So last Sunday, I get it in my head that I need moussaka. There was this place I used to go, when I was between marriages doing the single dad bit with some co-workers that was just wonderful. I have a long running love affair with eggplant, (Yes, I know it’s an emoji for penis and you know what, fuck you. I don’t care.) and moussaka is an amazing platform for delivering eggplanty goodness. And it’s really not hard to make, despite being time consuming.

If you’re not familiar, moussaka is essentially Greek lasagna, where apparently, some Greeks were sitting around, drinking ouzo and throwing plates when Dimitrios turns to Nikolaos and says, “I love lasagna, but you know what, and follow me here, what if we swapped out the noodles with eggplant?” and Nikolaos counters with, “Shit. That does sound good. But what if... we also got rid of the ricotta and replaced with it Bechamel sauce?” and a dish was born. Never mind that Greek culture is older than Italian.

I wasn’t planning on cooking that day, but I just got moussaka in my head and had to have some. Compulsions are a bitch. I asked the wife if she was interested and she declined and there was no way I was going to make a pan for just one serving, so I started looking for Greek or Middle Eastern places who delivered and only found one. And they wanted $20 for a single serving. Plus delivery fees and tip. It was at that point I resolved to make my own because I knew I could do it for less than $20. It, in fact, cost me around $15 and I fed the wife and myself for two days.

As I mentioned, Moussaka is relatively easy to make, but it is technically 3 recipes and an assembly job. Like if Ikea made Greek food. You have to make the meat sauce. I use a standard, no frills Bolognese. You have to prep the eggplant. Some people will go all out, and bread and fry it. I slice and roast mine. Moisture is a factor in this dish, so I’m all about getting rid of that. The true trick of this dish is the sauce, the “Bechamel” that goes in between and on the top. I put Bechamel in quotes because it’s really not Bechamel by the time you get to the end. It starts out that way, though, being one of the classical French mother sauces.

If you’re not familiar, Bechamel is the milk gravy from which springs many delightful daughter sauces like Mornay, Soubise, Nantua, et cetera. It starts by poaching an onion pique (onion, bay leaf, cloves) in whole milk (or half and half for you sensualists out there – you have my respect) and then adding the onionmilk to a blonde roux (fat, usually butter (for bechamel) and flour cooked together until the flour no longer smells raw) and seasoned with salt, white pepper and nutmeg. It’s honestly an amazing sauce on its own and typifies how I like to eat. I like things simple.

Now the Bechamel that goes into the moussaka has more in common with a Mornay because of the addition of the cheese, in this instance, parm. Greek Kefalotyri is the classical choice, but I went with parm based on availability. It’s cool because it’s not really about the cheese. Honestly, the cheese is a seasoning and little else. The star of this show is the bechamel that goes on the top. It’s thick. It’s fluffy. It’s white. It’s gratineed on the top. Properly executed, it’s magic.

I got to thinking about it when preparing the recipe for publication here and frankly, what went wrong with what I made last Sunday. Don’t get me wrong. It tasted fine and was very satisfying, but I know what it should have been. I think the six pack was kicking in and I was distracted. It happens.

My first failure point was in the selection of my cheese. Not the parm itself, but because I bought some pre-grated organic shit. It may have had a coating or may have been made with something incorrect, but it just didn’t melt correctly, leaving a somewhat grainy texture. Never, ever cook with pre-grated cheese. That’s like one of my top five rules and I totally spaced on it. Oh, well. That which hurts, teaches.

OK, for the record, I just looked up exactly what I bought and yes, there it is: “POWDERED CELLULOSE ADDED TO PREVENT CAKING”. Or uniform melting, it seems.

The other failure point and honestly the most important one, was the topping. Yes, the topping consists of cheesed bechamel, enriched with egg yolks and lightened with beaten egg whites and I did all that. But I didn’t think about it. The whole purpose of me “freestyling” is to just go in my kitchen and cook. No recipes. Just me and my knife and fire and food; my destination my only rule.

Dumbass.

The beaten egg whites are structural. The bechamel on top is essentially a cheese souffle. Not as fussy, of course, but it is what it is. And I totally missed it. Tunnel vision has always been a problem for me.

Oh, yeah. There was a third failure point. I used 2% milk. Don’t do that. Whole milk or half and half, please. Your palate will thank you.

So that’s me. I can’t really blame the beer. In truth I don’t think I actually had any until the moussaka was baking. I can tell because I started posting shit on Instagram. I usually only do that when I’ve knocked back a couple. The truth is, I just wasn’t thinking and that’s the whole purpose of the freestyling exercise: To make me a better cook.

Alrighty. Now that I have laid bare my screw-up, let’s talk moussaka variations. Some people will use potatoes in addition to the eggplant. I don’t. There’s a lot going on in the dish and potatoes, for me, are a bit distracting. Probably because I really love potatoes. Other people will use zucchini. I won’t. I ate too much of it when doing my big diet. If boneless, skinless chicken breast is the tofu of meat, zucchini is the tofu of vegetables. Just saying.

I like at least three layers to mine. Eggplant, Bolognese, and Bechamel, repeated three times with the souffle mixture on the top. Now because of this, my moussaka can be structurally unstable. To prevent this, my meat sauce and eggplant are fairly dry and I will not cut the moussaka until it has properly cooled and subsequently, set. It’s frustrating, having to wait, but delaying gratification takes eating this from a blue box mac experience to a lobster laden hipster mac Tantric extravaganza. Maybe I exaggerate.

But what if I don’t?

Happy cooking.