That would be kale. Mom and I hit the Tuesday farmers’ market today and each got a mess of kale. I was channeling my inner Samurai when I got home, so I just CHOPPED IT ALL UP instead of pulling the leaf part off the stem part. Charlie likes the stems, too, so he’s a-gonna get ’em. I put it all in a pressure cooker with an onion, some salt and some garlic olive oil.

Didn’t put in enough water, alas, so it didn’t steam. I caught it before it scorched, added water, and put it on the heat again. Brought it up to where the pressure is jiggling the stopcock, then turned off the electric burner and let it cool down and depressurize by itself. Tasted some. It doesn’t taste SCORCHED, exactly, but it definitely has a little extra je-ne-sais-quoi to it. The guy who sold it to me said he fries it in a pan, and that’s what it tastes like–like it’s been pan-fried a little bit. So I’m going to pretend that’s what I MEANT for it to taste like.

Now here’s a little song for kale:

Kale! Kale! How I love kale!
Nothing is better except a big sale.
All other greens are too strong or too pale–
It’s perfect, most perfect, pluperfect! It’s KALE!

Okay, that’s enough of that.

I posted this morning on Fatal Foodies on the subject of Who Killed Flapjack? It’s a mystery with no solution.


writing prompt: Oh, by the way, do you like my new blahg design? Okay, writing prompt: Write a romantic meeting at a farmer’s market stall.