Fresh turnips (left) and Young Turnips, Greens and All
steaming, braising, and wilting
Fresh turnips (left) and Young Turnips, Greens and All
I have always loved, loved, loved vegetables, even as a child. In my mother’s kitchen, however, they were usually a colorful mixture in a frozen chunk. Sometimes they were even canned (frozen was a significantly better option, I thought). But nobody had to force me to eat my spinach. To this day, cooked greens are often my favorite part of the meal. In this chapter you’ll find a number of heavenly examples, from barely wilted arugula to Japanese chrysanthemum and long-cooked kale. I find it fascinating that every type of cooking green has a distinct flavor and personality, yet all are delicious and healthful.
There are all kinds of vegetables here to glorify and praise, and most of them are quite humble. Onions, cabbage, carrots, and leeks are not very glamorous; still, I find them exciting. Turnips make me smile, especially young ones. I also get excited about legumes—peas and beans, fresh or dry—and about lentils, in a salad or soup. Freshly dug new potatoes are a real turn-on. A cheap thrill perhaps, but a thrill nonetheless. Any of the following dishes can certainly be considered as an accompaniment to a main course, but sitting down to a supper (or a snack) of vegetables alone can be quite satisfying.
Ordinary green cabbage can be transformed by a bright, spicy combination of Indian aromatics. This fresh-tasting stir-fry may well make you a cabbage lover in spite of yourself. It makes a great side dish, since it goes with almost everything. It’s also quite satisfying served just with plain steamed basmati rice and a spoonful of yogurt raita. You can treat Brussels sprouts the same way. Serves 4
2 tablespoons ghee, clarified butter, or vegetable oil
1 teaspoon black mustard seeds
½ teaspoon cumin seeds
½ teaspoon grated garlic
½ teaspoon grated ginger
1 teaspoon finely chopped serrano or other green chile
¼ teaspoon turmeric
1 pound firm green cabbage, quartered, cored, and sliced ⅛ inch thick
Salt and pepper
Juice of ½ lime
Heat the ghee in a large wok or a wide skillet over medium-high heat. Add the mustard and cumin seeds and let them sizzle. When they begin to pop, add the garlic, ginger, chile, and turmeric, then quickly add the cabbage and stir to coat. Season with salt and pepper and stir-fry until the cabbage wilts slightly, about 5 minutes.
Finish with a squeeze or two of lime juice and transfer to a serving dish.
In cold weather, there’s something completely pleasurable about a warm, savory French lentil salad. And when I say French, I don’t just mean in the French manner (though this salad is)—you really need to use French lentils. They keep their shape when cooked, and their firm, nutty texture holds up to the acid in an assertive dressing. Ordinary brown supermarket lentils are fine for soup, but for a good lentil salad, you want those beautiful little imported gray-green lentilles du Puy. They cook in about 30 minutes.
Dress the warm lentils with the garlicky mustard vinaigrette, add thick slices of smoked pork belly and boiled fingerling potatoes, and sprinkle with lots of chopped scallions and parsley. A magnificent meal. Serves 4 to 6
¾ pound smoked pork belly or good-quality slab bacon, 1½ to 2 inches thick
1 large onion, halved and each half stuck with a clove
4 thyme branches
1 small carrot, peeled
1 cup small green French lentils, picked over and rinsed
1 small bay leaf
Salt and pepper
1 pound fingerling or other small potatoes, rinsed
For the vinaigrette
1 large shallot, finely diced
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
2 garlic cloves, smashed to a paste with a little salt
Salt and pepper
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
¼ cup fruity olive oil
2 teaspoons capers, rinsed and roughly chopped
2 tablespoons chopped cornichons or other sour gherkins
½ cup chopped parsley, plus 1 tablespoon for garnish
¼ cup chopped scallions, plus 1 tablespoon for garnish
Put the pork belly in a small pot with 1 of the onion halves, 2 of the thyme branches, and the carrot. Add water to cover, bring to a simmer, and cook until the meat is tender, about 45 minutes. Turn off the heat and keep warm in the liquid.
