Raw or Braised? The Kale Debate Rages On

I know of very few people who are more dedicated to the regular consumption of brassicas than contributor Jim Dixon of Real Good Food. In this essay he takes on raw kale lovers, staking out his ground on the side of long, slow cooking.

I have too many cookbooks, but that doesn’t stop me from buying more. David Tanis’ new one, One Good Dish, just arrived, and one of the first things I read as I thumbed the pages was his recipe for kale (top photo). Sorry to all the kale salad lovers, but I’m with Tanis; the leafy greens from these hardy Brassicas taste best after long cooking.

Then I saw “fried bread in the Iberian manner,” Spanish-style migas made from dry bread, another thing I make fairly often. And polentina, a Tuscan vegetable soup thickened with a spoonful of corn meal. The recipes in One Good Dish resonate because they’re just like the food I make every day. Maybe there’s some confirmation bias involved, but this is a book you could cook from for a long time.

Here are my versions of long-cooked kale and Iberian fried bread.

Braised Greens

I cook either cavolo nero (aka Tuscan kale) or collard greens every week, and I always braise them with onion, olive oil, salt, and water. They’re so good I don’t think I need to try anything else (unless it's this). The secret ingredient is time; the greens are best if cooked for at least 45 minutes.

Chop an onion and start cooking it in enough extra virgin olive oil to cover the bottom of your pan (anything with a decent lid will be fine). While the onion cooks, chiffonade a bunch of greens: roll half the bunch into a tight bundle and cut into quarter inch slices. It isn’t necessary to cut out the central stalk since you’re going to cook them until they’re tender.

Add the greens to the onion along with some salt and about a half cup of water. Cover and reduce heat to simmer. Check after 20 minutes, and add water if needed to keep the bottom of the pot covered (I’ve burned greens more than once; sometimes you can save them and just say they’re “caramelized). Let them simmer for at least 45 minutes, longer is okay (but check for water). Drizzle with a bit of fresh extra virgin at the table.

Migas

Like Tanis, I usually have some kind of old bread in the kitchen. After a few days of fresh bread and toast, I cut the rest of the loaf into rough cubes and leave it out to get dry (a much better outcome than finding a moldy slice in the bag). For migas, I’ll use it after a day or so, but even older, really hard bread can be revived by sprinkling with a couple of tablespoons of water (let it sit for 15 minutes before frying).

Use enough extra virgin olive oil to cover the bottom of a heavy skillet; heat it over a medium flame until it shimmers, then add the bread and fry gently until it’s nicely browned. Add some chopped onion and a little garlic if you like, and the rest depends on what’s at hand.

Migas are leftover food for me, so I’ll pull out whatever bits and pieces I have tucked in the refrigerator. Spanish-style chorizo, the dry cured salami version, is classic, and any kind of cured pork can fill in. Don’t have any? Use leftover chicken, diced bacon, or just leave it out. (For other ideas: migas with ham, eggplant migas.)

I always have cabbage, so I’ll chop a little and add it to the skillet. Peppers are good, too. Let everything cook together and get a little crispy, then splash in a a tablespoon or so of good vinegar (Katz, of course) and finish with a a few shakes of the smoky Spanish paprika called pimenton. Top with an fried egg or two if you like.

"Chicken Run Over By a Truck" aka Spatchcock

Roast chicken is one of the easiest, most satisfying comfort foods there is. Contributor Jim Dixon of Real Good Food, a devotée of roasted fowl, has perfected the technique of flattening it by snipping through the breast bone, which adds a step but cuts the cooking time. Plus it looks cool…always a reason to try something new!

Ass-backward Spatchcocked Chicken on Fingerlings & Kale

I could call this butterflied through the breast, but ass-backward spatchcock sounds much better. It’s my go-to chicken roasting technique, and I’ve got the details on how to do it on my website. I’ve cooked a lot of different vegetables under the chicken, but this combination is my current favorite.

Once you’ve split and salted the chicken, slice a pound or more of fingerling potatoes in half lengthwise. Slice an onion and chop up a bunch of Italian (aka lacinato) kale. Drizzle some extra virgin into a large skillet, add the vegetables and top with the chicken (skin side up).

