Collard Greens

I actually get questions from people about vegetables a lot, even at the grocery store.  On more than one occasion, the cashier has asked me what a produce item is (just for the purposes of looking up the code for it), but then gone as far as to ask me how I cook it.  I always find it a little unnerving to answer the question right on the spot, but I’ve realized that there are just a lot of people who are just curious what to do with certain fruits and vegetables.  Now, I’m not claiming to be an expert on anything (persimmons still remain a mystery to me), but my mother was the kind of adventurous eater that made me excited to try new things.  The fact that she sometimes made it seem like we were hiding something from my dad (a notoriously picky, boring eater) made it all the more intriguing.  Artichokes and pomegranates are fun to eat, but a lot more fun when it seems like you are doing it on the sly.

So, here now is a series dedicated to fruits and vegetables (“How do you…”).  Some will be ordinary to you, some might be unfamiliar.  It is the great thing about the world wide web – there are a billions of perspectives for each post.

Gonna start with collard greens.  Now, I never really ate collard greens as a kid, but when I did, it was in the south and they were simmered for a long time along with some kind of smoked meat, and most often seasoned with hot sauce to taste. They were good. Really good.  However, I don’t usually have the foresight to plan a day-long cooking process for dinner, unless it is a weekend or a special event.  Through some recipe research (and trial and error), I figured out a way to make quick, tasty collard greens in two versions – one  vegetarian and one omnivorous.

The technique is for both is the same. The trickiest part is taking out the tough center rib, which you don’t do when cooking collards in the southern American way, since they cook so long that the ribs become tender. Here’s a little demo on how to do it:

Next, you just roll the leaves into the tightest bundle you can and slice them pretty thinly – like this:

Again, when you make collards in the southern style, you just tear the leaves and don’t need to slice them so thinly, since they cook for so long. You want thin slices for this new version, since the cooking time is so short.

Once you have the leaves all sliced, place them into a colander and rinse thoroughly with cold water – many greens, especially those from farmer’s markets, tend to be rather dirty. Once clean, heat a deep pot large enough to hold all the greens on medium high with a few tablespoons of olive thrown in.

Next, you have the choice of being meaty 0r veggie. For veggie (shown here), throw in a few cloves (five, in this case) of minced garlic until fragrant. For a meaty version, you can add diced ham or Canadian bacon instead of (or in addition to) the garlic. Either way, you will want to add the greens, which will still be somewhat wet from the rinsing process, to the pot before the garlic starts to burn. The water on the greens will create some steam, so capture it by putting a lid on the pot immediately. Stir occasionally until the collards are bright green and glossy, like this:

Glossy Greens

Season with salt and pepper (and red pepper flakes, if you like) to taste. Grab a fork and make sure that they are done to your liking and adjust seasoning, if necessary. Enjoy with or without hot sauce. I had mine with pork chops. =)

Savory Bread Pudding With Mushrooms, Leeks, and Canadian Bacon

This dish started with an inspiration from a restaurant here in Chicago that has since closed. Good thing I took good notes during the few times we had breakfast there! The versions they offered were leek, ham, and Gruyere, as well as one with tomato, bacon, and Cheddar. I think the combinations are really just up to your imagination and your tastes.

The base is just the same as any breakfast casserole or strata that I would make – stale or day-old bread cut into cubes, then soaked in a custard mixture. For these, I wanted to make individual servings in ramekins, so I cut the cubes of bread on the small side so that they would be easy to stuff into the dishes. The custard mixture is about one cup of milk (or half-and-half, if you are in a more celebratory than healthy mood) to three eggs. Depending on the amount of bread you have, you can increase or decrease the amount of custard mixture – just make enough to soak the bread completely. Season with salt and pepper as you would scrambled eggs.

I got a little carried away with ingredients, but I just couldn’t resist. I started with some leeks (one large or two small), rinsed them thoroughly (they have a considerable amount of grit since they grow in sandy soil), and cooked them in some olive oil until they began to soften (a little kosher salt helps this process along). I removed those from the pan and sauteed some sliced cremini mushrooms in butter in the same pan, adding a little salt again, along with some freshly ground black pepper and fresh thyme leaves (thyme and mushrooms is one of my favorite combinations). In addition, I had some Canadian bacon on hand that I really wanted to incorporate.

The best way to bring this all together is to cube your bread into a large mixing bowl, pour over the custard, and mix with your hands. That way, you’ll be able to tell if you made enough custard to soak the bread. You can always whip up a little more egg and milk to add to it, if it seems too dry. Then, mix in your vegetables and/or meat and/or cheese in the same manner (hands) to make sure you evenly distribute – just make sure you let anything you precook to cool a bit before adding it to the mix. I used shredded Gruyere here, along with some Fontina that I needed to use up – make sure you add a nice little handful to the top before you put the bread pudding into the oven for some added browned goodness.

If you bake in (buttered) ramekins, place them on a foil-lined baking sheet and bake at 350 until golden and bubbly (about 20-30 minutes, depending on your oven). If you bake in a (buttered) casserole (like a traditional breakfast strata), it will probably take a little longer; browned and bubbling is the goal.

Rapini

With the holidays behind us, I am repeating a time-honored tradition at the start of this year.  Having consumed the better portion of my own weight in cookies, chocolate, and heavy meals, I am ready to get back to a normal, heavy-on-the-vegetables, lean protein, whole grain diet.  Part of what I love about this time of year is the fact that I start to really crave greens and, in spite of the guilt I feel about leaving a big carbon footprint, I just can’t help myself at the grocery store produce section.

Because my need for green vegetables is so strong, I am extra-willing to try new things over and over until I find a way in which I like them.  I did this with collard greens long ago, and recently had the same kind of revival with brussels sprouts.  This time around, I am kickin’ it with some rapini, which is also called broccoli rabe.  Part of me has always been a bit wary of this vegetable, maybe because I have always been of the mind that there is no way you could improve on regular broccoli.  However, once you taste this green (which looks much like the love child of broccoli and mustard greens), you’ll see what a different flavor it has from anything else you’ve eaten.

A lovely friend of a friend, Michelle Maisto*, has written a marvelous book called The Gastronomy of Marriage, which is as much a love letter to food as it is to her husband.  Her literary (and culinary) treatment of rapini really resonates with me, describing how she “[craves] bitter greens like a thirst,” and sharing an anecdote about trying to get her husband to enjoy rapini, which he politely eats and dislikes (much like the Bun).  Maisto backs herself up with a tenet of Jeffrey Steingarten, food critic for Vogue, who claims that food aversions can be overcome with repeated consumption.  Though I find Steingarten’s TV personality abhorrent, I do find some of his food philosophy insightful.

I prepared rapini for the first time with very negotiable results; I was discouraged, but also challenged.  Foolishly, I treated the vegetable like broccoli and merely sauteed it in olive oil and garlic; the end product was bitter and unpleasant.  The step I missed was the par-boiling step, which makes all the difference.  Once blanched in some salted water, the rapini becomes gorgeously green (see photo), the color of green that you long for in the winter months.  As Ms. Maisto suggests, finish the blanched rapini with quick saute in some olive oil, garlic, red pepper flakes, and a squeeze of lemon.  This makes for the deepest, most verdant vegetable dish I’ve ever had.  Please give this one a try with some seared salmon or roast chicken; you may not fit it into your standard rep right away, but it’ll be a flavor so compelling that you’ll inevitably return to it again.

* Ms. Maisto also writes an exceptionally useful blog called The Market Report, which should be required reading for all New Yorkers.