Ciambotta

Every region of Southern Italy claims ciambotta. In Campania they call it ciamfotta. In Calabria and Basilicata it is cianfotta. The Pugliese have their version, the Sicilians theirs. They argue about whether it includes potatoes (it should), whether the vegetables are fried first (unnecessary), whether you add capers or olives (a corruption, in my view). But they all agree on the principle: summer vegetables, cooked slowly until soft, served at room temperature with good bread.

This is not ratatouille, though the French would like to claim kinship. Ciambotta came first, born in the kitchens of contadine who used whatever grew in the garden. It requires no precise proportions. If you have more peppers than eggplant, use more peppers. If your zucchini are enormous, use fewer. The dish adapts to what you have because that is what peasant cooking does.

What you cannot change is the method. The vegetables must cook slowly, releasing their moisture and then absorbing it back. Rush this and you have crunchy vegetables swimming in tomato juice. Give it time and the vegetables become silky, their boundaries dissolving, their flavors impossible to separate. This is what slow cooking means. Simple does not mean easy.