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.

yogurt and herb bread

I am so happy to have this moment to sit down to write. My fingers are so full of energy. My voice, however, is needing a little break. I am thankful to be quiet for a little while, and to let my fingers help me think out loud.
I will be candid with you. I have been spending these days answering question after question. In a small town like this one, after your face is on the front of the local paper, the sidewalk is full of questions. The little market where I go to find my harder-to-find ingredients is full of questions. The liquor store where I stop to get Joey some beer as an appreciation for practically single parenting lately- more questions.
Really, I am happy for the questions. I want to talk to people, and mostly I want to ask them questions of my own. I want to know what they think about what is going on around here.

I tend to hear the same questions many times in a day. They are the questions that one might expect: Why are you inspired to run for town office? What are your hopes for the town? (a playground! a few decent restaurants that I can afford!) Are you totally insane? (anyone who has experience with small town government knows where this question is coming from)

There is one question I never hear, but it has been on my mind lately. People ask me what I do for a living, and I tell them I am a writer, and that I write about food. I tell them that I write online, that I'm working on some magazine pieces, that I'm working on a bigger, well, let's just call it a project, right now. They say, ohhh. And then they change the subject and ask me what I think about finding funds for the library or moving the crosswalks.

They never ask what writing about food has to do with getting involved in local politics.

And that's okay. It is okay that this is a question that only I ask myself, but I hope you will indulge me while I try to give myself an answer.

Let me first say that I have no political ambitions beyond this position. It has taken me this long to call myself a writer, and this is where I want to continue. But a few years ago, when I decided that food was the place for me, and that this was where I wanted more than anything to settle, I came that decision through two channels. The first was that I finally accepted that I was miserable working in any other field. All of my jobs felt like clothes that not only looked bad on me, they didn't fit. Whether it was a size 0 orange tube top, or a size 16 silk blouse, it was all wrong. When I was cooking and talking about cooking, if you will stay with the metaphor for a minute, it was perfect jeans, I mean perfect.
The second channel was a growing sense that I had that food was the real intersection of everything that had become important to me. Family, sustainability, personal responsibility, art, physical health and self-respect, finding joy in the moment; all of these issues come together on the dinner table.
When I left my job in December, I gave myself six months to really work on this, to take the time to cook and write and to see what could come of it. Since then, I have been cooking. And I have been writing. And I have been happy. So, when someone asked me to run for town government, I probably should have said no. After all, I have a few more months of writing to do before I have to decide whether or not to take a waitressing job.
I probably should have said no. Except there is this thing, this place where the two meet. And it nagged and pulled on me until I said yes.

One of the reasons I love to talk with people about cooking is because it is my favorite way to feel empowered, and to help others to feel empowered. Quite literally, instead of eating what gets put in front of you, you can learn how to make your own lunch, and you can make what you want. It's pretty phenomenal. All those issues that food pulls together; family, sustainability, and that whole list- when we start to get empowered and creative in the kitchen, how we deal with those issues becomes just a little bit more under our own control.
Here's another way to think about it. Earlier in the week we were talking about kids cooking and how to help that along. There are all sorts of reasons why the girls ask to cook, but there is one particular interaction which happens here and there:

girls: we hate what's for dinner!
me: then cook dinner yourself!

You get the idea. But so do they. Miraculously, they go and cook something, and when they've made it, they eat it, even if it contains ingredients that they refuse to touch when they've come from me.
I love that, even though it makes me a little mad.

And my decision to participate in local government? That's me learning how to cook something new. I've been complaining and imagining the meals I'd like to eat. I've been eating whatever comes in front of me. I'm thinking it's time to make it myself.

And I think that that is my answer. That's why this makes just the tiniest bit of sense. But I have to tell you that with all of this metaphorical cooking, I haven't been cooking so much new stuff the last week or two. I'm missing it, but all of this will be over in 10 days, and then it's just me and the cookbooks. This week, I've been sticking to the comforting foods I can make with my eyes closed, turnip and turnip greens soup, peppery carbonara. I've been trying to sneak bacon in wherever I can to make up for the times I forget to eat, and that also keeps Joey happy, which is very very important right now. (You, know, the wind beneath my wings and all that).
But there was something this week I wanted to share. A little bread that I made to go with that turnip and turnip greens soup (have you made this soup? It is maybe the best in the world, and I don't care how you feel about turnips), a bread that helped to ease my missing of the oven with minimal work. I chopped herbs from the backyard, and I said hello to the garden that is waiting for me to return. It's a good little bread. It works well with a soup that took you all day as well as one from a can. It should be slathered with butter and dipped into said soup. And so that you don't make crumbs all over your kitchen floor, the bread will insist, like a good husband who knows that you should stop pacing around the kitchen, that you sit for a few minutes to eat it.


