Cavolo Nero kale tastes best in a pot of pasta
Who wants to read another story about kale? Probably no one, including me. Yet next Wednesday, is National Kale Day. So, sorry, folks, no escape. It’s clearly time for an update on my personal gardening adventures with this so-hip-it-hurts veggie.
First off, though, a confession: I’m against anything trendy on principle. The moment a so-called superfood, a cocktail, a hairstyle, a way of wearing jeans becomes the darling of celebrities like that irritating goody-goody Gwyneth Paltrow, I swim in the opposite direction. Always have. Always will.
Thus, the mere mention of kale made me cranky for years. I agreed with the French, who mostly dismiss it with a Gallic shrug and the descriptive name frisé non pommé. This roughly translates as “curly, headless cabbage,” which sounds about as exciting as watching an election debate on TV.
But last spring, a Toronto acquaintance — an ardent crusader for this crucifer — gave me a little lecture.
“You must try kale,” she said bossily.
“Aren’t you supposed to stay in touch with trends in gardening?”
Who, moi? So I grew some, mostly to keep her happy. Then I discovered — to my chagrin — that kale actually does taste quite good.
Sharon Hanna’s bestseller, The Book of Kale, won me over. It contains some unusual recipes, including one for a salad of raw, shredded kale, lemon juice, olive oil and chopped walnuts. Yum. And so easy to make. I ate it often last summer.
Now, fast forward to spring 2015. Fully reconciled to the unstoppable curse of kale, I put in two new plants, of the trendy Tuscan laciniata kind, which the Italians call Cavolo Nero (literally black cabbage).
Cavolo Nero has leaves like long, bluish-green tongues. I thought they’d be easier to roll up and slice than the crinkly kind, which kept springing all over the chopping board last summer. And this new kale certainly did look chic. My plants resembled big, beautiful urns, towering over the low-class onions and spuds in the veggie plot.
Yet eating Cavolo Nero? No grazie, not in a salad.
“This stuff sucks,” declared the Man in My Life, spitting out a nasty wad of masticated fibres onto his plate.
I had to agree, because my Tuscan leaves proved far tougher and coarser than their crinkly cousins.
Preparation is a pain, too. By the time you’ve removed the tough ribs from those tongue-shaped leaves, there isn’t much left to slice into the “chiffonade” that kale fans such as Hanna espouse.
Thrown into a boiling pot of pasta, Cavolo Nero did pass muster, however. The pasta strands turned pretty and green and I felt quite virtuous eating them. It’ll also probably work
The trendy Cavolo Nero proved far tougher and coarser than its crinkly, curly cousin
in fall soups. But raw? Forget it.
Now I’m wondering about next year. Will I still plant the most hyped — and tiresome — veggie on the planet?
With the web be awash in “Kale Hero Toolkits” (to give out in schools), goopy Gwyneth yapping about her green smoothies and an American woman in Paris (dubbed the “Joan Arc of Kale”) winning over a few of the finicky French, what choice do I have?
It doesn’t pay to look out of touch. Sonia Day is guest speaker at Scarborough Hort Society on Oct. 13 at 7 p.m. Admisson free. Info at macleodfam@sympatico.ca. Soniaday.com.