eggplant to be salted to release its bitter liquid. Today, some cooks skip this time consuming step.