Collard greens, that is — an overlooked vegetable ready for its close up
Culinary school introduced me to collard greens. That the chewy, grotty-smelling leaf venerated in the South but disdained elsewhere is taught at the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, New York — an institution whose publicity department dubbed it the “Harvard of cooking schools” — should give you an idea of its potential. Sitting with the few other black culinarians in the alcove of the former Jesuit chapel that served as our dining hall, I would joke that it seemed we were always the students selected by the chef-instructor to cook “greens.”
A few weeks after the new year, I ate at Bell’s BBQ in Henderson. Eating greens in the new year is supposed to bring favor; besides, I make it a point to order collard greens whenever it is on a menu. Bell’s knows how to do greens. The leaves were silky tender yet al dente. The greens came with the potlikker, the bittersweet, astringent, and aromatic broth the greens release, and which restaurants sometimes omit. Potlikker is a must with greens. There is too much missing when cooks don’t serve it. My brother loves to tell a tale of a woman who felt pure malice toward her stepchildren and only fed them potlikker. As the tale goes, the stepchildren grew strong because all the nourishment — and plenty of flavor — was in the broth.
“Why,” I wondered, “have people not elevated this leafy green like they have kale?” Both are chewy, with an assertive and acidic taste. They share a bitter overtone, but collard has a mustardy quality. Kale has moved from a garnish on buffet tables to hipster royalty while collard greens waits for its turn. And though closely related to kale in that they come from the non-forming head of Brassica oleracea, collard greens are scientifically more kin to cabbage. A great source of vitamins and minerals, collard greens are affordable, can serve as a substitute for tortilla wraps, and are hearty enough for stews, soups, and other crockpot favorites.
If pigeons can be a delicacy and caviar can go from salty bar snack to high society, then why not collard greens? There is just too little appreciation for greens outside of the South.
As a food, collard greens have long been associated with enslaved blacks and the South. But they really stem from colonial days. In Collards: A Southern Tradition from Seed to Table, authors Edward H. Davis and John T. Morgan point out that collard greens as we know them probably started out 3,000 years ago in Spain and were subsequently brought to America, as the crop grew well in the mild winters of the South. Enslaved blacks brought from West Africa were accustomed to eating a variety of green-leafed vegetables. Once in America, the lucky ones were able to supplement their meager rations with foraged greens from the plantation. West Africans, says Davis, saved collard greens from extinction.
Perhaps the association with slavery is what causes consternation among people about eating it. While I was shopping for collard greens in Las Vegas a few years ago, a well-to-do friend asked me why I was literally buying a stereotype. They saw collard greens as a source of racial animus and not a delicious vegetable. In the movie The Inkwell, two sets of black families argue that foods like collard greens are “slave food,” thus equating it with a lack of social and economic mobility.
But collard greens are also a story of America, a blend of the old world with the new.
The Collard Greens New Deal
Tenderize for Salads
Raw collard greens are chewy. Tenderize by removing and throwing away the petiole, or leafstalk. Tear the leaves into bite-size pieces. Massage with olive oil to tenderize the leaves’ fiber. Toss into your favorite salad.
In Pesto
Add blanched and chopped collard greens for a mustardy flavor in your pesto.
Instead of Doritos
Spray chip-size pieces with oil and dust with Parmesan cheese or nutritional yeast. Bake at 350 degrees for 10 minutes, flipping pieces halfway through. Chips are done when crisp and browned around the edges.