Collard greens seed starts were a last-minute impulse purchase at the farm stand this spring. Though I am generally prohibited by my frugal philosophy from impulsive spending, I figured that acquiring six plants for $2.60 was a reasonable gamble. After all, even if I chopped down each of the plants in its prime and ate them, I'd have made up for my purchase nearly five-fold. And so into the woven plastic flat they went, next to the peppers, leeks, and acorn squash.
Now, nearly six months later, I can make an informed assessment of collard greens. And I have this to say: Those things kick arse. Not only are they prolific producers, they mind not a little neglect, and though the slugs are quite enamored of them, it's easy enough to pick those little slimy things off. Add to that, one can quickly harvest enough leaves for a meal in short order, and, still, the leaves keep coming, all season long. It wasn't until the end of last month that they showed evidence of cabbage loopers (or inchworms, as I have always known them), which is to be expected, as that is the loopers' time, yet I simply fed those to the hens (along with the slugs, which the hens have now come to expect), and order was restored.
So maybe I wasn't successful at getting ALL of the pests off all of the time. What's a few holes in your collards? Eat around 'em.
Collard (a.k.a. collard greens, or collards) is a member of the Brassica family, a genus that contains an enormous number of edible plants, including broccoli, cabbage, and kale (to say nothing of the decorative landscape-plant branch of the family tree). They are prolific in the South, but even here in the Northeast, there was a report of a grower on Cape Cod who was harvesting collards - unprotected from weather - until February one year. Collards are high in vitamin C and soluble fiber, and, man, are they tasty. Many times, that soluble fiber gets washed down with a little smoked meat, as it did in our dinner last night - pasta with spicy collards, white beans, tomatoes, and bacon, which is perilously close in concept to the kale dish I posted last week, and yet, I think I may still post it - in a week or so, once we've all forgotten the similarity - because JR and I both swooned over it.
This pie is also swoon-inducing, and yet, there is not a bit of meat to be found. For Christmas every year, JR gets me an Italy-themed calendar. I don't mind the predictability, for I love my husband and we both love Italy. And when one can't go to there, why not ogle a picture or two hanging on the wall? This August, in the photo-a-day calendar that was 2008's gift, there was a very tempting-looking greens pie - alas, no caption or recipe followed, so I decided to do my best to replicate what I thought it might be. I gathered up two pounds (or so) of collard greens - leaving an abundant crop behind in the garden - washed them diligently, as they tend to pick up quantities of soil, slugs, and the occasional inchworm, and then proceeded with constructing this very hearty pie.
Collard Greens Pie:
1 sheet puff pastry (I was feeling a bit too lazy to make my own crust, and the puff pastry worked well, so we're going with it)
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper
1 medium onion
2 pounds collard greens, well washed, woody stems removed, and coarsely chopped (if buying bunches at the grocery store, they weigh approximately 1 1/4 pound each, save that half pound for sauteing another night)
1 cup fresh ricotta
1/2 cup Pecorino Romano cheese, plus 1/4 cup for sprinkling over the finished pie
2 eggs, lightly beaten
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Grease a 9-inch tart pan or pie dish with unsalted butter.
Roll out the puff pastry dough on a lightly floured surface to a 12-inch approximation of a circle (the corners of the once-rectangular sheet are a bit difficult to round, after all). Transfer to the greased tart pan, tucking the dough into the pan and curling the dough edges back over themselves to form a crust. If there are areas that could use a little more crust, simply trim any excess dough (this can usually be found at the corners that we were unable to round out), and patch the dough where desired using a bit of warm water to adhere it to itself. Pierce the bottom surface of the crust all over with a fork. Set the crust masterpiece aside (I won't tell it was from the freezer section if you don't).
Heat the olive oil in a large skillet or saute pan over medium heat. Add the onion and crushed red pepper, and saute until the onion is translucent, 3 to 5 minutes. Add the collards and saute until they are wilted, 3 to 5 minutes. Remove from the heat, and transfer the mixture to a large mixing bowl.
In a small mixing bowl, combine the ricotta, Pecorino Romano, and eggs, and whisk to blend. Add the cheese mixture to the collards and stir well. Season with salt and pepper. Transfer the greens into the pastry shell, pushing down on the greens to compact them. Have I mentioned that this is a dense pie? Yes. Well, those greens will come right up to the edge of your crust, or pretty darned close to the edge of your crust.
