Ode to Eggplant Parmesan Redux
Several years ago, one of the first pieces of food writing I put together was called "An Ode to Eggplant Parmesan," a love story of sorts for my beloved eggplant Parmesan, a dish I credit with singly shaping the trajectory of my career. I wrote the story for a bygone online publication called Hungry Magazine, delving into my timeworn obsession with eggplant Parmesan and how my fascination with it inspired a fascination in food and cooking in general, which eventually beget a stint in culinary school and subsequently a career in food writing and editing. And it all started with a saucy eggplant sub from the local sub shop down the street from my childhood home in Candia, New Hampshire. But now, after stumbling upon an equally eye-opening sub at River North's new Dough Bros. Pizzeria and Sub Shop, it seems an apt time to revisit my adoration for this truly special dish.
Growing up in suburban Southern New Hampshire, on the outskirts of the state's largest city, Manchester, and about an hour from Boston, there wasn't a ton of innovative cooking to be had. I love my mom to death, and her cooking is homey and comforting, but it predictably fell into the same miscellany of shepherd's pie, American chop suey, spaghetti, meatloaf, lasagna, etc. I didn't know the breadth of cooking and what it could be across the spectrum of cultures and regional influences. But then one day a sub shop opened nearby; one of those cute sandwich shops attached to a massive gas station. On their menu they had something I had never seen before: an eggplant Parmesan sub. At first I was a little curious, a little nervous. Eggplant sounded like a plant that grew eggs, and that sounded kind of disgusting to me. But something clicked in me and prompted me to order it one day, despite my mom cautioning me (and assuming) that I wouldn't like it. Much to her chagrin, I loved it. It was my new favorite thing, a torso-sized sub roll filled to bursting with thick wedges of herb-laden fried eggplant enrobed in tangy marinara. I craved it constantly. I wanted to learn more about what else I was missing out on. Soon I was enrapt by the Food Network, I was eating curry, I was cooking at home. My newfound fascination snowballed into an interest in culinary school. This was something I believed in and wanted to explore more seriously. Coupled with the itch to move out of New Hampshire and into a big city, I began researching culinary programs in cities across the country. After visiting Robert Morris College (now University) in Chicago, I knew I had found my new home.
(Eggplant sub from Dough Bros Pizzeria and Sub Shop)
Sure I wasn't cooking and eating eggplant Parmesan on the regular anymore, but I was diving further than ever before into the world of cooking and dining, and I loved every minute. Every time I would visit home, however, I would make damn sure to get my fill of eggplant Parmesan subs. Even fried eggplant stuffed pizza from my beloved Pizza By George, a dingy strip mall pizzeria that will always have my heart. I even went to such lengths as to order a couple extra subs and bring them with me as carry-on back to Chicago. Jesus Christ. As I cooked my way through culinary school and in restaurants and bakeries, I realized I actually enjoyed applying my knowledge in another medium altogether: food writing. And thus began the pitching frenzy, writing for print and digital outlets locally and nationally. I continued writing throughout college and into my new career, and several years later, I am loving it more than ever. And it all started with eggplant Parmesan.
But despite the success story, there was always a vast void in my heart. I never quite found an eggplant Parmesan sub in Chicago comparable to that adoring version that started it all in New Hampshire. But then last week I stopped into Dough Bros. Pizzeria and Sub Shop, a promising new entry in River North with New York-style slices and subs as long as my legs. It reminded me of the sub shops of youthful yore. It boded well. I ordered their eggplant sub and took it home with me. The thing weighed as much as a poodle. When I got home and unwrapped its greasy sheeth, I sunk my teeth into the doughy, crispy, saucy mass and knew instantly: I was home. At long last, I've found the sub of my dreams. After more than eight years in Chicago, the final piece of the puzzle has fallen into place, making me feel like this is truly where I belong. And it all comes back to eggplant.
- Matt Kirouac