how to freeze kale

Six kale plants.
A six-pack of kale starts will run you about $2.50. Kick in a little more for a bag of compost and you're on your way.
Those six plants can be packed into a tiny garden bed in the spring. Nurtured. Watered. Even sung to, if that is how you roll.
They will start to feed you by the end of May, in little fits and starts of delicate, baby kale. Any by July, you will have trees, a jungle of green leaves that grow faster than you can eat them.
But that's not even the best part.
Because long after the rest of everything has frozen and withered away, there is the kale.
It is better after the frost, sweeter and worthy of eating it raw, even if you're not the kind of person who does that kind of thing.
And, depending on the strength of the winter, the kale will feed you long after the world has bundled into its cold envelope, and you can trudge out through the deep snow to pick a few leaves for dinner. Even if it feels frozen, it will warm on the counter after a few minutes, perky and ready as it was in October. And after that? There has been extra all along, enough to freeze in little bags to get you through February, March, and April. Powerful stuff, this kale.

I've been thinking about revolution lately. A withered word in itself, I think, and sometimes I wish that I'd been there to make a difference in the decades before I was born, back when revolution was revolutionary. Back when there just seemed to be more conviction in the power of revolution.

A year and a half ago, when I decided to run for office in my little town, I was sick of feeling like I couldn't make a difference. I felt fed up with apathy and anger, and I decided that I would strike out and do something I had never considered. I would participate.

I'm not sure that the experiment has entirely been a success. Most days when I walk out of meetings at town hall, I feel less empowered and more hopeless than I ever did before. I feel like there is such a divide between people and government, and I somehow I feel it more profoundly from this side, the government side. Local government and national government are different enough that it's hard to make accurate comparisons, but in someways, I think the comparison is fair. And this divide between the people and government? It undermines democracy itself. If the people don't participate, there really is no democracy.


But I'm still plugging along. And I think, in the end, that participation really does create change. I think that the decision to be there, to go to a local town meeting, to run for office, to write to your representative, to stand on the street in New York or just your own home town and to say what you think--I think that each one of these actions strengthens democracy and (depending on how you feel about the present state of things) brings it back to life.


Which brings me back to kale.
Six plants. $2.50. If you've got a tiny bit of space and you're thinking about turning it into food, I'd start there. And every time you take your food production into your own hands, you are participating. If you believe you can make change, it's a self-fulfilling prophesy.

This is my mom, Jamie, and my stepfather, Chris. Last weekend, I was heading out for the day, and they offered to demonstrate (for you!) how to freeze kale.

They asked for a quick refresher on the method, and so before I left, we went through one batch. They put on some Steely Dan, and I took that as my cue to get out of the kitchen.


And so, (with thanks to Chris and Jamie for documenting the experience),

HOW TO FREEZE KALE
(or, revolutionary food preservation)

1. Soak the kale in the sink to remove dirt and bugs.

2. Take the leaves off the stem by holding the stem at the base and running your hand up the length of the stem. Chop the leaves roughly.
3. Bring a large pot of water to boil.  Set up a large bowl of ice water on the counter. Next to it, put a large colander inside a pot or bowl.

4. In batches suited to the size of your pot, submerge the kale in the boiling water for 30 seconds.



5. Use tongs or a slotted spoon to transfer the kale to the ice water. Keep it in there for a few minutes, or until it is fully cooled. Replenish the ice as you go, so that the water stays cold.
 

6. Then, transfer to the colander, gently squeezing the water out as you do so.

6. Transfer the kale to small freezer bags. Press the air out, seal, and flatten out the contents so they will stack nicely in the freezer.

Use in soups all winter. You can defrost first, or just stick a kale-sicle in a pot of soup as it cooks.

pear, kale, and sorrel salad

Last week, I came into the small fortune of 20 perfect seckle pears.  Those pears were so beautiful, we almost missed their ripeness because we were so busy admiring them. The first one spouted a few tragic snowflakes of delicate mold, and then it became clear that we had 24 hours to eat the rest of them. We did it. We rose to the challenge, and at any given moment of that day (and into the night), there was a pear attached to someone's face. There was juice running down arms, and there were pears in everything. 

And so we found this happy combination, well-timed, I think, as we are waiting patiently for our first killing frost. Still, still waiting, and then the plants, and more importantly, the weeds, will wither and keel over, and the site of them will stop making me feel... well, I'll just come out and say it, like a failure.

I know that this is the second post in a row in which I've talked about failing my garden, and I know (or at least I'll go ahead and imagine) that you're saying, "lay off it, Alana! We're all there- we've all given up, the weeds have taken over!" Or, even, "garden! I don't even have a garden! Stop being so hard on yourself!" 

But those who have sat in my "garden" this summer while I try to distract them with cocktails know the truth. I never had a chance this year. My friend, Brandee said it best sometime in early July, as I hacked at the thistle in order to get at the mint for her pimm's cup. 

"Oh, honey. You need some help out here."

But there have been successes.  A proud number of green zebra tomatoes. 3 crimson lee peppers. Very happy jerusalem artichokes (always happy, of course).  Enough tomatillos for a damn fine bowl of salsa. 6 stalks of brussels sprouts that just might be ready by December.  And 4 vigorous kale plants that only have more sweetness ahead of them when the frost comes.

Hooray for kale. It makes me feel like a winner in every way.

Pear, Kale, and Sorrel Salad

1 small bunch curly kale
2 seckel pears (or 1 larger pear)
6 leaves sorrel (You can, of course, leave these out if you don't have them, but they add a delicious tang to the whole dish)
juice of 1 lemon
2 T olive oil
1/4 cup toasted almonds, roughly chopped
peeled parmesan
salt and pepper

Tear the kale off the stem, and chop it finely. Do the same with the sorrel. Cut the pear into 1/2-inch slices and toss with the greens.  Squeeze a lemon directly over the whole thing. Then spoon the olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and toss to combine. Finish off with the toasted almonds and parmesan.  This will serve 4 as a side dish, or you alone if you bring it out to the back yard to watch the sun set as you reflect on the beauty of things.