Bake the pie until the crust is golden brown and you can see that the cheese and eggs in the greens are lightly browned on the top of the pie, 40 to 45 minutes. Remove from the oven, and allow the pie to cool for at least 10 minutes before digging in. Sprinkle the remaining Pecorino Romano over the greens, and then cut away.
Estimated cost for one pie: $12.48. And you will get twelve slices out of it, for it is robust. That's $1.04 per slice. The puff pastry costs $4.49 for two sheets, so one sheet runs us $2.25. The collard greens cost $2.49 per bunch at Whole Foods, though I have seen them for 79-cents per pound in my regional grocery store. We'll still figure on the $2.49 price because that gives you a little flexibility to hit the farmers market instead of Whole Foods if you'd like. The olive oil costs 48-cents, the crushed red pepper costs 12-cents, the medium onion is 38-cents. The ricotta costs $3.00 (1/2 of a 1 pound container), the Pecorino Romano costs 75-cents, and the eggs should be no more than 26-cents each.
Dinner tonight: Roasted chicken with romano pole beans and collards. Estimated cost for two: $6.51. The chicken will cost around $5.00. I haven't yet purchased it, but I seem to be hovering around the five-buck mark with my recent chicken choices. JR will get the leftovers for tomorrow's lunch, so $2.50 is what we add to tonight's bill. The beans and collards are both from the garden, so they are free, but if you were purchasing them, let's say it would be about 1/2 pound of beans at $1.75/pound, and one bunch of collards at $2.49. The olive oil will cost 48-cents, the crushed red pepper 12-cents, and the garlic will be around 10-cents. However, with the garden still producing, our actual cost is $3.20.
okay, so these aren't garden chairs, but they seem like a place where one might have deep thoughts about career changes, don't they?
"I don't know about you, but I think of fall as a new beginning," JR said one evening last week as we sat in the garden. "Yeah, me too," I exclaimed, surprised as much that we shared this philosophy as I was that after six years of marriage, and nearly twenty years of our lives intertwined, that this was the first time this had come up in conversation. "That's exactly how I feel. Summer's over, and now it's time to get serious, start new things."
A year ago today, as that philosophy compelled me to do, I started this blog. Looking back now at that first, tentative entry, I was surprised at how clear the idea seemed - JR and I are going to eat food that meets our standards even on a budget - given that I was hesitant about launching my thoughts out into the world on their own little rocketship (it's small and squat, sort of rounded rather than missile-shaped, and has a big blue star on it, fyi. When I have more money, I'll get it a paint job and put the Poor Girl Gourmet blog header on it.).
As a child, and all the way through college, I was a writer and artist. Everything that I undertook involved writing, designing, drawing, and painting. Yet, in the years following graduation, I lost my way, my sense of self. I think that it happens more frequently than we'd all care to admit. After all, how many people are really doing the one thing they've dreamed about, or are passionate about, for work? At last check, most of my television colleagues - at least most of the ones that I like - seemed not to be living their dream (birds of a feather? Perhaps.). For me, this was acutely true. In the sixteen years between college and last fall, I had become a beancounter of sorts. A manager of schedules, budgets, people, and machines. Daily, I faced the not-so-subtle reminder of my job responsibilities: creative thoughts were not my domain. Yet for most of my life before I started my career, creativity was a normal and natural part of every day. Not surprisingly, I was miserable at work. A malcontent, as it were.
By the time the economy screeched to a halt at the end of last summer, I was exhausted and uninterested in schmoozing those people who I needed to schmooze in order to find more tv gigs. Little work was available to begin with, and my disdain of peddling myself didn't magically gain me any new clients. Odd.
Change is difficult in the most ideal of circumstances. Ask any new mother or father you know, or someone who just bought a house, or got a fabulous promotion. I hadn't done any actual planning for a career change, and thought, really, that I'd be back to work in a month or two. Still miserable, but with my normal income, and possibly refreshed having had a couple months off.
The work never came, but perhaps I had asked it to stay away. To let me get back to being me. In place of that work and its money, the richness of creativity returned; writing again after too many years away, becoming more creative in the kitchen, photographing food, talking about food, and growing food. This blog combines all of my creative passions. I couldn't ask for more, though it has given me more.
Long hours and a two-hour commute often left me trying to jam enjoying my husband, my house, my dog, my life, into weekends. Weekends are short, you know. I rarely saw my garden during the daylight even in the summer - many nights I arrived home from work at 8:30 or 9pm.