Roast at 350° for at least an hour or until the chicken is done to your liking. Let it rest for at least 10 minutes before cutting into pieces. Toast some good bread to soak up some of the juices in the skillet.

Pickled Buds of Joy

You know the post I wrote about the lacinato kale in the garden that I can't seem to pull out? The one that recently started producing, as contributor Jim Dixon would call it, "immature flower buds from various cabbage relatives" that are commonly called (cover your ears, Jim) raab, rabe or rapini.

Not to get off topic, but my son has been expressing an interest in making pickles for some time. So I consulted my favorite pickle meister, Kevin Gibson, who makes some of the best pickles in town at Evoe, as to what book might be the best introduction to the art. He suggested a slim volume titled Tsukemono: Japanese Pickling Recipes by Ikuko Hisamatsu, which contains lots of quick pickle recipes using relatively common ingredients. What's even better is that my son happens to love Asian flavors, so I immediately ran next door to Powell's on Hawthorne and picked it up.

In that book is a recipe for Rape Flowers in Mustard or Nanohana Karashi-zuke that require just 45 minutes from start to finish, the main ingredient of which we could get by stepping out the back door. It did require a trip to our neighborhood Asian grocery but, as promised, within 45 minutes of starting the prep, we were munching on some surprisingly tasty green pickles. Excellent!

Rape Flowers in Mustard (Nanohana Karashi-zuke)

Adapted from Quick & Easy Tsukemono: Japanese Pickling Recipes by Ikuko Hisamatsu

1 lb. rape, raab or rapini
1 Tbsp. soy sauce
1/2 Tbsp. hot mustard paste (karashi)
1 Tbsp. mirin
1 Tbsp. light soy sauce
1 dried chile pepper

Cut off any tough stems of rape flowers. Tear off leaves. In a pot of lightly salted boiling water, cook leaves and flowers briefly just until the color changes. (We chopped up the stems and threw them in first to cook a little more before we added the leaves and buds, and they worked fine.) Plunge into cold water to stop cooking. Drain and squeeze out as much water as possible.

Place in bowl, pour 1 Tbsp. soy sauce over the green and combine. Squeeze again to remove moisture. Mix with remaining seasonings and stir well. Remove seeds from chile pepper and mince. (We left the seeds in.) Add to greens mixture and combine. Take a small plate that will fit inside the bowl and place it over the greens. Take a jar filled with water (or a pint glass) and place it on top of the plate, pressing down the greens. Let it stand for 30 minutes. Serve.

I Say Raab, You Say Rabe

When I planted those lacinato kale seeds in the garden last spring, I figured I'd get some good eating from their greens later in the summer. Indeed, that did happen until they became infested with aphids and the dusty grey bugs and their residue couldn't be washed off the leaves. At that point I thought they were pretty much done and it was time to pull them out.

Then Anthony Boutard mentioned that he prefers these greens in the winter, when the cold weather causes the plants to produce sugar as a kind of anti-freeze. So I left them in, pulling off the leaves for salads, soups and sides and discovering, by golly, that Anthony wasn't pulling my leg. There was a definite sweetness that crept in as the winter progressed.

As the plant grew, looking like a Dr. Suess illustration of a tiny palm tree, the leaves became smaller and smaller, and again I thought about pulling them up. About then I noticed that little heads were forming with buds that looked like the raab I love at the spring farmers' markets. I picked one off and tasted it…nutty, green, sweet…woohoo!

So about the time the raab runs out it'll be time to plant new seeds and get a whole new year's worth of eating. Who knew?

For more, read Jim Dixon's rant about the "immature flower buds from various cabbage relatives."

No Mumbo Jumbo, Just Gumbo

Like contributor Jim Dixon of RealGoodFood, I like to do a little research online when confronted with a new topic. So when I got his essay on Cajun gumbo z'herbes, it was mere moments before I was happily clicking through links on the Goog. It's there I read one recipe that called for no fewer than five greens in a proper z'herbes (Jim uses one). Another said that many Cajun Catholics, who developed gumbo z'herbes for days when meat-eating was discouraged, will often add a ham hock or other meat for "seasoning" purposes only, pulling it out before the meal is eaten and keeping the meatless letter of the law.