Meanwhile, put the lentils in a saucepan and add the other onion half, the 2 remaining thyme branches, and the bay leaf. Add 4 cups water and a little salt, bring to a simmer, and cook gently until the lentils are firm-tender, 25 to 30 minutes. Drain (discard the onion, thyme, and bay leaf) and keep warm.
Cook the potatoes in their skins in well-salted boiling water until tender, about 15 minutes. Drain and keep warm.
To make the vinaigrette, macerate the shallot in the red wine vinegar in a small bowl for 5 minutes.
Add the garlic, a pinch each of salt and pepper, and the mustard to the shallot, then whisk in the olive oil to make a thick dressing. Stir in the chopped capers and cornichons. Just before serving, stir in the ½ cup parsley and ¼ cup scallions.
To serve, dress the lentils with half the vinaigrette, then transfer to a platter or serving bowl. Slice the pork belly (or bacon) crosswise into ¼-inch slices (save the broth for soup) and arrange over the lentils. Cut the potatoes lengthwise in half and arrange cut side up around the pork. Spoon the remaining vinaigrette over the sliced meat and potatoes and sprinkle with the remaining 1 tablespoon each scallions and parsley.
Note: This vinaigrette is also great with boiled or roasted beef, hot or cold, as well as with boiled or steamed vegetables, like leeks.
Larger turnips, the kind sold loose, are good roasted, which concentrates their sweetness and gives them a wonderfully browned crisp exterior. But for this dish, which celebrates young greens, you want baby turnips, the smaller the better, sold in bunches with their fresh leafy tops still attached. Since the turnips take a little longer to cook than the greens, begin by steaming them in a small amount of water and a bit of butter, then toss in the tender greens for a quick minute or two. Serves 4
2 bunches young turnips with greens (about 2 pounds)
2 tablespoons butter or olive oil
Salt and pepper
Cut the greens from the turnips, leaving a bit of stem attached to each turnip. Wash twice in cold water, then drain. Roughly chop the greens or, if they are quite small, leave them whole. Set aside.
Trim the roots from the turnips with a paring knife. Unless they are very small, halve or quarter the turnips. Soak in a bowl of water to remove any grit.
Put the butter in a large saucepan, add the turnips, and season with salt and pepper. Add ½ cup water and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat. Cover and let steam until the turnips are tender, about 3 minutes. Add the turnip greens and a pinch more salt and continue cooking, covered, to wilt the greens, about a minute more.
If Cobb salad is quintessentially American, then frisée aux lardons is its French counterpart. Both have immense popularity, and both have bacon and eggs. The main ingredient of the latter is curly endive (frisée), of which the French are inordinately fond. Curly endive is the mildest member of the chicory family, and aside from beauty (a head of frisée is indeed a sight to behold), its virtue is the ability to stand up to an assertive dressing. When preparing this salad, take care to remove the tough outer leaves—it’s the tender, blanched pale green interior that you want. Serves 4
6 ounces thick-cut bacon, sliced crosswise into ¼-inch-wide lardons
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons sherry vinegar
½ teaspoon grated garlic
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper
4 eggs
4 handfuls tender, pale frisée (about 10 ounces)
12 thin slices baguette, lightly toasted and rubbed with a garlic clove
Simmer the bacon in a small amount of water for about 5 minutes. Drain. In a small skillet, cook the bacon over medium heat (no need to add oil) until lightly browned and crisp but still a bit springy. Blot on a paper towel.
Meanwhile, for the vinaigrette, whisk together the mustard, vinegar, and garlic in a small bowl. Whisk in the olive oil. Season with salt and pepper.
