A Pot of Greens, Plus Cornbread from The Careless Cook

A Pot of Greens, Plus Cornbread from The Careless Cook

 

First off,  I have to put down my glass of wine, hold up my right hand and swear to tell the truth, something I don’t generally do because it complicates my already disordered life. 

 

This recipe is not all mine.  It’s my version of Eddie Hernandez’s recipe that he came up with decades ago, when one of his friends brought him a pile of fresh turnip greens.  Eddie is a happy, friendly restaurateur extraordinaire, who has owned several Mexican restaurants in the greater Atlanta area.  He’s really become acclimated to the southern style of cooking and his turnip greens are a good example, with Mexican flavors, but served in the southern fashion, the greens in their potlikker. 

 

Potlikker?  The broth you cooked the vegetables in.

 

But, you’re dying to know what The Careless Cook did differently.  The biggest difference is that I used cans of greens.  Now, Eddie runs a restaurant and when he cooks, he cooks massively and with great planning, so the time-to-cook (TTC) doesn’t matter.

 

I, on the other hand, had a significant other out for a 45 minute bike ride who would not show me a smile and be satisfied with a PBJ. (Pretty Bad Jumble)  Also, she’d mentioned cornbread on the way out the door.

 

First Cornbread Task:  Oven to 425ºF, oil an iron skillet and put it in the oven…..more to follow, but now let’s get back to the Greens.

In-Green-inents

 

3 cans of greens (refer to the photo to see what dusty cans I found in my pantry)

½ large tomato, seeded and diced

½ large onion, peeled and diced

2 garlic cloves, peeled and minced

1 jalapeño, seeded, the ribs cut out, and diced

½ stick of butter (about 4 ounces)

32 ounce carton of chicken broth

salt and red pepper flakes to taste

fresh herbs to sprinkle on top - I used cilantro

 

Puttin’ It Teegether

 

Dump all three cans of greens in a colander and drain.  Set aside.

 

Melt the butter in a large pot.  I let mine brown just a little.  Toss in all the vegetables except the greens, and cook until the onions are limp.

 

Add the greens, stir, then pour in the chicken broth and bring to a boil.  Reduce heat to low and let the greens simmer while you make the cornbread.

 

Cornbread

 

Lots of variations, as you know.  This is the simple version to use when your significant other is on a bike ride and has high expectations and hunger pangs when she returns.

 

1 cup all purpose flour

1 cup corn meal

1 teaspoon salt

¼ cup sugar

4 tablespoons baking powder

1 egg

1 cup milk (I used oat milk because that’s what I had!)

¼ cup vegetable oil

 

Put the dry ingredients in a bowl and whisk to mix.  Make a well in the center and add the egg, milk, and oil.  Whisk only until the ingredients are mixed.

 

Pull the iron skillet out of the oven.  While others may know this, I will add a further instruction for my friend Daphne.  Don’t grab the skillet barehanded!

 

Put the batter in the skillet and return it to the oven.  My cornbread browned in 20 minutes.

 

I served the greens with some chopped herbs on top, plus a cut of cornbread and a glass of Pinot Gris.

 

Significant other expressed satisfaction bordering on happiness.

I raised a glass to Eddie Hernandez....who, by the way, has a fabulously interesting

cookbook that tells his story, from Mexico to now, along with a collection of recipes you're going to want to try!

 

Downhome Vegetarian - Cornbread and Collards

Cornbread Fixin's

Collard Makin's

Simple, but Country Elegant

All together now....slurrrrp!

I confess I’m a rib suckin’, barbequin’, unrepentant carnivore.  But, I have nice friends, including a close friend who’d rather jump on a live grenade than eat any part of anything that walks, crawls, flies, or swims.  I’ve been tempted to test that. 

When you cook for vegetarians, you start to be very inventive. No throwing juicy, delicious steaks on the barbe, peeing in the bushes, and clanging the dinner gong.  You pay more attention to flavors and color combinations, but most of all, everything you fix has to taste good and be filling. No fear. It can be done.