I’m continuing my exploration of gumbo, and it seems the more I learn, the less I know. The best primer I’ve found is on Wikipedia. The bottom line seems to be that a whole lot of stuff has been called gumbo. Some has okra, some has file, some has neither. But my gumbo is most like the Cajun versions, which always start here: “first, make a roux.”

My first roux followed the advice of New Orleans chefs Donald Link and John Besh, which meant an hour of stirring the fat and flour until it looked like dark chocolate (top photo). The process is straightforward, but does require some care and attention. Then I saw a discussion on eGullet about making roux in the oven. I tried it, it worked, and it fits right into my general approach to cooking, which is making things when I have the time, then using them for a meal one, or even several, days later (beans, for example).

Gumbo with Greens

In a cast iron skillet I stirred together a half cup each of extra virgin olive oil and white whole wheat flour (made from soft white wheat; I use whole grains whenever I can, and this worked fine for the roux). The skillet went in to a 350° oven, and two hours later I had a beautifully dark roux. I scraped it into a small bowl and put it in the refrigerator.

I’d been wanting to make a simple version of gumbo z’herbes, a sometimes vegetarian gumbo often served only at Lent (which was last week). Traditional recipes call for a variety of greens, often a number significant to Catholic theology (seven for example, akin to the Sicilian feast of seven fishes served Christmas Eve), and usually the vegetables are cooked and sieved to a puree. It’s a lot of work, and after reading what Salon’s Francis Lam wrote about it, I knew I needed to tweak the recipe.

My version only uses one green, my favorite, cavolo nero (aka “lacinato” kale). Collard greens or even regular kale would work, or you could use a variety of greens. I heated my oven-made roux gently in a Dutch oven (you don’t want it to burn), then added a chopped onion and cooked it for several minutes. Roughly equal amounts of chopped celery and green bell pepper went in next, followed by half a jalapeno (also chopped) and several cloves of garlic. Season with chile powder, cayenne, salt, black pepper and paprika, or use a Cajun spice blend.(If you want to tart this up with some andouille, tasso ham, or other smoky pork product, cut whatever you choose in smallish chunks and toss it in.)

While these vegetables cook for about 10 minutes, chiffonade a bunch of cavolo nero (take about half the leaves, stack them together, roll into a tight bundle, and cut across the stem into roughly half inch ribbons). Add the greens to pot and pour in 3 to 4 cups of water. Stir and simmer, uncovered, for at least an hour; 2 or even 3 hours even better. You may need to add a little more water depending on how thick you want your gumbo (dark roux makes a thinner gumbo). Serve with Kokuho Rose brown rice.

The L Word: Double Down

The two-fer is such an American idea, isn't it? Buy one, get one free. Whether it's toilet paper or, in this case, a recipe.

I was stuck for something to make for dinner the other night. I wanted something light and wasn't in the mood for meat, a tough task with two voracious carnivores drooling all over my kitchen counters. And no, I'm not referring to the dogs here…they're too short to drool on anything but my toes.

There were some leftovers (the L word) in the fridge: a bit of really good tomato sauce, a few marinated castelvetrano olives from a dinner party, a bunch of kale, a few Meyer lemons I hadn't got around to using yet. Hm. Then it hit me…kale…lemons…olives!

A quick check of the pantry revealed pasta and (yes!) a tin of anchovies. Victory!

At this point you have to picture me dancing around the kitchen, pumping my fists in the air, hearing the theme from Rocky bouncing off the kitchen cabinets. Now the more psychologically stable among you may be thinking that I need something more meaningful to do with my life when coming up with a plan for a weeknight dinner is considered a quest on a par with King Arthur's grail, Hannibal's elephant parade over the Alps or even Indiana Jones's women…um…I mean mythical antiquities. But there you have it…I come up with an idea for dinner and I'm Rocky Balboa. But back to the subject at hand.

What had suddenly turned me into a down-trodden, working-class boxer from Philly was the raw kale salad I'd perfected last fall, based on a raw Brussels sprout salad I'd had at Olympic Provisions. Would it taste as amazing if I used Meyer lemons and combined it with pasta? It sounded reasonable enough to me, so just over twenty minutes later we sat down to what I have to say was one knockout of a dinner.

