These roasted baby eggplants with goat cheese stuffing are topped with honey, balsamic vinegar and parsley. A great party appetizer!
Can you even handle the cuteness?
Obviously, some gene went whacko in my 9 month incubation period because I look at this picture and squeal from the cuteness overload. I look at a real baby and…nothing. Well actually, I see plenty.
It just so happens to be the sleepless nights, the crying, the spit up, the OMG I HAVE TO PAY FOR THIS CHILD’S EDUCATION and not the cute baby cheeks, but I digress.
Before this, I have never even seen baby eggplants. Leave it to my black market, Asian grocery store though to have them.
There I am on a mission, walking straight back towards my fish guy when I get smacked with cuteness overload from the wooden crate filled with these things. Want to know my first thought? EEEK, (I squeal in my head only, I promise I don’t actually talk like this) THESE WOULD BE SO FREAKIN CUTE FOR THE BLOG. Yes, the thought deserved caps and yes, I’ve become that person. Luckily, they weren’t only cute, they were out of control delicious too.
Normally, I’m not even a huge eggplant fan. It’s not that I don’t like it, I just don’t love it. It’s kind of a blah vegetable unless of course it’s breaded, fried and coated in cheese and marinara sauce, then my feelings tend to change. But by itself…boring.
Oh, but not these little mini ones!
1. They’re the perfect size. Two bites and you’re done. No time for the weird mushiness to set in.
2. They have little stems like strawberries. Things with tiny green stems automatically win tasty points. #truth
3. Stuff anything with goat cheese, sun dried tomatoes and pine nuts, drizzle with honey, balsamic vinegar and parsley and tell me it’s not the best thing you ever ate.
This is a dish I would make in the land of make believe.
The land where I throw extravagant dinner parties on fine china and silver, dressed in some designer gown and hold real, adult conversations with good friends while sipping expensive wine.
The land where I open my personal catering business and rich clients pay me to create their meals.
The land where I spend my days seeking out farmers markets and the freshest ingredients, making whatever I’ve been inspired by that day for dinner.
Instead, I made this in real life.
The land where no one can get together for dinner parties because there are 1 million babies involved now.
The land that when I put anything on besides sweats or workout clothes I actually feel proud of myself.
The land where every adult conversation I have somehow turns to babies, the birthing process or why we don’t want them.
The land where I still have a 9-5 “real” job that pays my mortgage.
The land where the Asian grocery store is as close as I get to a farmers market 99% of the year.
Sometimes, it’s way more fun to live in the land of make believe.