Ratatouille is more than an animated movie

I’m 34 years old. How that happened I’m not sure. I look at that number and it seems completely foreign to me. Lately, however, I’m starting to see signs that prove the number may actually hold some truth. When I was younger, if anyone put any sort of food in front of me that contained onions, mushrooms or green peppers, I would be mortified. Gross, gross and grossest. Sign # 1 that I am, indeed, “old”: Onions exist in EVERY dish I make. They’re the best! No matter how they’re prepared, fried, diced, julienned, onions make ANY food that much better. Sign #2: Mushrooms are now better than candy. And, I’ll eat them straight, no need to mask the flavor. Sign #4: I intentionally add green peppers to things instead of painstakingly picking them out one-by-one, leaving a mountain of nastiness at the side of my plate. The final sign and most shocking: I would much rather eat a bowl full of vegetables than a cheeseburger.

Many years ago my brother, a blossoming chef, set his contribution down on the Thanksgiving table. This was odd is so many ways. First, since when does Jeff bring his own contribution to Thanksgiving and two, what the hell is it? If it’s not turkey, mashed potatoes, broccoli casserole or cranberry sauce, what place does it have in this holiday? Upon further investigation, we gathered that this strange dish was called “ratatouille”. We all glanced back and forth at each other in amazement and fear, fear of the unknown. What is this strange “ratatouille”? We all placed a tiny spoonful of the “stuff” on our plate to appear interested. I popped a tiny morsel into my mouth and swallowed quickly. Hmmm, I’m still alive, no gagging reflex, this stuff must be “okay”. Like most things, it was going to take some getting used to.

Something came over me 5 or 6 years ago, I no longer enjoyed canned vegetables, hamburger helper, or even ramen. I wanted real food. I began reading recipe books, exploring the internet, asking for things like a mortar and pestle for my birthday and adventuring to sit-down restaurants that served something other than burgers and fries. This “something” that came over me could possibly be contributed to what we call “old age”. A friend of mine likes to refer to this phenomenon as “sophistication”. One fine afternoon, while scrolling through recipe after recipe, I came to a recipe for ratatouille and thought, “that sounds amazing”. Sophistication had taken full hold of me. I made said recipe and handed a bowl of it to my ever so unsuspecting guinea pig of a boyfriend. On a side note, I absolutely LOVE the fact that he is sooo willing to try anything that I set my mind on making and the fact that, in most cases, the praises never cease. I know that is generally not the case in most American homes. He looked down at the bowl of veggies I set in front of him and sat there speechless for a few moments before he dug in. He turned his head, letting the flavor take hold and said “This is pretty darn good” with a touch of surprise in his voice. The recipe had earned a permanent place in our household.