By Late July. Heat. The garden is producing in volume. The kitchen is in canning mode. The pot rack is half done.
Wednesday Quoy came over. He's been at NSU for the summer doing a research project on Cherokee oral history with Lily as his thesis advisor. He stayed for dinner. He told us about the project — interviewing elders about traditional cooking practices that aren't in the written record. He had recorded sixty hours of interviews. He was transcribing. He said: I have a recording of an elder describing how her grandmother prepared bean bread in the 1930s. He said: it's different from the way you make it. I said: tell me. He told me. Slightly different ratio of beans to cornmeal. Slightly different cooking method. He said: I want to make it the way she described. I said: come Saturday. We'll make it.
Saturday Quoy and I made the 1930s bean bread. The result was denser, nuttier, with a specific texture I had never gotten in mine. I tasted it. I said: this is the original. He said: it's the elder's grandmother's. I said: it tastes older than mine. He said: it should. He said: my version is mine. Yours is yours. The grandmother's is the grandmother's. The bread is the bread the maker makes. I sat with that. He is twenty-one. He is right.
Caleb and Miriam closed on the house Friday. They start moving in Monday. They have a closing party Saturday at the new house. Hannah and I drove over. Twelve people. Family. Pizza ordered from a place in Tahlequah. Wine for some. Sparkling cider for Caleb and Miriam. The house is small and right and ready for them. They walked Hannah and me through it. Caleb said: this is mine. He said it twice. He said: this is ours. Miriam beamed. The pot rack is two-thirds done. I will deliver it before the end of August.
After Saturday’s bean bread — the weight of it, the density, the conversation with Quoy about what belongs to the maker — I wanted something from the garden that required almost nothing. The kale was ready. The lemon was on the counter. The kitchen had been running hot for days between the canning and the bread, and this salad was the thing that asked the least of me and gave back the most. It’s become the reliable one, the one I make when everything else is already happening around it.
World’s Best Kale Salad
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 20 min | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 1 large bunch lacinato or curly kale, stems removed, leaves torn into bite-sized pieces
- 3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
- 3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice, divided
- 1 clove garlic, finely minced
- 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
- 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 1/3 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
- 1/3 cup sliced almonds or pine nuts
- 1/4 cup panko breadcrumbs
- 1/4 cup dried cranberries (optional)
Instructions
- Massage the kale. Place torn kale in a large bowl. Drizzle with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil and 1 tablespoon of the lemon juice. Use your hands to massage the kale firmly for 2—3 minutes until the leaves soften, darken slightly, and reduce in volume by about a third.
- Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil, remaining 2 tablespoons lemon juice, minced garlic, salt, and pepper until combined. Taste and adjust seasoning.
- Toast the toppings. In a small dry skillet over medium heat, combine the panko and nuts. Stir frequently for 3—5 minutes until golden and fragrant. Remove from heat immediately and spread on a plate to cool.
- Dress the salad. Pour the dressing over the massaged kale and toss well to coat. Add the Parmesan and dried cranberries if using, and toss again.
- Top and serve. Scatter the toasted breadcrumb and nut mixture over the top just before serving. The salad can sit dressed for up to 30 minutes without wilting — the kale only improves.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 225 | Protein: 7g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 17g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 290mg