An aubergine hangs above my desk; it is on a tablecloth that looks like a latticed jam tart, beside a plate of pasta, a pair of binoculars and the sea, from which two tiny figures wave. There is also a hot dog, an apricot, the start of a letter and a glass filled with red and pink that could be Campari or cherry. It is a print by the Sicilian artist Lia Fiore; a psychedelic, summer daydream that provides me with an ideal escape at least once a day, and often reminds me that I’m hungry, for pasta, or for aubergine with plenty of salt and oil. Fortunately, there are aubergines in the kitchen, too – Vincenzo calls them the keenest vegetable, ready to soak up anything you give them.
Advice is mixed when it comes to salting. In the past, aubergines were inherently bitter, and salting was a way of breaking down the cells in order to draw out that bitterness in the form of drops. There is another effect, too: apparently, less water means less oil is absorbed in the subsequent cooking, which is why, even with modern varieties carefully bred to be sweeter and free from excessive bitterness, salting is sometimes suggested. Although not by me, because I think the amount is negligible, plus I always fry or bake them in good-tasting olive oil. Astringency, though, the puckering kind, is often an issue with very young or mature fruit that has done time in cold storage. So, when faced with those (and if I have time), I sprinkle the slices with coarse salt and leave them to sit for 30 minutes, before brushing off any water droplets and salt and blotting them dry. Another benefit of salting is that, even when the coarse salt is brushed away, some seasoning is left.
