Slow-Cooker Ratatouille

The tomatoes are at peak. Every day another colander full, red and heavy and splitting with ripeness, demanding to be used before they go soft. We've canned sauce. We've made salsa. We've eaten BLTs three times this week, which sounds excessive until you consider that a BLT made with a garden tomato in August is not the same sandwich as a BLT made with a store tomato in February. One is food. The other is a compromise. I don't compromise in August.

I made fried green tomatoes. The ones at the end of the row that weren't going to ripen in time — green, firm, tart. Sliced thick, dredged in cornmeal and flour, fried in the cast iron skillet that has been in this family longer than I have. The skillet was my mother's. Before that, my grandmother's. It has cooked more meals than I can count and has developed a patina that no amount of seasoning can replicate because it comes from decades, not technique. The green tomatoes were crisp and tangy and perfect with a dab of remoulade that Helen makes from a recipe she got from a magazine in 1983.

Anna will start kindergarten next month. Five years old. David says she's ready — she can write her name, count to fifty, and explain in detail why her brothers are annoying, which suggests she has the analytical skills for school and the social skills for life. I sent her a card with a maple candy inside. Helen added a note. We are consistent in our grandparenting, Helen and I. Candy and notes. That's our platform.

I spent an afternoon reading on the porch. Frost beside me, asleep. Helen in her chair, reading her own book. The garden buzzing with bees. The tomatoes ripening. The afternoon passing with the luxury of having nowhere to be and nothing urgent to do. Retirement at its best is this — the freedom to sit and read and let the world turn without you. I taught for thirty-eight years. I earned this porch. I earned this silence. I earned this afternoon with a book and a dog and a woman in the next chair who doesn't need me to talk.

Peak tomatoes. Fried green in the skillet. Anna heading to school. The porch. The book. The afternoon. Summer doesn't ask for much. Just attention. Just presence. Just the willingness to sit still long enough to taste it.

After a week of canning and salsa-making and eating more BLTs than any reasonable person should admit to, what I wanted was something that would use the tomatoes without making me stand over a hot stove. Ratatouille is the answer to an abundant garden — it takes everything coming in at once and asks nothing in return but a little patience. I threw it in the slow cooker after lunch, went back to the porch and my book, and by the time the afternoon light had shifted and Frost had changed positions twice, supper was ready.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 4 hours | Total Time: 4 hours 20 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 cups fresh tomatoes, chopped (about 3 medium)
1 medium eggplant, cut into 1-inch cubes
2 medium zucchini, sliced into 1/2-inch rounds
1 medium yellow squash, sliced into 1/2-inch rounds
1 large red bell pepper, seeded and chopped
1 medium onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 can (6 oz) tomato paste
1/4 cup olive oil
1 tsp dried basil
1 tsp dried thyme
1/2 tsp dried oregano
1/2 tsp salt, plus more to taste
1/4 tsp black pepper
Fresh basil or parsley, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Prep the vegetables. Chop the eggplant, zucchini, squash, bell pepper, onion, and tomatoes into roughly uniform pieces so they cook evenly. There’s no need to be fussy about it — this is a rustic dish.
Layer in the slow cooker. Add the onion and garlic to the bottom of the slow cooker. Layer the eggplant, zucchini, squash, and bell pepper on top. Pour the chopped tomatoes over everything.
Add the seasoning. In a small bowl, stir together the tomato paste, olive oil, basil, thyme, oregano, salt, and pepper. Spoon the mixture over the vegetables and give everything a gentle stir to distribute.
Cook low and slow. Cover and cook on LOW for 4 hours, or on HIGH for 2 to 2 1/2 hours, until all the vegetables are tender and the flavors have melded. Resist the urge to lift the lid — go read something instead.
Taste and finish. Once done, taste and adjust salt as needed. Stir gently before serving so you don’t break down the vegetables entirely — you want pieces, not mush. Garnish with fresh basil or parsley if you have it.
Serve. Ladle into bowls on its own, or spoon over crusty bread, polenta, or rice. It reheats beautifully the next day and, some would argue, tastes even better.

Nutrition (per serving)

Slow-Cooker Ratatouille — When the Garden Gives More Than You Can Eat