Once upon a time, I cooked so much caponata at work that I got put off by the smell of eggplant fried in olive oil. I can’t even remember what we used it for, except that it disappeared quickly and after every lunch service, I was always back at the stove, frying off more salted eggplant and red capsicum.

It took a casual flip through a recent upholstered acquisition to stir up memories of why I love this rich, textured and tangy concoction. The clincher? It’s the smallest sprinkling of grated bitter chocolate, stirred in at the end, which is not meant to be discernible as such. Rather, Maggie says it adds a certain mysterious note, and there’s nothing I like more than mystery in my mixtures.

Maggie suggests serving this with game, but the only game we have in the house at the moment is Scrabble. So leftover Christmas ham it is!

The End.

Caponata :
(from Maggie’s Harvest by Maggie Beer)

extra virgin olive oil, for cooking
3 eggplants, cut into 2cm cubes
2 sticks celery, cut into 1cm pieces
2 large onions, cut into 1cm pieces
1 x 410g can peeled chopped tomatoes (or 5 chopped ripe roma tomatoes and 1 tablespoon tomato paste)
1 1/2 cups pitted and sliced green olives
1/3 cup (65g) capers
1 tablespoon sugar
1/4 cup (60ml) red-wine vinegar
1/2 teaspoon grated bitter chocolate

Pour enough olive oil into a heavy-based frying pan to reach a depth of 3cm and heat until very hot. Throw in a small piece of bread or eggplant to test whether the oil is hot enough – if it turns golden brown immediately, the oil is ready. Fry a quarter of the eggplant until golden brown on all sides, then remove with a slotted spoon to drain on kitchen paper. Fry the remaining eggplant in batches, then cook the celery in the same oil. Discard the oil, wipe out the pan, then add 60ml fresh olive oil and place the pan over low heat.

Saute the onion in the olive oil until translucent, then add the tomatoes (and the paste, if you are using fresh tomatoes) and cook for 10 minutes. Stir in the olives and capers and cook for about 10 minutes more, or until the sauce is thick. Add the sugar, vinegar, eggplant and celery, then add the chocolate and leave it to melt. Carefully stir until the melted chocolate is combined, then remove the pan from the heat and leave the caponata to cool overnight. Serve at room temperature.

[Note: For chocolate, I used Michel Cluizel 72%, which I like for it’s purity of flavour]

Uh oh. You’ve done it again. When out from the cupboard comes the special plastic disposable tablecloth, you know there’s no turning back. Another Christmas, another case of overeating. You thought you’d be a picture of bird-like restraint this year, but there was a veritable feast laid out in front of you : cold prawns, pickled octopus, deep fried squid, glazed ham, whole fish stuffed with sambal paste, green salad with orange vinaigrette, oysters and lemon wedges, sashimi with soy and wasabi, crusty bread rolls, even pasta arrabiata and then the killer blow, microwaved pudding with vanilla custard, followed by cherries, grapes and blueberries. A hybrid Christmas meal embracing the quirks of our peripatetic tastebuds. Everyone tucking in like it was the last meal on Earth. Or maybe the planet had already blown up, and from it’s different corners were flung this varied meal. The command issued was, “Eat!”, and we obeyed.

Mid meal, you pause to think about the pig. The pig whose leg is caught between your teeth. You wonder whether it was pink and had mud between its toes. If it knew how prized its legs were, like a barnyard supermodel, Elle MacOink. If it knew that one day a quarter of its body would be hacked off, covered with spices and laid out on the altar, that plastic tablecloth. The memory of that leg, then strewn the next day over a soft bread dough, with scrapings from four different cheeses rescued from the depths of the fridge: an Ossau Irraty, Heidi Gruyere, Grana Padano and Piano Hill Ironstone. Baked together, like a glorified jaffle.

Then tasted, and waxed lyrical about. This pig, whose porcinographic leg you posted on the internet. The idea of the filled bread breaks you from your reverie. You pick the stray piece of leg from your teeth, examine it, then silently promise to do justice to the uneaten..

Post Christmas Focaccia aka Focaccia stuffed with Taleggio and Ham :
(serves 6-8; from Sue Lawrence’s Book of Baking)

500g Italian 00 flour
7g sachet of fast-action/easy-blend dried yeast
1 heaped teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
100g good quality cooked ham
150g cubed Taleggio cheese, rind removed
40g (a handful) rocket

Make the bread dough by mixing the flour, yeast and salt in a large bowl. mix the oil with 275ml tepid water and pour into the flour, adding a touch more tepid water if necessary; you should have a fairly soft dough that comes away from the sides of the bowl.

Tip this on to a floured surface and knead for 10 minutes, until smooth. Place the dough in an oiled bowl, cover with clingfilm and place somewhere fairly warm to rise for 1 1/2 – 2 hours. Divide into two pieces and roll each out to fit a 23 x 33cm Swiss roll tin.

Place one piece in the tin, top with the ham, cheese and rocket (strewing everything casually over), then cover with the other piece, crimping the edges to sea. Cover and leave for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 220’C. Brush the focaccia with olive oil, prick it all over with a fork and bake for 20-25 minutes until golden brown. Cut into large sections and eat warm while the cheese is still gooey.

[Note for my substitutions, on days when all the shops are closed and what you’ve got in the cupboard is what you’ve got : No 00 flour, sub with plain flour. No Taleggio, sub with any other suitable melty cheese. No rocket, sub with other herbs such as thyme, parsley, rosemary, chives, basil and oregano.]

This year the ham came from Vic’s Meats, courtesy of work. It was bronzed in the oven with a glaze also provided by work. Last night we carved it up and no one said no to at least one slice. Never had ham tasted this good. I’m already rubbing my hands with glee, faced with the endless potential of ham leftovers.