Eggplant Lasagna

I finally asked Anna out, after months of pining, and she said yes. To be honest, I wasn’t sure she would, despite the encouragement of our mutual friends. We’d only met once before, in a group setting for a friend’s birthday dinner, but she had felt kindred to me at that time. I just hoped tonight our mutually quiet natures wouldn’t get the best of us.

She was a vegetarian, to my surprise. I hadn’t noticed, so it was lucky that Sam brought it up last week when I told him my plans. “She probably just thought you knew,” he'd said after I wondered aloud why she hadn’t mentioned it herself. “We all ate together. It’s not like she hid it.” The last time we'd gone out, I ordered a coconut shrimp appetizer. I remembered offering her one, to which she’d simply and politely declined. It’s not like she had announced her dietary habits.

“Well, I’m glad you told me, Sam. I was planning to make lasagna,” I'd said at the time.

"What will you make instead?”

“The same thing. Just vegetarian-ized.” I'd known I wasn’t a master chef when I invited her over, but I was pretty good, and lasagna was one of my better dishes.

“So, just going to pull out the meat then?”

“Something more. I don’t want to look lazy. I want her to be impressed." After investigating the idea further, a Google search for “vegetarian lasagna” had led me to my answer.

I sliced three eggplants lengthwise and laid them single-layer across a few plates before sprinkling them with coarse sea salt. Although I hadn’t made eggplant lasagna before, I had at least dabbled in eggplant preparation a few times. This meal might not have been the safest option, with eggplant having such a love-hate existence, but I thought it would present better than the wish-I-had-meat lasagna Sam had proposed. I set the slices aside and waited about a half-hour before preheating the oven. When it was ready, I dabbed the eggplant slices with paper towels, rubbed them with olive oil, and placed them onto a baking sheet and into the oven to roast.

With a few exceptions, the filling was similar to how I usually made it. I combined the ricotta, parmesan, and egg along with my habitual addition of spinach. I’d learned the spinach trick from my aunt as a teenager, and although I'd never found it to make much difference in taste, visually, I thought the pop of green was everything. Although I wasn't sure whether it would retain the same visual effect against eggplant compared to pasta, I still gained comfort from this familiar step.

On the stove, I sautéed onions, garlic, and mushrooms. Once soft, I added a can of tomatoes and basil, gently crushing the tomatoes with a spoon before switching to a more effective potato masher and leaving the sauce to simmer. In the past, I hadn’t used mushrooms in my lasagna. However, after experiencing this in a restaurant, I thought I’d give it a try myself. And at the very least, it was another vegetable for Anna.

While waiting, I mixed a small bowl of lemon juice, oil, and vinegar and tossed the dressing with a spring mix salad. I considered afterward that it might have been better to leave the dressing separate, and I hoped she wouldn’t mind. Then after about twenty minutes had passed, I removed the eggplant slices from the oven and turned off the stove.

It was 6:15, Anna was due at 7:00, and I thought I’d timed the preparation well. I placed the layers in a small casserole dish, aiming for only a few leftovers, which would go home with Anna. Sauce, eggplant, ricotta, sauce, eggplant, ricotta, sauce, parmesan. Then I placed it into the oven for completion.

Anna arrived, knocking on the door just as I pulled the lasagna out of the oven. I opened the door, greeted her, and invited her in. “Have a seat,” I said, taking her coat.

She thanked me and chose one of the barstools at the half-wall counter between the kitchen and living room. “It smells great in here. What are we having?”

“Eggplant lasagna," I said, entering the kitchen in front of her. "It’ll be ready in a few minutes — the cheese needs to set. I just took it out of the oven.” I grabbed a bottle of wine from the pantry. “To accompany it, Merlot. It’s supposed to match well, or at least that's what they say. With both tomato bases and eggplants.” I suddenly felt nervous, fumbling the bottle as I carried it.

She suppressed a laugh, saying, “I’ll take your word for it. Or theirs. I want the whole dinner experience.” She spoke airily, letting me feel a little more at ease.

I poured two glasses from the bottle, and after bringing two plates of salad to the counter, we chatted about our day, friends, and previous meeting. Anna said she'd been a little concerned after accepting the invite since she'd barely seen my face prior, but that she felt better now.

“Sorry, I hadn’t even thought of putting on a mask.”

“Well, this is your home. I’m sure you’re not used to wearing one here. And we’re having a meal anyway.” She pulled hers down and took a sip from her glass.

She might not have paid much attention to my exposed face, but for me, every line of hers was exactly as I recalled.

To keep from staring, I moved further into the kitchen, checking the lasagna. “Why didn’t you just look online? Like Facebook or Insta,” I asked over my shoulder.

“I did, eventually. I just didn’t want to lead with, ‘I’m a creeper.”

I chuckled before asking, “I guess you liked what you saw?”

“Well. I’m here. But besides that, everyone seems to think we'd work, so when you called, I figured I might as well give it a try. ”

"I'm glad you did." I carried two plates of lasagna to the counter. “Do you want to stay here? We could move to the living room. Or there’s a table on the balcony.” The balcony was an afterthought, but the weather had been pleasant the past few days and evenings with spring approaching.

“We can go outside for a little while,” she said. “It still felt warm when I got here.”

I quickly went out to wipe the table and unstack the chairs before we relocated. I took the counter placemats outside and then carried the plates to them. She brought the glasses and wine bottle, and sat looking out over the steady, but quiet traffic. I grabbed a candle, an idea I’d previously nixed, from the pantry and placed it on the middle of the balcony table.

“You’re prepared,” she said, smiling up. She was partway through her second glass.

“I try to be.” I took my seat across from her. Next time, I would buy two bottles.

“Are we ready to eat?” She was already picking up the fork.

“Go for it.” Trying not to be too obvious, I waited for her reaction and saw her eyes widen after taking the first bite.

She glanced up and giggled when she saw me peeking at her, covering her still full mouth. “This is way better than I was expecting. It’s so good,” she said after swallowing.

Success. I could fully relax. We finished the evening eating, drinking — with Anna switching to water after her second glass, and chatting over candlelight.