I could’ve used my 800th post on something worthwhile like my thoughts on health-care or bitching about the first day of school moving even closer to the last day of school, but I’ll post another recipe. After all, the health-care is not going anywhere and school already started, but the eggplant season may be over at any time.
This is probably the simplest recipe you will find on this blog. You will need only 6 ingredients: eggplant, tomatoes, flour, (olive) oil, garlic and salt.
When picking an eggplant try to get an evenly shaped one so the slices are similar in size. Slice the eggplant in about 1/4 inch slices.
Dust with flour on both sides…
…salt lightly and place in the skillet on medium-low heat with a pretty decent amount of oil in it. If you salt the eggplant beforehand it will start losing liquid and shrivel.
Cook eggplant on both sides. It doesn’t need to brown, just poke it with a knife or a fork, if it easily goes in – it’s ready. Remove on paper towels and cook another batch.
The eggplant seems to soak up great quantities of oil, keep adding as needed. While the eggplant is cooking, slice some ripe tomatoes.
Assemble the final product-a slice of eggplant, a slice of tomato, pressed garlic to taste.
I ate everything you see on this plate by myself in one setting.
This could be a side-dish, or a Hors d’œuvre, also called “zakuska” in Russian – something that goes well after a cold shot of vodka. Just as good or better on the next day. Keep refrigerated.
Now pour yourself an aforementioned shot of vodka, drink it, eat an eggplant-tomato sandwich. Do you still want to argue about health-care or schools? Repeat. How about now? I didn’t think so. At this point you would start singing a Russian folk song but since you can’t how about this one, it sounds equally stupid.
Google tweaked something in its Life Magazine Archives search and now I am finding some of the best photos I was ever able to post on this blog. This batch was taken by the Life photographer William Vandivert in 1938. I can’t place most of these, so feel free to comment.
When I was growing up® beauty salon employees were not dressing up as nurses any longer, although this seems to be a fancy establishment in 1956 Moscow.
On the day we went to eat at Wilma’s Real Good Food, the real Wilma, Brett’s Mom, was helping around the trailer. That’s why I had to scrap my original clever titles Inside Wilma’s and Wilma’s Under The Covers. Seeing Wilma talking to customers and helping her son was just as much fun as actually eating Brett’s amazing food. Naming a business after your Mom must be an ultimate quality control.
