Scenes Behind the Scenes: Barrio de San Francisco, Ronda
Written by Maya Eashwaran
Ronda, Spain | July 6, 2019
A child throws a ball and it bounces three times before stopping. A girl turns eighteen, glasses of wine passed around the narrow table. Neighborhood women gossip at the edges of the square, sweat and long-faded lipstick gathering in the creases of their faces. Nearby, a man with three dogs on a leash leans against the side of a café, a stubby cigarette lit between his fingers.
This is sundown in Ronda’s Barrio de San Francisco. At 21:30, the air chills, and the sun reels itself back into the many hills of Ronda’s landscape. And at last, dinner is served: fried strips of aubergines that leak honey and oil.
Aubergines — or in Spanish, berenjenas. It was a word I had never heard before. An alternate way of saying eggplant, the word itself tasted thick and sweet in my mouth as I ordered the dish.
White or pale yellow, the eggplant was named for its uncanny resemblance to goose eggs by Europeans who encountered it in the 18th century. Today, they are typically recognizable by their shiny, vinyl-smooth purple skin.
The preparation of the disputed vegetable (as the eggplant, according to botanical definitions, is technically categorized as a berry) varies. In true Spanish style, the chef first soaks thin, julienned slices of eggplant in salt for at least half an hour. The aubergine’s dark purple skin is left on, lending the dish its characteristic look.
Salt is never an afterthought; depending on the chef’s preference, the aubergine’s salt bath can be either a necessity or a needless addition.
In either case, salt is meant to draw out moisture, leaving the vegetable’s body wrinkled and skin streaked with the extracted dampness. The seasoning is also often used to remove some of the innate bitterness the eggplant is commonly known for.
After deep-frying, the eggplant emerges brown and brittle, encased in a thick coat of egg whites and flour. Inside, the slices are soft and tender. Frying transforms the eggplant from a watery, seed-rich vegetable to a delicacy with something akin to a culinary cult following.
Finally, a glaze of honey or molasses is generously drizzled on top, complementing the tangy bitterness of the eggplant and the smooth taste of oil. It can be served alone as an appetizer or garnished with thyme, balsamic, or even almond flakes for a contemporary twist.
On the plate, the eggplant somehow retains its earthy scent. In many ways, the smell of the steaming berenjenas con miel is, in fact, that of Ronda: the muddied freshness of backyard gardens accompanied by the heady scent of dust, flowers, and wild pigeon feathers.
A dog barks from across the plaza. The women reapply their lipstick, darker now for the waning evening light. At 22:00, the sun puts out its own cigarette.