Fill a shallow skillet two-thirds full with salted water and bring to a gentle simmer. Crack the eggs carefully into the water. Poach the eggs for 3 to 4 minutes, until the whites have set but the yolks are still soft. With a slotted spoon, remove to a paper-towel-lined plate. Lightly salt the frisée and toss with the vinaigrette, coating it well. Divide the greens among four plates, place an egg in the center of each, and add 3 baguette toasts. Scatter the lardons over the salads, add a little ground black pepper, and serve.
We think of tender young arugula, with its peppery flavor, as a salad green, which of course it is. Larger-leafed bunches, however, are perfect for cooking. When it is wilted quickly, just as you would treat tender spinach, arugula’s characteristic nutty flavor comes through but its sharpness is softened. It takes seconds, not minutes. Use cooked arugula as an easy and delicious side dish, or add it to pasta dishes at the last minute. Serves 4
1 tablespoon olive oil or butter
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 pound arugula, rinsed and trimmed but not dried
Salt and pepper
Heat the olive oil in a wide skillet over medium-high heat. Add the garlic and let it sizzle for about 15 seconds without browning. Toss the leaves into the pan, add salt and pepper, and cook, stirring, until just wilted, 30 to 40 seconds.
Not to sound cranky, but to say that I am baffled by the current craze for eating kale raw is an understatement. And kale chips? Barbecue-flavored? Do enlighten me. On the other hand, cooked kale is wonderful, especially long cooked. In Portugal, fabulous deep-green kale soups are simmered for hours. Here is a recipe for 30-minute kale, but you can cook it even longer. Use lacinato (dinosaur) kale if it’s available. Serve in bowls with plenty of the delicious broth, good for sopping up with crusty bread. Serves 4 to 6
2 pounds kale
3 tablespoons olive oil
2 medium onions, sliced
Salt and pepper
½ pound Spanish chorizo, sliced
½ inch thick, or slab bacon, cut into ½-inch chunks
Large pinch of red pepper flakes
Sherry vinegar (optional)
Cut the kale crosswise into 2-inch pieces, discarding any tough stems. Wash twice in cold water to remove any grit and drain.
Heat the olive oil in a large heavy pot over medium-high heat. Add the onions, season with salt and pepper, and cook until softened, about 5 minutes; adjust the heat as necessary so the onions don’t brown too much. Add the chorizo and red pepper flakes and cook for 2 minutes more.
Add the kale a handful at a time, sprinkling each handful lightly with salt, then turn the heat to high and stir with a wooden spoon to help the greens wilt. Add 1 cup water and continue to stir until it is simmering briskly. Cover and turn the heat to low; it should be rather brothy—add more water if necessary. Cook the kale slowly, stirring occasionally, for about 30 minutes, until very tender.
Taste and adjust the seasoning, adding a few drops of sherry vinegar if desired.
Belgian endives can add crisp sweetness to winter salads. Eaten raw, they are not as assertive as some of their chicory relatives, like red radicchio and Treviso. Yet when cooked, endives can sometimes seem unpleasantly bitter. The solution is to brown them quite ruthlessly, until they’re nearly burned. The high heat caramelizes and sweetens the endive in a remarkable way. Serves 4
4 tablespoons butter, softened
2 teaspoons chopped anchovies
1 garlic clove, smashed to a paste with a little salt or grated
½ teaspoon grated lemon zest
1 tablespoon chopped parsley
2 teaspoons thinly slivered chives
Salt and pepper
4 large Belgian endives
1 tablespoon olive oil
Put the butter in a small bowl, add the anchovies, garlic, lemon zest, parsley, and chives, and mix well. Season with salt and pepper and set aside.
Cut the endives lengthwise in half, discarding any tough outer leaves, and trim a bit off the stem end. Season on both sides with salt and pepper.
Heat the broiler. Heat the olive oil in a wide cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, lay the endive cut side down in the pan and let brown for 3 or 4 minutes. Turn the endive over and cook for 2 minutes more.
Put the pan under the broiler and leave until the endive is well browned and beginning to char. Serve warm, smeared with the anchovy butter.