            Of course, there’s also the dainty, little finger in the air, ‘style-is-everything’ type of vegetarian,.  I avoid them. You probably know and despise one of your very own.  Lightly steamed breast of radish, with vinegar infused skirt of cabbage.  Served on a bed of thin sliced, gluten free, soy based, rabbit pellets.  I’d rather eat root veggies, still ripe with bovine droppings.

            I say, if you’re gonna do the dirty with the greens, grab some corn licker, bust a few brain cells, and make some stomach fillin’,  mouth-warterin’ victuals your gran-pappy would be proud to slap on his tin plate and drool down his chin.

            You know I’m talking about cornbread and collards.  Cornbread is one of the oldest American dishes.  Native Americans ground corn in the long ago, and passed the recipes on to southern colonists, who added some leavening agents and brought cornbread to such a high stage of the culinary art that even slayers of beasts will relish a tasty hunk.  Matter of fact, cornbread has been labeled one of the cornerstones of southern cuisine.  I’d vote for that, as long as you mention biscuits, barbeque, and rice.  Hold on a sec.  Gonna need more than four corners.  What about the greens?  Which brings up the savory subject of collards.  Collard is the colloquial form of the long-forgotten name “colewort,” and it comes from the same family as broccoli and cabbage.  Not a bad green gene pool.  Collards give you vitamin C, along with antibacterial, antiviral, and even anti-cancer properties.  Matter of fact, if you rub collards…..’nother story.  These days you don’t have to cut the leaves at exactly the right time and chop ‘em yourself.  That’s what the frozen section of the supermarket is for.

            Lets get cookin’!  We’ll do the collards first and let them stew while we make the cornbread.

Collards My Vegetarian Friend’s Way  (Look!  No bacon up my sleeve!)

            1  package (1 lb) frozen, chopped collard greens

1   medium onion

3   cloves garlic

1   carrot

3   tablespoons chopped jalapeños

32  ounces vegetable broth, about 4 1/2 cups

1   tablespoon salt (or to taste)

2   tablespoons vegetable oil (I use sunflower oil)

Finely chop the onion, garlic and carrot.  I use a food processor.  Heat the oil on medium-high, in a 2-3 quart pot, and add the chopped ingredients (except the collards).  Let them sweat until the onions are translucent, then add the vegetable broth.  Bring to a boil and add the collards, salt and jalapeños.  Simmer for at least 30 minutes or more.  The longer the better. Taste and add salt as necessary.  I’ve been known to splash in a little bit of vinegar and another bunch of chopped jalapeños at this point.

While the collards simmer, let’s make the cornbread. 

Cornbread  - the simple kind

2 cups yellow corn meal

1/4 cup sugar (optional)

2 tablespoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 beaten egg

1 1/4 cups milk (I use skim)

Preheat the oven to 400ºF or 200ºC.  Add about 1/4 cup oil to a 8-9 inch cast iron skillet and put the skillet in the hot oven.

Mix all the dry ingredients in a bowl.  Add the milk and mix.  Add the beaten egg.  The batter should move slowly around in the bowl, but not be watery.  If your batter is too thick, add a little more milk. If it’s too thin, add just a touch more corn meal.

Some people like to add all manner of things to the batter:  jalapeños, corn kernels, shredded cheese, crisp bacon, tongue of mother-in-law.   Do what the hell you want, but don’t ask me.  I’m making the simple kind.  ‘Course I’m the guy who likes plain vanilla ice cream and single malt with no ice, water, or vapid conversation.

Remove the hot skillet from the oven and pour in the batter.  Put the skillet back in the oven and bake the cornbread for 20-25 minutes, or until the top is slightly brown and a knife comes out clean.

            By the time the cornbread comes out of the oven, the collards will be ready.  Give ‘em a taste and add salt or more jalapeños if you need to.   See how that works?  Almost as if I’d planned it.  Now, ask gran-pappy for another slug of that liquid corn, one of the other cornerstones of southern cookin’.  Just ask gran-mammy.