A young friend who is a graduate student in art history recently generated an interesting and highly entertaining on-line discussion about symbolism in Renaissance paintings by posting a period rendering of the Pieta (Jesus’ mother and close circle mourning over his body) along with a clip from a highly controversial theory about the symbolism of The Christ’s lifeless hand demurely lying over his naked lap.
Inevitably, any link between Jesus and sex sends people right over the edge and I’m not going there. The point here is a comment toward the end of the discussion in which one wise soul reminded the group that even in those days, when paintings were often rich with symbolism, not every blessed thing was symbolic.
“Sometimes,” he said, “a picture is just a picture.”
Not only did that discussion remind me of my own days in graduate school, when it often seemed that art historians had dirty minds and way too much time on their hands, it brought to mind how often that comment applies to life in general.
Not everything has a hidden meaning. This is especially true of the kitchen. Given some of the things that super-star chefs and trendy food magazines are saying about cooking these days, we could all use a reminder of that.
Yes, there are often deep cultural, psychological, and emotional associations with food and the way we prepare it. But when we get too cerebral about those associations, just like worrying over the darker meaning of Jesus’ hand cupped over his privates, we lose some of our pure, innocent pleasure in the overall picture.
A young Japanese sociologist came to Georgia a few years ago and fell so deeply in love with Southern food that she changed her thesis, becoming as passionate about our cooking as any native—even though (and partly because) it was completely alien to her own experience. That she had no visceral emotional baggage attached to the food did not stop her from enjoying it any more than it stops a westerner from enjoying sushi.
When a chef or food writer starts mooning over essences and cultural layers in a dish, they need to be reminded that sometimes, it’s just dinner.
For heaven’s sake, just shut up and eat.
Wilted Spring Greens and Onions
When my brothers and I were boys, each of us got to spend two weeks of the summer alone with our grandparents. My grandmother, a typical housewife, was a genius at tailoring those visits to suit each one of us.
If my visit was early enough in the season, this dish, and the foraging that accompanied it, was an indelible part of my time with my grandmother. Whenever she and I went anywhere, she threw a couple of paper grocery bags into the back of the car. We never knew when we’d come across a stand of poke sallet, that native green that has been both the source of legend and rude derision in Southern food. It’s season is brief as its flavor is delicate: the leaves must be harvested before the plant starts to flower and its stalk and leaf stems begin turning red.
When we got home, she gently cleaned the greens, wilted them in boiling water, and then finished them in a skillet with hot rendered salt pork fat and sliced green onions.
All this comes to mind because, yes, I have deep emotional baggage associated with this dish and with poke sallet—and there just happens to be a poke plant growing among the camellias in my back yard. You don’t need all that context to enjoy it. While the greens that MaMa used are unique to the southeast, her method was not. Sautéing wilted spring greens in some kind of fat is common to many cultures.
Just use the green and fat of your choice, then shut up and enjoy it.
Serves 4
2 pounds tender poke sallet leaves* or a mix of chard, beet greens, and arugula
2 ounces salt pork or pancetta or 3 tablespoons butter or extra virgin olive oil
4 large green onions, thinly sliced (green and white parts)
Salt and whole black pepper in a mill
Pepper Vinegar (optional)
1. Wash the greens in several changes of water and trim off any tough stems. If using poke sallet, bring a large pot of water to a boil and stir in the greens. As soon as they wilt, about a minute, drain them well. For other greens, put them in a pot with just the water that is clinging to them. Cover and put the pan over medium heat. Cook, occasionally folding the top leaves under, until they’re all wilted. Turn off the heat. Drain and gently squeeze out the excess moisture.
2. If using salt pork and it is very salty, rinse it well and pat dry. Put it or the pancetta in a heavy skillet or sauté pan over medium heat. Sauté, tossing often, until the fat is rendered and the meat is golden. If not using either, put in the butter or oil and warm it over medium heat. Add the onions and sauté until softened but not colored, about 2 minutes.
3. Add the greens and toss until well mixed with the onions and coated with fat. Sauté, tossing often, until they’re tender and nearly dry, about 4 to 8 minutes. Taste and season well with salt and pepper (if you’ve used salt pork or pancetta, they may not need any salt at all). Serve hot with Pepper Vinegar if liked.
* A word of warning: if you go foraging for poke sallet, be sure that you know what you are gathering, and NEVER gather it from a roadside the way we used to do. Nowadays roadside weeds are often sprayed with things that are not food safe.