Meyer Lemon and Kale Pasta

1 lb. dried pasta
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 2-oz. tin anchovies in olive oil
3 cloves garlic, chopped fine
1 small bunch kale (I love lacinato, though any will do), sliced into chiffonade
10 castelvetrano olives, pitted and roughly chopped
Zest of 1 Meyer lemon
Juice of 2 Meyer lemons
Salt and pepper to taste
Parmesan, finely grated

Bring large pot of water to boil. Add pasta and cook until al dente.

Heat oil over medium heat. Add anchovies and stir until they dissolve (stand back…they can splatter). Add garlic and heat but do not brown it. Add kale and sauté till wilted. Quickly stir in olives and remove from heat.

When pasta is done, drain off water and place in large serving bowl. Add kale mixture, lemon zest and juice (chopped preserved lemons would also be terrific). Toss, adding salt and pepper to taste. Sprinkle it lightly with parmesan. Serve with more parmesan in a bowl for sprinkling.

Summer Salad Smackdown: Talk About Going Green!

It was a revelation, an epiphany, an awakening. I'd had brussels sprouts before, of course, roasted, steamed, stir-fried and hashed. But what was sitting on my lunch plate at Olympic Provisions was different in almost every way, a salad comprised of shaved, raw brussels sprouts.

Yes, raw. With a few roughly chopped castelvetrano olives and a hint of minced anchovies, tossed with a very simple dressing of olive oil, fresh lemon and salt.

Crunchy, bright and irresistible, I went back again and again. I couldn't stop talking about it. I made several stabs at copying it, finally achieving my goal. Then brussels sprouts went out of season and I had to find a substitute.

Then it hit me…raw kale! I'd made a run at a kale salad before, and while it was perfectly acceptable, it hadn't grabbed me the way the brussels sprout salad had. So with a bunch of my favorite kale, lacinato, in hand, I chopped a fine chiffonade of the dark springy leaves, mixed in the rest of the ingredients and took a bite.

Perfection! It's now become the hit of our summer table, since it's a great match with any grilled fish,  chicken or meat, and is comfortable in any setting, whether fancy or casual. Who would have thought raw could be so refined?

Kale Salad with Anchovies, Olives and Lemon

1 bunch lacinato kale (also known as Tuscan, black or cavalo nero)
10 castelvetrano olives, pitted and roughly chopped
3-6 anchovies, minced
3-4 Tbsp. olive oil
Juice of 1 lemon or chopped preserved lemons
Salt to taste

Chop a fine chiffonade of kale. It's not necessary to remove the stems completely, though I remove the thicker stems at the bottom and chop the remaining greens. Place kale in large salad bowl and add the olives, anchovies (start with the lesser number and add to taste), olive oil and lemon juice. Toss, adding salt to taste. I like to make this a half hour before serving so the kale has a chance to wilt slightly.

More salads in the Smackdown: Panzanella with Heirloom Tomatoes, Basil and Grilled Bread.

Memorial

Food has always been about memories for me, tastes and smells conjuring associations with people and places. I'll never forget my grandmother's rhubarb sauce, tart and sweet all at once, the stalks cooked down into a pink puree she served in a milky-green glass bowl. And making tuna casserole always reminds me of Friday nights growing up when my mother would make a big batch of it and stand back while my brothers and I dove in, arguing over the crusty brown bits around the edges.
The following is from local salt maven Jim Dixon of Real Good Food, whose stepson Daniel passed away recently from cancer. You can read about this young man's remarkable life here.

Dan loved to eat, and he especially loved soul food. I cooked a lot of greens for him, not the traditional collards with pork, but the Tuscan soul food called cavalo nero (black cabbage, aka Lacinato kale).

Cavalo Nero

Wash a bunch of cavalo nero, but leave some water clinging to the leaves. Cut in chiffonade by rolling a few leaves into a tight bundle, then slicing thinly across the stem. I find this eliminates the need to cut out the stem, but go ahead if you feel so inclined.

Coarsely chop an onion and sauté in a healthy splash of good olive oil for a few minutes. Be sure to toss in a generous pinch of salt, too. Add the greens, cover, and simmer for at least 25 minutes, adding more water if necessary. The cooked greens should be very tender. Serve on a platter and drizzle a little more oil over it at the table.

Remembrances can be made in Daniel's name to DeLiver a Cure, an organization researching cures for fibrolamellar hepatocellular carcinoma.