The Iron Hand

I think I'd eat rocks if they were flavored with garlic. Especially green garlic.


I can't think of another plant that gives so much flavor to just about any dish, even our usual Sunday roasted chicken. My neighbor had been down to Monterey for a trade show and, on the way back, she stopped at a vegetable stand to buy fresh produce. The entire area around Monterey is one giant garden of veggie delights. She brought us a punnet of strawberries, four tiny zucchinis no bigger than hot dogs, and a wonderfully pungent bulb of green garlic with all the leaves still attached. She had wrapped the garlic bulb in a plastic bag to try to contain the scent, but it sneaked out to perfume the whole house.


I chopped it up that evening and stuck some of it under the skin over the breast of our chicken, and tucked the rest into the cavity along with a whole lemon that I first squeezed over the skin. As it roasted, the raw allium scent was replaced by the indescribably appetizing smell of the mingled flavors of heady garlic and juicy chicken.


The chicken didn't look so hot, what with lumpy green stuff under the beautifully browned skin but the flavor was deeply, richly garlicky. Green garlic, in many ways, imparts even more of its essence to the cooked food than does mature garlic, and it's sweeter, gentler. You've heard of the iron hand in the velvet glove? That's green garlic.


My Beloved's first bite stopped him short, closing his eyes to savor. He opened them and breathed a reverent, "Wow." Now, that's what I call Sunday dinner.