Cradock – If vegetables were like the humans who eat them, they’d regard one another with suspicion, look at each other askance, and make character judgements based on their colour, size and shape.
And yes, I do include tomatoes under the generic term “vegetables” because, even though technically they are a fruit, do you seriously think they belong in the same category as apples, oranges and mangoes?
Be as pedantic as you like, but to me tomatoes are an honorary vegetable. It’s not for nothing that somebody made a movie called Revenge of the Killer Tomatoes. Brilliant piece of movie-making, that.
Tomatoes might even have a case for demanding to be reclassified. Under an authoritarian regime they’d be made to wear colour-coded armbands and be sworn at in the streets by spiky-haired potato-head yobs.
And avocados. If that’s a fruit, I’m a pumpkin. Avos need to rise up and account for themselves, demanding their rightful place in the community of vegetable nations. Avocados have been in the diaspora for too long. No matter how many salads they get flung into, they’re still made to sit on the sidelines of the vegetable world, like wallflowers at a ball.
Preening nearby, and sneering at the avos and tomatoes, will be the onions, all too aware of how indispensable they are. “You can put us in anything except dessert,” as they like to say. But they won’t want to come to the rescue of the tomatoes lest the potatoes pick on them and in all likelihood crush them.
To the potatoes, with all their beige blandness and lack of distinguishing features, any vegetable blessed with luscious greens or sultry pinks or oranges should be scoffed at in the way humans who are brought up in one way of life, whether religion or some or other lifestyle choice, like to mock those who are unlike themselves.
To a potato, leeks may be gay, carrots dismissed as redheads and beetroot suspected of being potential terrorists.
To all of the above, brinjals and kalamata olives may be regarded as being of too dark a hue to be allowed to hang out with the paler vegetables. Brinjals and black olives may find themselves living in a separate area, and not being encouraged to visit the same haunts as the celery, cucumbers and even the tomatoes.
But, fortunately, vegetables, as far as we know, are not as stupid as humans, and so it is more likely that they’re all quite happy to hang out in the crispers of millions of domestic fridges, playing cards and telling silly veggie jokes, between rounds of Vegetable Monopoly (“Do not pass Go. Proceed to Fruit & Veg City.” This to much chortling in the crisper, in case you’ve ever wondered what that gurgling sound in your fridge was.)
More fool the other vegetables then, because brinjals and kalamata olives are not only delicious in their own right, but also make a fabulous pairing in a pâté, as I discovered this week when eyeing a solitary brinjal and wondering what to do with it. Then it hit me: pair it with kalamata olives in a pâté. Both take garlic supremely well. And lemon. And with the addition of a little ground cumin, I imagined they could make an excellent spread for Di’s rosemary bread.
They’re oval, black and shiny. The tiny one looks like a mini-me of the fat one, seemingly its grown-up cousin. And you’ll love this pâté if you like either of these two gems of the kitchen garden.
Why butter? Because it makes for a creamier pâté which also sets well in the fridge, and you need to bring the pâté straight from the fridge to the table when you’re ready to serve your guests.
BRINJAL AND KALAMATA OLIVE PATÉ
1 medium onion
1 plump clove garlic
3 Tbs butter
1 fat, fresh brinjal
1 tsp ground cumin
An equal quantity of kalamata olives
juice of half a lemon
150ml mascarpone cheese
salt and pepper to taste
Finely dice the onion. Crush the garlic and then chop it very finely.
Sauté this in melted butter until soft but not browned. Don’t peel the brinjal as the skin adds to the colour of the pâté as well as lending texture. Just slice it thinly and then finely dice each slice. Add the diced brinjal and ground cumin to the simmering onions and garlic and, stirring, cook until softened. Add more butter if you need to.
Remove the pips from the kalamata olives, cut them into small pieces and stir them in. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Leave this off the stove to cool to room temperature, then stir in the mascarpone and lemon juice until well blended. Refrigerate until needed, and serve with suitable bread or crackers.
I was thrilled with the outcome. The trick is to use equal quantities of brinjal and olives, so that you can taste both in the finished product. And to keep it away from the killer tomatoes.
Just in case.
Weekend Argus