BRATTLEBORO — I keep finding little piles of fir needles mixed in with the dust balls around the floors of my house.
I wake up in the middle of the night and fixate on how this year I will lose those ten extra pounds. I am filled with hope and grand expectations for humankind.
It must be January.
Each year this happens.
I was quite controlled and Spartan over Thanksgiving. Those who read my Commons columns will recall my relatively fat-free menu for that occasion. I did, in fact, cook it for the six who joined me around the table. All exclaimed it was wonderful. I felt virtuous.
Then Thanksgiving passed, and that amorphous period between Nov. 27 and Dec. 30 fell upon me like a dark layer of the gravy I so abhor. So… much… food!
Let's talk for a minute about pigs in a blanket. They have to contain more salt than I normally consume in half a year. Yet, there I am at a party, a platter of them is presented, and I eat them. Four or five of them. With some kind of weird sauce that must contain all kinds of trans fats and heaven knows what else.
Crab dip. What is in crab dip? Nothing I want to know about.
And what about all those cookies I made? I tell myself I am going to give them away. Yet they sit in their little Christmas tins, calling out to me late at night.
People visit. I feed them baba au rhum, for goodness sake! And tiny éclairs. I purchased a beautiful Vacherin cheese made in Switzerland, a tablespoon of which must contain more fat than a cream-filled at Dunkin Donuts, yet I put it right there in the middle of the table with two spoons to dig out its divine center. I could go on.
So we find ourselves in January. We want to repent. Self denial is an ancient practice, beloved by generations. I myself yearn for abstinence, but the flesh is weak. I am still driven by my appetite.
How to simultaneously satisfy each of these desires is the task I address.
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I am old enough to understand that New Year's resolutions rarely work, so I try to keep them generic: be more compassionate, generous and kind hearted. I also am well aware that as much as I may long to lose those ten pounds, I can only do what I can do.
I exercise as much as I can with the limited time available. I eat as well as I can most of the year. More important however, I try to be realistic about being a 60-year-old woman in today's world.
I enjoy the holidays, and I have to confess that I don't want to give up those pigs in a blanket that are served at my dear friends' Christmas Eve party. But I do want to regain my attachment to health and well-being in this month of such welcome optimism.
All that December eating tends to exhaust my palate. My mouth wants bright and clean foods that will wake me out of my culinary stupor. No more butter. No more cream. No more cheese.
How about raw kale? An audacious notion which, at first glance, might sound like the culinary equivalent of drawing one's fingernail across a chalkboard. But once you try it, I promise you will see it as an oasis in an otherwise dull winter pantry.
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Kale is a tremendously healthy green vegetable of the cabbage family. Unlike cabbage, kale does not form a head but instead has stiff and crisp leaves. It provides more nutritional value for fewer calories than almost any other food.
Kale is filled with antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties, is high in beta-carotene, vitamins C, A, and K, and calcium.
There are three readily available varieties of kale which you can find at any local co-op or grocery store. Curly kale is blue-green and has frilly, stiff leaves. Russian kale has flat leaves with rosy stems and lovely scalloped edges. My favorite is Lacinato or Tuscan kale (sometimes called “dinosaur kale”), which has wrinkled, pebbly, and very dark green that which I think have a sweeter flavor than other varieties.
If you are still leery, I recommend you use Russian or Tuscan kale for this recipe, because they are both more tender than the curly variety.
Take a bunch of kale, strip it from the stems, and cut it into the thinnest ribbons you can manage, given your degree of patience. Put these ribbons in a large bowl and set it aside.
Then make a simple vinaigrette with olive oil and lemon. Take a small shallot, mince it, and put it into a small bowl. Whisk in ½ cup of high-quality olive oil, 3 tablespoons of fresh lemon juice and 1 teaspoon of Dijon mustard, then salt and pepper to taste.
Toss the kale with this dressing and let it sit for 15 minutes. Take a taste. The acid in the lemon juice breaks down the structure of the kale leaves and makes them more tender, even though they retain a bit of crispness. The salad has a rich, bold flavor that is both earthy and clean.
Some cooks recommend giving the kale a good “massage” before adding the vinaigrette. To do this, just sprinkle salt on the stemmed leaves and, yes, massage them with your hands for a few minutes. This breaks down the cell structure of the leaves and lets some of the water out of them, much as sautéing would.
I have thought that the process really does not make the kale more tender, but it is an amusing practice. After this relaxing procedure, at least for the kale, continue as above.
With this basic model, you can build a pretty imaginative and delicious salad. I usually dig around the refrigerator and see what needs to be used up. Rough chunks of old, toasted bread is great in this, as is cheese: feta, ricotta salata (pressed, salted, and dried ricotta), or pecorino. I have added avocado or any combination of vegetables I happen to have on hand.
Chili flakes perk it up. Seeds from a pomegranate left over from a holiday fruit bowl add their liquid red color and acidic bite. Toasted nuts and dried fruit are a great match as well.
Pieces of crispy bacon or pancetta raise one's culinary interest, but then I'm trying to avoid the meat for a while.
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I want to share two other classic recipes that I think use this vegetable at its best.
The first is my default meal, when I come home after too long a day tired and defeated.
I take a bunch of kale, strip it from the stems, wash it, and dry it briefly in some paper towels. I then cut it into uneven strips. I mince three cloves of garlic and sauté them gently in a few tablespoons of olive oil, until they just begin to color.
I then add half a cup of liquid; white wine, chicken broth, water, or whatever I have around, although water is my cooking liquid of choice. I cook the garlic in this liquid at a very low heat for about 15 minutes. I want the bitterness to cook out of the garlic and be replaced by its hidden sweetness.
Then I add the kale, cover the pot, and stir occasionally until it is silky and soft.
I either add this to some faro or whole-wheat pasta, which can really stand up to the strong flavors of the kale, or I make some little indentations in the kale, break in an egg or two, cover the pan, and let it cook over very low heat until the yolks are barely set.
Cheese eaters would be wise to add a handful of their favorite to either dish.
And that's it, with a glass or two of red wine and a small piece of dark chocolate for dessert. The perfect winter meal for a gloomy Tuesday night.
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And I just can't leave you without sharing what is the most miraculous thing you can do with kale: turn it into chips that are more addictive and delicious than their potato cousins and certainly better for you.
Preheat your oven to 300 degrees F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Take a bunch of kale, strip it from the stems, and either leave it be or cut it into big pieces.
Toss it with a tablespoon or two of olive oil. Lay it out in a single layer and bake it for 20 to 30 minutes until the leaves are crisp.
Remove from the oven, and sprinkle with sea salt and maybe a pinch or two of smoked paprika or grated parmesan cheese.
You will not believe how fantastic they are. You will want to know where this food has been all your life. You will eat it all and wish you had made more.
As for bravely looking out on yet another new year, I really am going to try to walk more. But on those days when I can't, maybe I'll massage some kale.