I am just about ready to prostrate myself before the gods of cooking and implore them, "Why, merciless gods, why do you torture me so? Why do I suck at cooking so, so badly?" And they will laugh and hurtle a takeout pizza at me. You know, I live in New York. It's not like I have to cook. I could get a perfectly delicious meal for five dollars. But it's something I so dearly want to be good at. Or at least competent. I would settle for competent. But here I am, following the recipe EXACTLY, and all of a sudden I've got enough eggplant to feed a family of twelve who really, really love eggplant, and the potatoes are still totally raw, and I don't know how to peel tomatoes, and I burned the spices, and I think I'm going to go order a burrito. I can't take this kind of stress. Lord preserve me.