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It was with dismay that I read the following on the blog of a fellow Roxbury CSA member, a week or so ago: “I can tell you one thing for sure: not many people are taking the braising greens. I must have packed up half a dozen bags brimming with the stuff.”

My initial reaction to this was a slight sadness (all those people missing out on something delicious!), coupled with indignation (why join a CSA if you aren’t going to try cooking some of the more unfamiliar things it brings you?) and tinged with pure greed (a selfish urge to disclose my address to any non-green eaters out there who might want to make a delivery. I will eat your greens! I will freeze them for later!).

The indignation was admittedly unfair, especially given the amount of cultural baggage greens have to overcome. The image of the mean mommy saying, “eat your greens or no dessert!” is an entrenched meme.  After being billed for so long as nothing more than an icky gateway to dessert, cooking greens are desperately in need of an image makeover. Maybe we can get the same PR firm that did such a good job for arugula* and ramps (which latter have taken the New York culinary world by storm.  I think the market folk must find the number of well-heeled urbanites who will line up to pay $4 a bunch for something that grows wild for the taking somewhat hilarious. Am I cynical to think that they also roll with laughter on the floor when we pay $3 a bunch for purslane?).

My personal greens hero is Paula Wolfert, who is (or ought to be considered as, if she isn’t) the foremost post-Elizabeth David “Mediterranean” food writer. I first read about Wolfert seven years ago in the often-hilarious, love-him-or-hate-him Jim Harrison collection The Raw and the Cooked.  Harrison is a champion of some of the great “outsiders” of food writing – John Thorne and Richard Olney, for example – and to some extent Wolfert belongs in this camp (in contrast, say, to someone like Patricia Wells.) Her recipes, while they are adapted for home kitchens and American supermarkets, are not watered down, simplified, or beautified for the camera. Recipes, to her, are experiences – not things that are simply “made up” or written to be “followed.” She speaks of being “taught a dish” (not a recipe), and all of her recipes are translations of a sort: deeply connected to the person who taught her, translated through her own experience and iteration, and offered to you to learn and incorporate into your own culinary life. I find it best to trust her completely on the first go-round with any recipe. After that, you can make it yours.

All of Wolfert’s cookbooks have an air of being singular, definitive, and comprehensive — I don’t know how she does it.  On the subject at hand, there is Mediterranean Grains and Greens, which begins by laying out the thought that these two basic culinary elements are the perfect and eternal union of organized agriculture (grains) and the ‘old ways’ of foraging for food (greens).** For this alone, which serves as a real and enthusiastic “call back to nature,” the book would be indispensable—but then she goes on to devote the entire first chapter, before offering a single recipe, to a discussion of types of and sources for greens (foraged and bought), along with several basic strategies and techniques for cooking and storing them.  I highly recommend finding a copy of the book and even just reading this chapter – it will revise your relationship with greens forever (as it did mine).

While you are waiting to get a copy, here is a brief synopsis of tips for discovering the deliciousness of greens:

1. Probably the main reason that greens no longer figure largely in our cuisine is the fact that when they are small enough to be really tasty, they don’t keep or transport all that well (which makes them unsuited to the agricultural industrial complex of our modern supermarket-based food chain).  It’s true that the dinosaur-sized kale sold in supermarkets is tough and nasty. And those big floppy chard leaves are usually fairly flavorless.  No wonder it’s a chore to “eat your greens!” A nice fresh bunch of young greens from the farmer’s market (or CSA) might change your opinion.

2. As I just mentioned, young tasty greens don’t travel or keep all that well. But if you do need to store them for a day or so (or longer) there are several options:

• For up to 5 days: soak greens in cold water, spin them dry, then layer them between paper towels (N.B. you can dry out and reuse the towels used for this purpose) in a plastic bag. Squeeze as much air out as possible, and put in the bottom of the fridge (in the crisper, for example).
• For 5-7 days: blanch the greens for 1-3 minutes in boiling water (depending on the age and tenderness – shorter for younger, longer for more bitter) and then rinse with cold water (or drop them briefly into a bowl of ice water) and then spin and squeeze as dry as possible. Do not be depressed at how much volume seems to be lost!! Pack into a ziploc (these are also highly reusable) and store in the fridge.
• For up to 6 months: do as above and then freeze. Think how welcome those greens will be in January! I also do this when the week’s allotment is small so I can build up enough for a larger recipe.

3. Mix your greens – a mixture of spicy, sweet, and earthy greens is more interesting than one kind alone. You can easily substitute a bag of mixed greens for chard or spinach in any recipe. Roxbury Farm’s braising mix is a great example of this mixture – lucky us!  I’m going to try adding some wild greens (once you know what it looks like, you will notice that lambs quarter is everywhere) in to mine, too.