A friend in the South of France once served me new potatoes that had been steamed over a huge bed of wild thyme branches, a lovely way to cook them. Back home I use this method: put the unpeeled potatoes in a wide pot with an inch or two of water, then add a handful of aromatic herbs and spices. Over a high flame, the small potatoes cook quickly in a fragrant, steamy bath. Now, will it be sweet butter? fruity olive oil? or crème fraîche? Serves 4 to 6
2 pounds new potatoes, 1½ to 2 inches in diameter
1 small bunch thyme
A few rosemary sprigs
4 bay leaves
¼ teaspoon black peppercorns
1 head garlic, separated into cloves but not peeled
Salt
Scrub the potatoes but do not peel. Put the thyme, rosemary, bay leaves, peppercorns, and garlic cloves in a wide heavy pot. Add the potatoes in one layer and enough water to barely cover. Sprinkle with a generous amount of salt, about 2 teaspoons. Put on the lid and bring to a hard boil. Reduce the heat slightly to maintain a rapid simmer and cook, covered, for about 15 minutes. Check the potatoes with a skewer to make sure they have cooked through.
Turn off the heat and leave the potatoes for at least 10 minutes, or up to half an hour. To serve, drain the potatoes and put them in a serving bowl, with the aromatics still clinging to them.
On menus in Chinese restaurants, there’s always an item on the English side called “Green Vegetable.” When I see plates sailing by to other tables piled with the most brilliant greens, I can’t help but order some. In fact, I am always heading to Chinatown to buy them for cooking at home. I admire the merchants, usually female, who take such great pride in their trade. They make such beautifully displayed rows of colorful greens, like Chinese morning glory (water spinach), tiny bok choy, and flowering mustard. Serves 4
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
3 or 4 small dried red chile peppers
2 teaspoons grated ginger
2 teaspoons grated garlic
1½ pounds small bok choy or Chinese morning glory, tough stems removed
Salt
1 teaspoon soy sauce
½ teaspoon toasted sesame oil
In a large wok or a wide skillet, heat the oil over high heat. Add the chiles, ginger, and garlic and let sizzle, without browning. Add the greens, sprinkle lightly with salt, and stir to coat. Add a splash of water, and put on the lid. The steam created in the closed vessel will cook most greens in a minute or two. Finish with a drizzle of the soy sauce and sesame oil.
Stewed tomatoes, an old-fashioned side dish, can be wonderful but are a little fussy to make. Instead, I begin with the ripest summer tomatoes, peeled or not (I usually don’t), and slow-roast them in olive oil perfumed with garlic and herbs. As they cook, their sweetness is concentrated. These tomatoes are wonderful served warm or at room temperature with grilled fish—no other sauce needed. I also like them cold the next day with a few slices of mozzarella, a dab of fresh ricotta, or some crumbled feta. Serves 6 to 8
6 large, ripe tomatoes
Salt and pepper
Olive oil
4 garlic cloves, sliced
A handful of basil leaves
Heat the oven to 350°F. Core the tomatoes, cut them in half, and season the cut halves with salt and pepper. Place the tomatoes cut side up in a shallow earthenware baking dish in one layer. Pour about 1 cup olive oil evenly over the tomato halves, and scatter the garlic and basil leaves over, tucking them in here and there. Bake, uncovered, for about 45 minutes, basting with oil occasionally. The tomatoes should hold their shape, but barely. Leave them in the olive oil for 30 minutes before serving or let them cool to room temperature.
Note: Use the fragrant leftover oil to make salad dressings or for cooking vegetables.
If your great-great-grandmother was French or British, she would have known how to braise lettuce. Although braised lettuce was once a rather common dish, it’s rarely seen in the twenty-first century. To me, the concept still has great appeal, but it’s best when the lettuce is cooked just until tender. Add sweet peas if you are making this in the spring or summer; otherwise, skip them and just add the herbs. Any kind of sturdy head will work for this dish: Little Gem or romaine lettuce is a good choice. Serves 4 to 6
6 Little Gem lettuces or 2 small heads romaine
2 tablespoons butter
1 medium onion, diced
Salt and pepper
½ cup chopped ham
1 cup shelled peas
½ cup chicken broth or water
1 tablespoon chopped parsley
1 tablespoon chopped mint
If using Little Gem lettuces, trim the bottoms and discard the tough outer leaves. Cut lengthwise in half, rinse briefly, and drain. If using romaine, cut the heads into quarters.