Yogurt and Herb Bread
adapted from Mollie Katzen, The Enchanted Broccoli Forest

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat or spelt flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons butter, melted
2 large beaten eggs
1 cup firm yogurt
1/3 cup honey
1/2 cup mixed fresh herbs (I used chives, tarragon, and oregano), coarsely chopped

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter a loaf pan. Sift together the flours, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Make a well in the center of the bowl.
Beat together the melted butter, eggs, yogurt and honey on high speed with an electric mixer for 3-5 minutes, or until frothy. Add the herbs and mix well.
Pour the liquid/ herb mixture into the well in the dry ingredients. Mix with a spoon until thoroughly blended.
Pour into a well-buttered loaf pan, and bake 40-50 minutes until a knife, when inserted, comes out clean.

car snack 2

Okay!
Today is a yes day. I've been on the phone and on the computer since 6:58 this morning when Joey left for school with the girls. I've sent out a message to my facebook group for the campaign, I've talked to important people who are getting things done, and I have almost fixed the rss problem so that you can start getting me on your feed again! I'm working on a few writing projects, and I am caught up. I am humming. I am still in my bathrobe and it is almost lunch, but I will soon take a shower as soon as my phone stops ringing, and then I will go get some compost! I am simultaneously advising people on their home ricotta making and participating in my local government! And today I will plant potatoes!
Somebody just remind me to eat. And to pee. In return, I'll slow down on the exclamation points.

Last week, I had just picked up the girls from school, and we were stopping by the library on the way home. The girls were hot and tired, and they really wanted to go to the library. As we got out of the car, we ran into a man who I had had a meeting with the week before on town issues. One of the side effects of running for local office is that you can't just walk down the street- you will inevitably run into someone who you need and want to talk to. I had been meaning to follow up with him, and we talked for a few minutes, while the girls quietly whined on the sidewalk. We were in front of the post office, and Rosie really wanted to cross the street to get to the library, so she did what she often does- she reached up, grabbed a piece of fabric, and pulled. This time that fabric was the neckline of my shirt, and well, let's just say that I'm following in the line of a few other Massachusetts politicians who have campaigned with less than all their clothes on. Maybe I do really need to start wearing button down's- they're just not so, well, pullable.
Is this why there are not so many mothers in government?

I don't know how, but I righted myself without even a blush. I said to myself, I'm going to do this. I can do this. I am a warrior! And even Rosie if is trying to unknowingly sabotage me by showing the world one of the things that she has always loved about her mamma, I'm really doing this so that she can see that that participation is the way to go here. Apathy has gotten me nowhere. Really, participation is the most activist thing we've got at this point. Yes!

In all this craziness I find myself repeating the things that are important. I say them in my own head, so that I don't forget. Write! Stay informed! Listen! When this all makes you mad, don't take it out on the girls! And for God's sake, Alana, feed those children at 3:00. I repeat, do not forget the car snack!

So a bit ago, I offered you car snack 1. It was good and it was whole grainy, and it had some good protein and fiber. It was a hit around here, and I hope it was hit around you too.
But this one, this one is a little different. It's sweet and desserty-er, although there is a bit of protein in there. It's a variation on a recipe for British flapjacks that Molly Wizenberg wrote about in Bon Appetit a bit ago. I made the recipe as is, and I could not get the damn thing out of the pan. I'm sure it was my fault. It usually is, but I don't know what happened. We chipped away at it with a butter knife, and it was incredibly good. But as a car snack? Uh, uh.
So, I messed with it a bit. I added almonds, and changed the moisture to dry ratio. Most importantly, I lined the pan with parchment. And then...
Holey moley. Whoa nelly. Gee Whiz. I just can't wait to get in the car so I can eat one.

