Like An Eight-Day Clock

One of the best things about a big ol' pot of soup is that you cook once, then rest on your laurels. You might adjust the seasoning or tweak it a bit for variety, but the basic work is done and you can get on to whatever else you need to do.

After that first meal, I leave the covered pot on the stove and just reheat the whole thing when I'm ready for the next serving - I don't even refrigerate it.*

I figure that as long as I bring it to a boil and keep it there for 10-15 minutes, any nasties lurking in the pot will be destroyed. I haven't poisoned anyone yet and it makes the soup taste soooo good when it has had all that extra time to mingle. Like a good cocktail party, everyone has a chance to meet everyone else and they have all made connections.

This time, I added some kale leaflets to this soup that I made a while back. I had never used this curly kale before; when I tasted it raw, it was very green and a little bitter. I'm pretty sure this is the stuff our mother forced us to eat when we were kids. But, immerse those frills in a pot of soup for 10 minutes of serious simmering and it turns into a whole different character. It softens and sweetens while retaining the ticklish texture that makes it so interesting.

The best thing about a big ol' pot of soup is that you can keep it going like an eight-day clock.

*Professional fool in a closed kitchen - do not attempt this at home.

The Enemy Kale

I've been trying, one by one, things I hated as a child. I haven't yet summoned the nerve to try rutabaga but last week I did purchase kale again.

When I was young, my mother fixed kale every once in a while, probably in the fall when it is at its best. Hers was a curly kind, strong and darkly green; we kids were reasonably bratty whenever she served it. She was one of those mothers who insist that one clean one's plate before dessert - we choked it down but not without making faces and mutterings under the breath. Once I was married and out of her house, I vowed never to subject myself to kale again. Just goes to show you - never say never.

This kale was of the lacinato variety, still darkly green but with pointed, flattish leaves on stiff white ribs as one might expect from the name. I decided to cook it much as we do Swiss chard, coarsely chopped and butter-steamed with garlic chips, and to serve it along side chicken roasted with potatoes and shallots. It took longer to relax than chard does - rather like my mother, kale is made of sterner stuff. When it finally slumped to the bottom of the pan, we sat down to a surprisingly nutty, chewy green, not at all the leathery, curly mouthful of my memory. I liked the combination of spartan, slightly bitter green with the richness of the roast chicken and shallots.

I'm sending a mental apology once again to Mom up there in heaven. It takes a little getting used to, but kale is not the enemy.

Poetic Justice

When we were children, my siblings and I were not shy about expressing our distaste for some of the foods our mother served. In point of fact, we were total brats. Looking back, I am ashamed of the nose holdings, the groans, the grotesque faces and the retching noises we made when presented with rutabaga, spinach or - heaven forbid! - kale. "Eeeuw, kale! I won't eat that junk!"

Now that I'm the cook and I know how sensitive I am to criticism, I'm a little surprised she didn't slap us upside the head or rush from the table in tears when we exhibited such incredibly boorish behavior. Instead, she just made us eat Every.Single.Bite. Poetic justice, I suppose.

Fast forward to my new resolve to try one new thing each time I go to the grocery store. As I was bopping down the veggie aisle, what should I spy but a nice, healthy bunch of organic lacinato kale. Even as I was mentally making those same retching noises, I was thinking, "Yeah, but you haven't tried it in 50 years; why not give it a whirl?"

So, here it is, simply rinsed, coarsely chopped and sauteed in bacon fat with a leftover slice of bacon crumbled in amongst the dark green leaves. Next time, I'd remove most of the unpleasantly fibrous stems but it was good. Seriously good. Surprisingly good. So good that I'm mentally apologizing to Our Mother Who Art In Heaven for all those disgusting noises and crass comments.