In a wide large skillet, melt the butter over medium-high heat. Add the onion, season with salt and pepper, and cook until softened, about 5 minutes. Add the ham, peas, and broth, and bring to a simmer. Add the lettuces in one layer and sprinkle lightly with salt. Put on the lid and let steam for about 5 minutes, until the lettuce is tender.
Stir in the chopped parsley and mint.
This green vegetable is known by many names. Italians call it cime di rapa, rapini, or raab. It’s most often seen in American markets labeled broccoli rabe. Its flavor is clear and distinctive—a hint of bitterness and a deep, mustardy sweetness. Broccoli rabe cries out for aggressive seasoning, fairly begging for olive oil, hot red pepper (peperoncino), garlic, rosemary, and fennel seed. I could eat a huge pile all by itself, or with a fine companion like cannellini beans or a slice of roast pork. Note that you can blanch the greens well ahead of time, then finish and season them just before serving. Serves 4 to 6
Salt and pepper
2 pounds broccoli rabe
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 garlic cloves, minced
Large pinch of red pepper flakes
½ teaspoon chopped rosemary
½ teaspoon crushed fennel seeds
Lemon wedges
Bring a large pot of well-salted water to a boil. Meanwhile, cut the broccoli rabe into 2-inch pieces, including the tender stems.
Wilt the rabe slightly by plunging it into the boiling water for 1 minute. Drain and spread out on a baking sheet to cool (you can do this several hours ahead).
In a wide skillet, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the garlic, red pepper flakes, rosemary, and fennel seeds and let sizzle without browning. Add the rabe and stir well to coat, then season with salt and pepper and cook for about 2 minutes, until heated through. Serve warm or at room temperature, with lemon wedges.
I’m a fan of good old-fashioned creamed spinach, but this light-handed variation, with no butter or cream in sight, can be even more satisfying. It employs tender chrysanthemum leaves, which have a curious floral flavor and a slight tannic edge. Of course, you need to use cultivated edible chrysanthemum greens, not the plants grown for their showy flowers. Use spinach if you can’t find chrysanthemum, but it’s worth searching out. When briefly wilted, then combined with soft, custardy tofu, the greens make a delicate treat, best served in small portions. Look for both in a Japanese grocery. Serves 4
Salt and pepper
2 teaspoons toasted sesame oil
1 teaspoon grated ginger
½ teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon rice wine
1 pound chrysanthemum greens, tough stems trimmed
¼ pound silken tofu, cut into ½-inch cubes
1 teaspoon toasted sesame seeds
2 tablespoons thinly slivered scallions
2 tablespoons bonito flakes (optional)
Bring a medium pot of well-salted water to a boil.
Meanwhile, make the dressing: whisk together the sesame oil, ginger, sugar, and rice wine. Add the chrysanthemum greens to the boiling water and let soften for 10 seconds. Drain and immediately transfer to a serving bowl. Season lightly with salt and pepper and add the dressing. Stir in the tofu and toss gently.
Sprinkle with the sesame seeds, scallions, and bonito flakes, if using. Serve hot or cold.