4. What to do about bitterness: Bitterness is a neat botanical adaptation that protects plants against being eaten by grazing predators once they have invested in the very energy-intensive process of reproduction – flowering and making seeds. Later in the summer, when it is hot, the plants tend to get to this stage more quickly and will often be more bitter than the tender little greens that had the luxury of taking their time in the spring. You can cope with this (as well as with the daunting volume of a pound of greens!) by blanching greens in boiling water and then cooling them quickly (see above).  Although when it’s 80+ degrees and humid, boiling a kettle of water may be the last thing you want to do. Try chopping your greens roughly and sprinkling with salt in a colander. Leave them in the sink to give up liquid for about an hour or so, then rinse well, squeeze dry, and cook.  Wolfert also suggests thorough cooking and long slow braising as a way to bring out the sweetness of more aggressive greens without blanching (as she instructs in one recipe, “forget fashionably crunchy vegetables.”)

I use greens in all sorts of ways – I especially like them with eggs and garlic in a frittata (or quiche, if I’ve got the inclination and time for pastry). Blanched greens, sautéed quickly with garlic, olive oil, and red pepper flakes and tossed with penne pasta, make a wonderfully satisfying and quick summer dinner (if you’re going to boil water to blanch greens in July, you might as well use it for cooking pasta afterwards!). But the following recipe, adapted from Wolfert, is my hands-down new favorite (no pun intended, but you will get your hands dirty when you make this!).  I’ve always been crazy about bulgur – I love grains that have a nutty, rich taste. In this dish, the bulgur cooks in the liquid from the greens, and everything melts together with lots of garlic and fairly mild chili.  Best yet, it is versatile to serve – this is good hot as a side dish for grilled tuna or roast chicken, or cold or at room temperature as a very flavorful and satisfying salad.

“Best Ever” Bugulama – adapted from Paula Wolfert’s Mediterranean Greens and Grains

3-4 cloves of good fresh garlic (Wolfert calls for a whole head! I find 3-4 cloves to be plenty, and I love garlic. I’d say start with this much and adjust to your taste.)

1 tsp of salt (plus more to taste)

1 pound onions (the fresher and more juicy the better)

1 pound mixed greens (sweet and bitter)

1 cup coarse-grained bulgur*

4 TBSP olive oil

1-2 tsp ground mild chilis, or more to taste (I use piment d’espellette, because I have a string of them from last summer’s vacation. Ground anchos would work well too. Here’s a source in case you can’t find them in the supermarket. Do NOT use “chili powder,” which has powdered garlic, oregano, etc. in it.).

¼ tsp red pepper flakes

½ tsp ground black pepper.

½ cup water

Crush the garlic with the side of a knife, peel, and roughly chop. Mash the garlic, 1 tsp of salt, and the ground chili with a mortar and pestle (or if you don’t have one, sprinkle the salt and chili on the garlic and chop and chop it, crushing to release liquid. Or press through a garlic press, then mash the chili and salt in with the back of a fork).

Peel and finely chop the onion. Wash and chop the greens into fine ribbons.

Here’s where it gets fun!  In a 3-qt. or larger heavy-bottomed pan, mix the crushed garlic mixture, onions, and slivered greens with the chili flakes, black pepper, and more salt if you think it needs (this is to taste – make it without any extra the first time and see what you think). The best way to mix is with your hands. I just love mixing thing with my hands! The greens will start to wilt a little from the salt, and the crushed garlic will smell heady and divine.  Add the bulgur and water, and continue mixing, kneading it and really working the liquid from the greens and the water into the bulgur until everything is very well combined.

Cover tightly and set pot over medium heat. As soon as it steams, turn down as low as your burner will go and let cook for 15 minutes. Turn off heat and let stand for 10 minutes more before uncovering, then stir and re-cover if it needs a little more time.

*I have been using Bob’s Red Mill bulgur, which is what is readily available in supermarkets. It is ‘par-boiled,’ which means it cooks fast and can even just be soaked (great in the summer!). However it does have the tendency to gum up and stick to the bottom of the pan in this dish.  Turning way down and letting it sit with no heat seemed to help. Wolfert’s recipe calls for cooking for 30 minutes with med/low heat. If you are using bulgur that isn’t parboiled, this is probably the way to go (but be aware that it might scorch a little on the bottom). The beauty of my cooking method is that it will continue to cook with the residual steam heat, so you can err on the side of underdone, then just leave it covered for a while to finish.