For the first time in my adult life, I've been able to appreciate the ebb and flow of the seasons, each and every day. Today is stunning. I had my coffee outdoors. The leaves on the hundred year-old maple tree in front of our house exploded into a firey red just yesterday, and today the clouds are small stretched cottonballs dancing around in the bright blue sky. I would never have noticed those details when I was working, and I would never have had the time to enjoy them as I do now. My work has changed. It pays less, but I've spent months writing a cookbook, experimenting in the kitchen, shooting the photographs for the book, learning about a business that is completely new to me. I am finally doing something that I really love, that challenges me, and that I thoroughly enjoy.
Before JR and I finally settled into our relationship, we had what could be referred to in the kindest of terms as a rough start. During this phase, a friend queried me, "Why aren't you dating?" "Because I'm waiting for JR," was my reply. My friend furrowed his brow, "really?" "I see no point in dating someone just for the sake of saying I'm dating someone. If it doesn't work out with JR, I still won't date simply for dating's sake." This headstrong approach happened to work out for us in the end. Unfortunately, it's difficult to take such a stance regarding one's job. After all, everyone has to work, unless, of course a substantial trust sustains them or they've recently hit the lotto (and secretly, too, so that their second-best friend from fourth grade doesn't resurface looking for a loan, along with everyone else who they knew in grade school and beyond). Circumstances - some beyond my control, and some likely well within - propelled me into this situation, pushing me to take time away from my job, trust-less and lotto-less though I am.
And without either of those two rare forms of income, JR and I are decidedly less well off financially than we were a year ago, though overall, I think we're happier. We live on what we have; I suppose it's a make-do approach we've taken on. Raising chickens for meat - we already had hens for eggs - growing more food in our garden then at any time previously, putting up what we can't eat right away so that we have it for eating during the winter. Don't get me wrong - when I start making money again, I will probably run right out and buy me some shoes, or a handbag, or some other thing that I don't necessarily need. I'm not intentionally practicing asceticism, though this experience has shown me that by regaining my me-ness, I don't need things the way I used to think I did. I'm no longer jealous. Or worried what other people think. I'm just me. And I write, design, draw, photograph, and cook.
A fennel seed-rosemary-garlic rub for last night's pork roast and the cake that is the subject of this post have confirmed for me that the return to fall cooking has officially begun. If the flavors of each weren't enough of a statement that it is so, surely the desire to roast and bake, plus make tomato chutney and jar it up for holiday gifts, all in the course of one rainy Saturday afternoon, must serve as verification. At this early stage of October, I'm even feeling as though I have a jump on holiday gift-making, which is either fabulous, or completely delusional, and if delusional, sometime around December 15, I'll begin to panic and engage in marathon baking sessions until the 24th.
A mere two weeks after the passage of summer, I am kept up at night thinking about my favorite holiday of all, Thanksgiving. I'd like to think I could get past Halloween before I start posting recipes for the big day, but I can't guarantee anything. Especially because I know that I'll be making this cake - perhaps two - to bring along to my brother-in-law's for the Turkey-in-a-Hole-in-the-Ground celebration. It serves dual purpose, breakfast and dessert, and with twenty or so people packed into his house for three days, we'll eat our fair share of both. But does it count as an official Thanksgiving recipe if I make it every weekend from now until the end of March with apples from those 6-pounds-for-$2.50 bags my neighbors sell on their front lawn (and that I'll surely be hoarding in the basement this winter)?
While cutting into the cake before it has cooled won't be a problem for me at Thanksgiving, as I am making the cake before we travel the three hours to Vermont, it is important to let it cool for at least 20 minutes before cutting into it. Particularly if a cleanly cut slice of cake is a priority, otherwise it will crumble. However, I have been known to sneak a crumbling slice of cake a mere 10 minutes into the cooling time on weak self-control days. It happens. Kind of like me posting what amounts to a Thanksgiving recipe during the first weekend in October.
Cake:
3 medium apples (approximately 1 1/4 pound, I used Gala and Macoun), peeled, cored, and cut into 1/4-inch slices
1 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cups fresh ricotta
2 large eggs
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
Glaze:
1 cup apple cider
1 cinnamon stick
1 tablespoon maple syrup
2/3 cups confectioners’ sugar, sifted
3 tablespoons maple syrup
Mix the sugar and cinnamon together to make cinnamon sugar. Place the apple slices in a large bowl, add the cinnamon sugar to the apples, and stir to evenly distribute the cinnamon sugar. Allow the apples to macerate for 30 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 350ºF. Grease a 9-inch springform pan with butter (the remnants on the wrapper from the softened butter are good for this task).