Car Snack 2
loosely adapted from Bon Appetit, March 2010

1 stick butter
scant 1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup Lyle's golden syrup
2 cups rolled oats
1/2 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
1 cup slivered almonds

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line an 8x8 or 9x9 square baking pan with parchment, leaving a bit left over so that you can just pull it out. Combine butter, brown sugar, and golden syrup in a medium saucepan, and heat on medium until melted. Add the oats, salt and almonds to the mixture and coat thoroughly. Transfer into prepared pan and pat down with a spatula.
Bake until the edges darken, about 25 minutes. It will be soft when you take it out of the oven, but allow to cool completely before taking it out of the pan. When it is cool, cut into squares.

Makes 12-16, depending on size of squares

orange soy braised pork ribs

I've been thinking about my grandmother a lot lately.
Maybe it was Turkey. She loved to go to interesting places, and while her friends would go hang out at their condo in Florida, she and my grandfather would be off on a folk dancing trip to Bulgaria. When it came to travel, she was a woman looking for real experience.
Or maybe it has something to do with what has been going on since I got back. A few days after my return, Joey and the girls and I went out to be part of a group photo to support a local library which may soon be extinct. As we were leaving the library and heading over to take Sadie to dance class, a few friends called me over.
"You know how you were thinking about running for the town select board a few years ago?"
It was true. I had considered it, but it just hadn't felt like the right time.
"Well," one friend said, "it's time."
So here I am, running for the select board of my little town. Although I usually end up frustrated when I attend town meetings, I'm going to attempt to step away from apathy and see what happens if I can get a seat at that table. It's a small town, but it is my town, after all.

My grandmother loved Great Barrington with all her being. She and my grandfather moved up here in the early 70's to start their bed and breakfast, and they both lived here until the end of their lives. They were all about participating in their community- between the two of them, they were centrally involved in everything from arts organizations to adult literacy, to the formation of our local co-op market.

I grew up here, and I never thought I'd come back after college. I was at the middle school when the occurrence of knife fights and eighth grade pregnancies was at its highest, and I just couldn't roll my pants or fringe my bangs the right way. But it turns out that as an adult and a parent, this is actually a pretty great place. My children were both born here, and this is their world, too. I'm here for good, and like my grandparents, I'm feeling inspired to put some time into it.
Still, I must say, seeing my name on the ballot at the caucus last night was totally surreal. We went into the fire station after dinner, and the girls cheered that we were "going to vote for mommy!" I know it's a small thing, but I'm just getting used to the idea. The final vote will be on May 10, and I'll be doing my best to refrain from holey jeans when I walk down main street until then. And when people question my sanity for getting into this process, I just think to myself that I'm channeling my grandmother, at least a little bit.

If I'm going to be doing my grandmother's work, I need to be eating my grandmother's food. I think that I've shared this with you before, but it bears repeating: My grandmother was a vegetarian who ate ribs. She never cooked them at home, as my grandfather was a vegetarian who did not eat ribs, but when ever she had the opportunity to sit down in front of a messy stack of ribs, she would roll up the sleeves of her button down shirt and get to work. There was not an ounce of squeamishness in her when it came to ribs- she would suck every thing off those bones, gnaw on them a bit, and then go back to being an avid vegetarian. It was her way.
The night before I left for Turkey, I made these ribs. We ate them with rice and a big pile of greens, and as Sadie sucked on the bones just like her great grandmother Shirley, I knew that they would nourish her through the ten days ahead of pizza and grilled cheese and whatever else lay before her.


Orange Soy Braised Pork Ribs
adapted from Gourmet, January 2005

serves 3-4

2 1/2 pounds pork ribs, separated
2/3 cup fresh-squeezed orange juice
1/2 cup soy sauce
1 tablespoon sugar
2 tablespoons grated ginger
a tablespoon minced garlic
1/2 tablespoon freshly ground pepper
1 cup water

Preheat oven to 325 degrees and place rack in the middle of the oven. Sprinkle ribs with salt.

Bring orange juice, soy sauce, sugar, ginger, garlic, and pepper to a boil in roasting pan over medium high heat, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Add ribs in to the pan, using tongs, turning to coat, and cover pan with a lid or foil.

Braise ribs in oven until very tender, about 2 to 3 hours.

Before Serving: Reduce oven temperature to 200°F.

Transfer ribs to a baking dish, arranging them in 1 layer, and keep warm in oven. Make glaze by boiling liquid, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until syrupy and reduced to about 3/4 cup, about 15 minutes. Brush glaze generously on ribs.