Although it’s chock-full of vitamins and minerals, chard’s main virtue is its extraordinary flavor, which, alas, is practically impossible to describe. Bolder than spinach, yet deeper, sturdier, earthier, and more pure? Versatile too, and a boon to soups, among many other dishes. Chard could almost be considered two vegetables, as the lush leafy greens must be prepared one way and the firm stalks quite another. Here I combine both leaves and stalks in a gratin bound with a light béchamel and a generous sprinkling of Parmesan or Pecorino cheese. Baked until beautifully browned and crisp, it is rather like a lasagna without pasta. Serves 6
For the béchamel
4 tablespoons butter
¼ cup all-purpose flour
2 to 3 cups milk
Salt and pepper
Grated nutmeg
2 pounds Swiss chard
Salt and pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
Pinch of red pepper flakes
3 tablespoons butter
¾ cup grated Parmigano-Reggiano, Pecorino Romano, or Gruyère cheese
To make the béchamel, melt the 4 tablespoons butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. Whisk in the flour and let cook for 1 minute. Add 2 cups milk, ¼ cup at a time, whisking constantly as the sauce thickens. Thin with more milk if necessary. Season generously with salt and pepper and with nutmeg to taste. Turn the heat to low and cook, whisking, for 10 to 15 minutes. Keep the sauce warm in a double boiler.
Meanwhile, cut the stems from the chard. Trim them and cut into batons about ½ inch thick by 3 inches. Rinse well and set aside. Stack the chard leaves about 6 at a time, roll them up like a cigar, and cut into 1-inch-wide strips. Wash twice in cold water and drain.
Bring 8 cups well-salted water to a boil in a saucepan. Add the chard stem batons and simmer until tender, about 5 minutes. Drain and let cool.
Heat the olive oil in a wide skillet over medium-high heat. Add the garlic and red pepper flakes and let sizzle without browning, then add the chopped chard leaves. Season with salt and pepper and stir-fry until just wilted, about 2 minutes. Drain in a colander. When the chard is cool, squeeze to remove excess liquid.
Heat the oven to 400°F. Use 1 tablespoon of the butter to grease a 2-quart gratin dish or shallow baking dish. Add the chard leaves in an even layer. Arrange the cooked stems over the top. Spoon the béchamel over the entire dish. Sprinkle with the grated cheese and dot with the remaining 2 tablespoons butter.
Bake until golden and bubbling, about 25 minutes.
Here’s an iconic dish you’ll never find in a restaurant—nor, for that matter, in many home kitchens anymore. I learned it from a French grandmother who learned it from her French grandmother. She called it jardinière (for the vegetable garden—after all, it contains, but is not limited to, onions, potatoes, carrots, leeks, turnips, and peas). Think of it as a kind of pot-au-feu, so good it doesn’t really need meat. You start with a base of onions, then add each successive vegetable according to its cooking time, finishing with a handful of peas. Simmering them all together, along with a good knob of butter, a little bacon, and a bit of broth, makes the whole dish far greater than the sum of its ingredients. Serves 4
¼ pound thick-sliced bacon or pancetta
6 tablespoons butter
4 small onions, quartered
1 bay leaf
1 large thyme sprig
1 pound Yukon Gold or other yellow-fleshed potatoes, peeled and cut into 2-inch chunks
½ pound medium carrots, peeled and cut in half
Salt and pepper
1 medium leek, trimmed and cut into 1-inch slices
8 small turnips, about 2 inches in diameter, peeled and quartered
1 cup shelled peas
Cut the bacon into ½-inch-wide lardons. Put them in a small pot, cover with water, and simmer for 2 minutes, then drain.
Melt the butter in a large wide heavy pot (enameled cast-iron is ideal) over medium heat. Add the bacon and onions, turn up the heat to medium-high, and cook, stirring well for a minute or so. Add the bay leaf, thyme sprig, potatoes, and carrots and stir to coat. Season with salt and pepper. Add 1 cup water and bring to a brisk simmer. Put on the lid and cook, adjusting the heat if necessary, for 15 minutes, or until the potatoes are just done.
Gently stir in the leek and turnips and add a little salt and, if the pot seems to be getting dry, a splash of water. Replace the lid and cook for 5 to 8 minutes more, until the turnips are tender. Add the peas and cook: they will need only a minute or two. Make sure to spoon some of the pot juices over each serving.