I’d been trying to figure out a delightfully easy way to say this, but I haven’t come up with one, so I guess I’ll just go ahead and say it. I’m not actually the culinary goddess I’m made myself out to be; not even a little bit. Case in point: last night’s Eggplant Parmesan.
It looks fine. I know it does. How could it not? It’s covered in delicious cheese and baked to an amazing degree of simultaneously gooey and crispy goodness. Underneath all that cheese, however, is a gross, greasy layer of disintegrating eggplant mush.
I am am very Not Good at a few specific things. Chief among them are cooking eggs in any way, shape or form, and frying things. The latter is a recently discovered flaw. I guess the eggplant just soaked up too much oil, or the oil wasn’t hot enough, or I didn’t drain them enough, or one of the other multitude of hiccups that can occur when undertaking such adventures.
For the record, Brent willingly ate the entire thing. His reaction, “It’s fine hon. The eggplant actually disappears in the whole equation.”
All in all, Eggplant Parmesan is on the list of things to try again, albeit with a slightly different preparation method.