In a large mixing bowl, beat the butter and sugar until it is creamed. Add the ricotta and vanilla extract and mix until well blended. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing until each is fully incorporated.
In a second bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt, stirring well. Add the flour mixture to the sugar mixture and mix until fully combined. Add the apple slices and any accumulated juices, and gently stir them (also known as "folding" them) into the batter.
Bake the cake on the middle rack until the cake is golden brown on top and a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean, 55 minutes to 1 hour.
While the cake bakes, combine the apple cider, cinnamon stick, and maple syrup in a medium saucepan. Bring to a gentle simmer over medium heat, and cook until reduced by three-quarters (so that you have 1/4 cup of liquid remaining), 20 to 25 minutes. Remove from the heat and allow to cool for at least 20 minutes. Once cooled, remove and discard the cinnamon stick.
Combine the apple cider reduction, 3 tablespoons of maple syrup, and sifted confectioners’ sugar in a small mixing bowl. Stir together until all of the confectioners’ sugar is absorbed into the liquid. Set aside.
Once the cake has cooled, remove the outer ring of the pan, using a knife to carefully free any cake that has adhered to the sides of the pan before pulling the outer ring away. Place the cake on a large plate or platter. Spoon the cider-maple glaze over the cake, starting in the middle and working out to the edges. Allow the glaze to seep into the cake for a minute or two, and then dig in. As the cake sits, it will continue to absorb the glaze, which, for me, makes it an ideal dessert or (somewhat decadent, but that's how we roll at Thanksgiving) breakfast option.
Now, if you prefer a topping more akin to frosting over a seeping-into-the-cake glaze, possibly because you simply cannot get enough sugar with your cake, which may sometimes happen to me, you could whip up a maple syrup glaze instead:
2/3 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted
1/2 cup maple syrup (I used Grade A, though if you wanted a more intense maple flavor, you could use Grade B)
kosher salt to taste (I found that around 1/8th teaspoon worked well to balance the sweetness out)
Estimated cost for one cake, which provides you 8 to 12 slices (that's 8 hefty slices, 12 normal slices): $7.95, or 80-cents for each slice, using the slice-per-cake median of 10, and rounding up. I use my neighbors' not-so-perfect apples for this cake, and those cost around 40-cents per pound, but at the farmers market, you should be able to get yourself a pound for 99-cents. Or, if you're feeling fancy, $1.49, though 99-cents will do the trick, so we'll add $1.25 for our 3 apples here. The granulated sugar for the whole cake costs 19-cents. The cinnamon costs around 12-cents. The butter costs 70-cents, the eggs 52-cents. The ricotta will run us $2.25. The vanilla costs around 6-cents. the flour adds 36-cents to our tally, and the baking soda costs just less than 2-cents. The apple cider costs $3.99/8 cups, so the one cup costs us 50-cents. The cinnamon stick costs around 45-cents, and the total maple syrup runs us around $1.31. Lastly, the confectioners' sugar costs 23-cents. If you go the thick glaze route, the cost jumps a whopping 36-cents to $8.31.
Dinner tonight: Hey - even though I'm all gung-ho on Thanksgiving, roasting, and baking, there is still corn available at the farm stand, sirloin tips were on sale for $4.99/pound at Whole Foods, and I got me some green tomatoes leftover from yesterday's chutney-making extravaganza. Grilled Sirloin Tips, Steamed Corn, and Fried Green Tomatoes. Estimated cost for two: $9.88. Not bad for the Sunday Splurge meal. Which, of course, if you were feeding four it does cost more than $15, and that's how I define a splurge these days. But, come on - there's grilling and early fall corn and tomatoes. It's worth it. The corn costs 55-cents per ear. There is no question that JR will insist on cooking up 4 ears, and if they're as good as they were last weekend, we will eat them all. Into the tally goes $2.20 for those. We'll have butter, too - and it's hard to know exactly how much, but to be safe, we'll call it a half a stick, so that adds 35-cents (Whole Foods 365 Everyday Value store brand is what we're using). The sirloin tips cost $5.78. Green tomatoes cost $1.00 per pound at my favorite farm stand. I will only use one, and the chosen tomato weighs around 1/2 pound, so that's 50-cents. Egg, flour, and breadcrumbs for the frying cost 26-cents, 6-cents, and 25-cents each, and the oil for frying will be in the 48-cent range.
So maybe I wasn't successful at getting ALL of the pests off all of the time. What's a few holes in your collards? Eat around 'em.
