Easy Sauteed Spinach

Last week of school before winter break. The classroom closing-of-the-year rituals: the small party, the card exchange, the goodbye song at the end of the last morning circle. Isabel pressed "goodbye" on her tablet for each person in the room individually, in order, which took eleven minutes and which we all waited for with the patience that this kind of thing deserves. When she got to me she pressed "goodbye" and then immediately pressed "hello" and then pressed "goodbye" again. Her aide said she thinks that means: I know you will be here when I get back. I said: yes, Isabel. I will be here. She pressed "good" and went and got her coat.

Ryan came for the last week of school celebration at the apartment — I made a small thing of it, just the two of us, a nice dinner for the end of the semester: duck confit legs from the Italian market on 18th Street (an indulgence, seven dollars for two, a celebration food), roasted with herbs in the Dutch oven, served with white beans and wilted greens. Under ten dollars total. He brought wine. We ate at the table by the east window and I said: two semesters done, two more years of these kids, the book drafted, the olive oil on the shelf. He said "You've been building something." I said yes. He said "I want to be in it." I said you already are.

Sent the first fifty pages of the book to a literary agent this week — a friend of a friend who had been following the blog and asked to see the pages. I sent them on a Wednesday afternoon and felt the particular combination of complete terror and complete rightness that comes from doing the thing you have been working toward. Kristin said: good. Just: good. That was enough.

Made mulled wine for the apartment — red wine, orange slices, cinnamon sticks, cloves, star anise, a splash of brandy, warmed low on the stove. The apartment smelled like winter and old spice and celebration. Ryan stood in the kitchen doorway watching me make it. He said "I'm going to remember the smell of your kitchen forever." I said: it always smells like something. He said "That's why."

The duck confit and white beans got most of the glory that night, and they deserved it—but the wilted greens alongside them were the quiet part of the meal that made everything feel complete and grounded, the way a good supporting character makes a story. This is how I make them: fast, simple, with good olive oil and a little garlic, the kind of thing you can pull together while the confit is resting and the wine is breathing. It’s barely a recipe, which is exactly what you want when the rest of the meal already feels like an occasion.

Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 10 min | Servings: 2

Ingredients

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
10 oz fresh baby spinach (about 8 packed cups)
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
Pinch of red pepper flakes (optional)

Instructions

Heat the oil. Warm the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat until it shimmers, about 1 minute.
Soften the garlic. Add the sliced garlic and cook, stirring frequently, until fragrant and just beginning to turn golden at the edges, about 1 to 2 minutes. Watch it closely—you want it soft and golden, not bitter.
Wilt the spinach. Add the spinach in large handfuls, turning with tongs after each addition. It will look like too much; it won’t be. Cook, tossing gently, until all the leaves are wilted and any excess moisture has evaporated, 2 to 3 minutes.
Season and finish. Season with salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes if using. Remove from heat, drizzle with lemon juice, and toss once more. Taste and adjust seasoning.
Serve immediately. Transfer to a warm plate alongside your main dish. Wilted greens wait for no one—serve right away.

Nutrition (per serving)

Easy Sauteed Spinach — The Greens That Shared Our Celebration Table