Ratatupper.

And then came the night that I had more than I knew what to do with -- partly due to an uncontrollable visit to the farmer's market to satiate an okra craving. But more on that in a minute.

I had alllllllll these vegetables. There are two of us. What was a gal to do? 

Something entirely new, turns out. This new restaurant opened in the same spot where we used to enjoy pretend authentic Mexican near our house, Senor Peppers. We hated the new restaurant before it opened, simply because it was not Senor Peppers, and then also because it had the stupid name of Blue 44. What the hell? Blue what? Is this some ridiculous sports bar coming to Chevy Chase? Reluctantly, however, we visited one night after someone glowed about a sweet potato biscuit (I mean, come ON) with boar sausage. Not only did Blue 44 have nice people and ginger beer for my rum, but the menu looked downright amazing. 

It included ratatouille. 

What is ratatouille, Brandon asked? Well, I cannot confess to making or having much of it, but my understanding is that it is a vegetable semi-stew, usually involving eggplant, which I never ate much since it -- at times -- results in weird bumps on my tongue. Hmmm, says Brandon. He was skeptical. I did not blame him. This one came with polenta. Polenta is not my favorite. With many other things on the menu calling out to us, we have yet to meet Blue 44's ratatouille. But I guarantee you it is now on the list.

SO. Faced with all of these vegetables, especially since one was a compulsively purchased eggplant from the farmer's market, all I could think was RATATOUILLE. So I did some reading, then made some things up.

[Aside: No, I have not seen the movie. No, I do not want to see the movie. No, I did not look at the recipe from the movie.]

I gathered together

• eggplant 
• yellow squash
• zucchini
• green pepper
• okra
• sweet onions
• tomatoes
• garlic
• salt

First, I cubed the eggplant, yellow squash and zucchini. Then, per the Interweb, I salted the hell out of it and set it aside in a colander to allow the salt to extract moisture while I chopped the other 724 things (felt like) awaiting my knife. 

Can we pause for a moment to take in the beauty of this okra? My initial plan was to include it in the ratatouille. Then I knew -- as much as I knew my roots remain planted firmly in Mississippi -- that this batch was destined for my cast iron skillet and some corn meal.

As the eggplant, squash, and zucchini lost its moisture, I whipped out my Dutch oven -- my most favorite non-consumable BFF in my kitchen -- and heated the requisite olive oil with minced garlic. Don't ask me how much -- probably two swirls' worth (using my olive oil flask, not the open pour of the bottle) and two or so garlic cloves. Since I have a tendency to burn garlic, I kept the flame low and added the halved-then-sliced sweet onions (about four -- these guys are small) to begin their transition to translucency and then the green pepper (I only had one but wished I had two). Meanwhile, I chopped the tomatoes, removing the seeds and innards. After a couple of tomatoes, I began to worry that I was not going to have any liquid in the pot, so I left the seeds and innards for tomatoes three and four (again, these were small guys). Turns out that was ENTIRELY unnecessary, and when I do this again (note use of "when" and not "if"), I will remove the seeds for all tomatoes. I added the eggplant, squash, and zucchini once the onions started to turn and the green pepper loosened up, then stirred it all about, a bit concerned that the Dutch oven would not contain all of this vegetable goodness heading its way. Finally I added the tomatoes. Mmm.

I topped the whole thing off with a bit of pepper and a TINY bit of Penzeys Bouquet Garni, which I had never used before and liked to say, brought it all to a lovely simmer, then set the lid to the Dutch oven askew and let the heat do its magic.

Then I turned to the okra I wisely kept from the pot.

Folks often complain about the goo that comes with okra. (I do not ever, ever use the word "slime" in relation to okra. "Slime" is so ... derogatory. Okra is too delicious for such language.) To them I say, USE THE GOO, people, USE THE GOO! I never understood why people fry okra by dipping it in some sort of egg mixture first. Eggs ain't got nothin' on okra's self-producing batter-holder. You shall see. 

First, I washed and sliced the okra, chucking the tips and butts. This is the most time-consuming task of the evening and the primary reason I do not eat okra every night -- NOT because it creates a mess. No, the slicing can be a pain in the arse. Remember the beauty of this okra noted above, however, and hear me, listen, understand my words: I would have sliced this okra all night, knowing what would become of it. 

Once sliced, the okra headed to a bowl of cold water. Looks harmless enough, eh? 

Then I readied my favorite Penzeys combo ... 

... and prepared a bowl of cornmeal by sprinkling in a healthy amount of spices (more Cajun the cayenne -- I wanted to live) and mixing it all about. 

Somewhere along the way I put a batch of quinoa on to cook as a vehicle for the vegetables. Also somewhere in there Brandon asked what I was cooking, to which I replied "some sort of ratatouille type thing," at which point "ratatupper" was born. Continuing on:

Now. Could someone please tell me why an egg is necessary when okra in cold water produces the following?

Note that steady stream of goo. I mean, thick as melted cheese. So gorgeous! So eager for cornmeal and a cast iron skillet! I grabbed the okra by the handful all gooed up and turned it into the bowl of spiced up cornmeal to coat.

Then I headed to my cast iron skillet, which was heating up on the now crowded stove with enough canola oil on the bottom to coat and provide a bit of depth. I NEVER immerse my okra in oil. That's just too greasy for me. This was enough okra to need two batches of cooking, as one never wants to let one's okra cook in anything other than a single layer.

At this point, about 20-30 minutes had passed, and the vegetables were looking and SMELLING mighty delicious, even as I regretted not removing the rest of the tomato innards.

I continued to dip, batter, and fry the okra, turning it as rarely as possible, until it had a nice brown coat. Then it rested in a bowl as I finished up the batch. Had I a colander that was dry and ready, I would have preferred to let it rest there, with a paper towel underneath, so as to maximize crispness. But I had lots going on here and could not be too picky.

With the quinoa cooked, the okra fried, and the ratatupper ready, I pulled together one of my most favorite meals ever that came out of my kitchen, even if I needed a good hour to pull it off. SO worth it, folks. So, so, so worth it. If you come to dinner -- especially you vegetarians -- do not be surprised if this is what you will find on your plate.