Eggplant Spread

Remember when I said there were few things more appealing to me on prospect than Shrimp Dip? That was before I had to make Eggplant Spread.

The recipe for Eggplant Spread is tucked away surreptitiously in the back of the 'Appetizers' section of my recipe book. It is also accredited to Liliana Botnaru and David Jesse, who I am sure are lovely people. Unfortunately, I have no idea who they are. They most certainly are not anyone I, or to my knowledge Josh, know(s), let alone people who were on the wedding invite list - i.e. those who number the contributors to my recipe book. My theory is that they are acquaintances of either Tolga or Halim, two cool Turkish guys at Iowa State who became friends with Josh's parents and are usually part of our Christmas festivities. The recipe claims to hail from Moldova. As in my limited geographical awareness I theorize Moldova is nearabouts to Turkey, I have decided that these recipe originators must be friends of Tolga and/or Halim. Also, the handwriting of the recipe's submittor appears to be left-handed, and as you know all lefties are Turkish.

Of course, I could just call Josh's mom and ask her if she remembers who submitted this recipe or who these mystery people are. But why would I want to do that when I can make up wild stories in my head?

In any case, whoever these Liliana and David people are, they obviously hate me because I think eggplant and all things eggplant-related are disgusting. Once upon a time a zillion years ago I decided I would like eggplant on principle. It was a lovely color, and unusual, therefore it would be a vegetable I enjoyed. Then I had one itsy bite of it and realized it tasted like moldy towel and have, sensibly I would say, avoided it ever since.

Unfortunately that grace period ended as of Thursday, when I had to not only purchase eggplant, but make it into a spread. Our friend Mark was in town for a triathalon, and we were going to Judd and Cassie's again for a big Iowa throw down, so I figured I could fob the disgusting sludge off on them. Mark was the first subject. After yelling about how gross it was going to be while I was making it, Mark initially succombed to my not-so-subliminal suggestion and proclaimed in typical good-mannered Iowa fashion, 'Well, the pita is good.' Everyone else followed suit, which, well, how can you blame them after I show up at their house where they will be grilling me dinner and say, 'Here is a disgusting bowl of eggplant spread. Enjoy'? I forced myself to have a taste, and for my part I found it as foul as I suspected. But that is to be expected considering how I feel about eggplant.

As far as the Iowans were concerned, however, my mind games were no match for their hearty, agriculture-friendly tastebuds and good sense. They decided that it was actually decent, grows on you, and ate more of it. The ultimate verdict: it is somewhat bland, but all right and no matter how loudly I give something bad publicity, your own tastebuds are all that matters. Since Iowa now allows gay marriage and California doesn't, I guess I'm going to have to listen to them.

Please note Mark's spectacular hand modeling

Eggplant Spread

2-3 eggplants, baked
nuts or sunflower seeds
2 spoons of mayonaise
1 tomato, finely chopped

Bake eggplants until soft. Realize you have no idea how long this will be or if you are supposed to cut it up first, etc. Google, 'How to bake an eggplant' and discover no one just bakes an eggplant, they all do other things to it. Take an amalgam of random recipes and figure if you cut it in half and bake it for about 20-30 minutes it should do. Respond to Josh and Mark's compliments of, 'Mmm, smells good,' with loud responses of, 'No it does not.'

Let them cool down (the eggplants, not Mark and Josh). Or ignore this instruction and just hold onto them with paper towels to keep your fingers from burning and get on with it.

Peel off the skin, which probably is easier if you follow the previous instruction.

Beat the eggplants to make a smooth puree. Realize they did not cook long enough to even become a smooth puree if you put them in the mixer, but instead just a foul, kind of soupy hull of vegetable meaty seedy yuck. Give up on this after a fashion, and put them in the food processor. Yell, 'Gross! Gross!' all the while.

Add salt, nuts (or in my case, sunflower seeds), and tomato. Mix with mayo. Yell, 'Gross! Gross!'

Serve cold to Iowans who insist it does not taste gross even though you know better.