Ratatouille and the passing of Time

In the lives of my neigbours, a retired couple with two loveable grandchildren, the classic French dish Ratatouille, has literally marked the passing of each happy year of their almost-forty-year union. It was the dish he cooked for his wife on their first date. Apparently he was a specialist, having based his nutritional intake as a student on this economic, yet satisfying dish.

And  since that day,  he has faithfully brought home the two key ingredients in his version of the dish from the local grocery store.  One plump aubergine, generous enough to support the dish single-handedly, and two red peppers, to give it that sweet zing.  He doesn't bother with baby marrows. Just the aubergine and peppers. Every week. For close-on 40 years.

On hearing this remarkable story, I found the thought of it very endearing. Imagine that! Having eaten a bowl of ratatouille together, every week for forty years. That's 2000 onions peeled and gently sautéed, just for starters.

So it was that I was lucky enough to sample a little helping of the remarkable Ratatouille, brought over in an oval pyrex serving bowl with lid, earlier this week, just after lunch time. I liked the look of it immediately. Rustic tones of brown interspersed with a wholesome splash of red seen through the gentle film of  condensation clinging the to the lid.  It was still warm.

"The aubergines are cooked in the microwave, she said, otherwise they absorb too much oil." I silently resolved to always cook my aubergines in some form of an oven.

" Don't bother sprinkling them with salt. Not necessary, I never do" she added. I'm never going to either, I thought.  She explained: " All I add to the pan of sautéed onions and peppers is the brinjal, a tin of tomatoes, garlic and herbs. Sometimes we buy a few smoked sausages, but that's generally it" .

I genuinely thanked her, grateful that she took the time to bring me some over.

 Back inside, on my kitchen counter, stood the beginnings of our own lunch. Cous-cous swelling up in a covered bowl. Rinsed Rocket leaves in a colander in the basin. Sliced courgettes, browning in the grill pan. The remarkable Ratatouille had just literally rescued this lot.

We sat down at the counter to have our impromptu pot-luck lunch - a bed of rocket leaves covered with  cous-cous, grilled red onion and courgettes,  finished off with Ratatouille and topped off pan-fried feta cheese. It was as I thought it could be. Delicious!

The washed pyrex bowl stood on my counter for a few days after the pot luck, as I struggled to find a way to reciprocate this kind gesture. Inspiration came last night in the form of another current obsession, Red Velvet Cupcakes.

So it was that today, just after lunch, I took two red velvet cupcakes, nestled in the pyrex bowl,  to my sweet neighbours. We chatted about them having the cupcakes with afternoon coffee - a frequent daily ritual - much the same as having a daily glass of wine with lunch and falling asleep in an arm chair, doing the daily crossword. Without a care in the world.

And I understood the soundness of daily rituals and how they form the bones of a body of time passing. I would like to measure a  successful life with bowls of Ratatouille.

Its been more than a year since I posted on the blog. More than 300 cups of coffee ago. I simply had nothing to say until today.