Cooking ain’t rocket science. It’s a little chemistry, some botany, and a touch of bovine anatomy thrown in for good measure.
My coop, Valley Natural Foods in Burnsville MN has a fantastic assortment of produce all year long, but right now especially, it is amazing. So amazing that yours truly can’t identify half the stuff they offer, nor do I know what I’d do with it if I had some.
Hence my hesitation to participate in their CSA program. Boxes of produce every week of stuff I didn’t pick. I already think that for honesties sake I should just put 1/3 of the produce I buy every week in the trash as I leave the store and avoid the exercise where I just let it go bad in my fridge.
The last CSA box came to the neighbors and was filled with green stuff, which got the following conversation started:
Uh Ramps, those are ramps. They’re not scrapes? I don’t think so. Are they are scallions I thought they were scallions. No chives, or mini leeks. What are these? Uh dandelion greens? No those are dandelions, I think this is radicchio. Or is that collard greens. Turnip greens. Is that spinach? Thought it was oak leaf lettuce.
And on and on and on and when they get to the thing where no one can even guess what the hell it is I don’t even have to look up. “Jerusalem artichoke”. I tell them. And I’m right. What do you do with it? Personally I’d throw it away.
As for the rest of that box of green stuff I like to lump them into the “weeds” category of produce. And not the California meaning of the same, which is an entirely different line of plants.
The new PC word for eating weeds or what my depression era Dad would call Hoover Salad, is Field Greens. Sounds nicer.
Until I point out that field greens at my house are usually preseasoned with dog piss and I ain’t eat’n thats stuff fresh outta the cow pasture field, no matter how organically raised grown in cow shit it is.
I’d rather eat my greens after they’ve been processed by a cow and turned into something tasty than to join the ranks of urban grazers gulping down stuff that lays on the sidewalk after I come through with my weed whip with the two stroke engine on it. And doing so at $195 a pound. For weeds. Not weed, weeds.
My forebears have spent epochs capitalizing on genetic mutations which have moved us to the top of the biological world. We eat everything below us that’s worth eating, especially during the grilling season. I’m not stepping back now.
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