For this recipe you will need
One bunch of collard greens carefully coiffured
One bunch of wild mustard greens of a whimsical nature
One bunch of Chinese mustard greens
One bunch of turnip greens endowed enough to make the
Jolly Green Giant blush
One bunch of hurricane kale blown to a leaf
Two bunches of spinach green as a sea sick sailor
all grown in your organic backyard garden and tended as if to serve a
Queen. There is also the
One pound of unsalted butter churned from the milk of a honey brown
jersey that races for the barn to be milked by warm hands and dances back to
the lush green pasture when she is satisfied.
One or two cups of extra virgin olive oil from the trees
of your favorite orchard owned by your best friend whose family came from Italy,
picked on cool days, mashed into paste on cool evenings so that the crushed
olive paste does not spoil then spread over grass mats and pressed into vats of
liquid treasure like the molten gold used to build the Catholic empire.
One pound of home cured pork belly from your least
favorite swine who spent his days lounging about in the mud and sun never ever
contemplating life nor death and snorting his thanks to you whenever you
dropped by with a bucket of the leftovers from your last effort at brewing an oatmeal
stout that all your friends raved about at the winter solstice party you
invited them to.
Then you must also include
Two multilayered purple red onions whose personalities
are sweet yet robust and always complementary with the
Four or five cloves of the stinking Rose that are grown
by that family from Gilroy who never ever smell of anything else. Then pour
into a waiting glass
One cup of deep
red wine that is dry as the June desert air and smells of rosemary, thyme and
oak, pressed from grapes of ancient vines tended by darkly tanned and smiling peóns
who are managed by a kind and elderly vintner whose love for his craft is only
surpassed by the love for his family and friends. Be sure to save one glass for
yourself. After which you need to pack
One quarter cup of
raw brown sugar from cane grown as tall as trees then charred ferociously in the
fields of a Kauai and squeezed till every ounce of sweetness has been extracted
from its being.
Once
you have gathered these fine culinary ingredients about you, you will need to
heat the huge blackened cast iron skillet with the cymbal sized lid until it
smokes just a bit. And while that skillet warms up you will need to wash the
leaves of all your greens tenderly yet thoroughly so that none of the
fertilizer from your seven Alpine Nubian crossbred goats, who willingly give
you buckets of milk from which you make feta cheese or sell to the neighbor
with the lactose intolerant child for a minuscule sum or trade for her special
blood oranges, makes its way into your perfect food.
Next
you will spread out the leaves to dry, inspecting them for bugs or bad spots so
your family knows you care about their aesthetic issues. You will then, using a
knife as sharp as the tongue of your shrewish ex-wife or your sassy gay
brother-in-law, remove the leaves from the stalks of all your greens except
that of the spinach, with swift and exact coulés, setting the stalks aside for the two lambs you are growing
for a barbecue on the Fourth of July and to make curried lamb for your new
friends from India that will soon be taking the oath of citizenship after
immigrating to the United States over ten years ago.
Knowing how difficult it is for your grandparents to
chew food with their outdated dentures, you take your tenderizing hammer and
pound the kale, mustard, turnip and collard greens so the cut bits will be
easier to masticate and digest. And while doing so you stuff a couple of leaves
of the fresh picked spinach into your mouth and revel at the taste you would
have never have otherwise known if you had continued to eat it from a can, a
frozen package or the store after sitting for a week on the shelf. You take
your knife and chop the leaves vigorously into bite size pieces and lift them
into a large mixing bowl setting it to the side while you cut up the pork belly
into quarter inch cubes and toss them into the hot skillet listening for the
sizzle and waiting in eager anticipation for the smell of apple wood smoke to
fill the room.
Already the sounds and smells of your morning endeavors have signaled
your family that it is time to rise from their deep Saturday slumber and gather
themselves at the table where fresh made juices and hot coffee with a vicious
kick awaits.
As the meat of your honored banquet guest dances around
the skillet, finely chop your red onions and their white garlic compatriots and
place them into a bowl. Once the pig has been rendered crispy but not burnt,
pour off half of the liquid fat into the jar of cold congealed bacon leavings
that you store in the freezer for times when you need a bit of flavoring in
your cooking. Remove the pieces of meat and place them into a bowl. Pour a
generous portion of your extra virgin olive oil into the hot skillet careful
not to splash any on yourself and quickly follow it with half the creamy butter
and the mixture of onions and garlic. Once the onions are clarified but not
entirely enlightened, pour the rest of the olive oil in to the skillet and then
scoop the leafy green bits from the bowl into the pan, spreading them equally
about the bottom on top of the onions and garlic. Immediately, so that the
onions and garlic do not char, fold the greens into the mixture making sure
that each and every piece is well oiled and the whole mess is thoroughly
desegregated.
Blend the mixture, trying not to stir up any
controversy, about every three minutes so as not to scorch the green leaves,
otherwise keeping it covered so that the H2O in them is evaporated by the heat.
Once the water has been completely expunged from the batch, sprinkle the meat
about the top and rouse in order to give your swine equal time and
consideration with each spoonful that your family will savor.
Now take that wonderfully scarlet wine and pour it all
over the mountain of greens, bulbs and pork stirring gently and sprinkle in the
brown sugar so that the entire concoction is smothered in its bold engaging
flavor. Add a couple of gentle pinches of deep blue sea salt or a handful of
crushed crispy seaweed to enhance the flavor even more, cover the pan before
all the wine evaporates and leave on low while you whip up a batch of extremely
fluffy scrambled eggs from your well fed, feathered friends, Snowball, Snow
White and Fiona using that wonderful butter from your happy California cow.
And as you sit down with
your beloved family and consume this wonderful repast made possible by your
hard work and the sacrifices of your backyard friends, remember to tip your hat
to the deacon of bacon.
Bon
Appétit!
