Sometime in early February, spring fever sets in. The sun-deprived wife pesters me to go out and hunt around between retreating patches of snow to find fresh dragon-green dandelion shoots and – where the ground is sufficiently thawed – roots. By March, these excursions gradually discover the leaves of baby arugula, mustards, garlic, walking onions, and chives. They naturalized into our yarden over the years and reappear annually without planning or effort.
Early dandelions require extra washing. Dig the whole plant, hose off outside, or soak in a pail. Get them 80% clean before bringing into the kitchen to finish. The flower buds are keen to open, so keep in the fridge if you won’t cook right away. The buds and flowers can be eaten at any stage from hard green bead to yellow starburst – no need to remove them unless fully exploded on a tall stem. The roots can also be cooked with the leaves. If more than a half inch thick, slice the root and crown in half lengthwise.
The earlier in the season, the milder the entire plant will taste. Just steam them in a small amount of water in a saucepan.
Unless you just cooked bacon, of course. In that case, chop and throw the still-wet-from-washing lawn lions right in the hot bacon drippings. You can also fake up this effect using butter, olive oil, coconut oil, or tallow, plus salt and pepper. Add paprika to give a touch of smoky flavor. Then, if you want a substantive, single-dish meal, just add feta cheese and toasted pine nuts.
At our house, we prepare large quantities of steamed or sautéed bittergreens that last for days. They play a starring role in many an egg scramble, omelet, quiche, or frittata. Or, we might toss in crisped up onions and garlic cloves and then plate it all next to a beef or mushroom steak. Kale, collards, spinach, or other greens can be substituted.
At this time of year, as my cat and my wife spiral into stir-crazy, we throw an end-of-winter party, offering up the earliest shoots with verdant poetry. One of these parties, titled Natty Dressers, was enjoined over charcuterie, hard cheeses, and wine – not to mention nuts and dried fruit. It was like a sendoff for Old Man Winter, with a yearning for and invocation of la señorita Spring’s fertility to come.
That year, Pablo Neruda made an appearance, in the form of our Colombian friend Eduardo who read in Spanish. Shelley was recited bombastically by two friends, who imperfectly remembered Ozymandias. Mary Oliver, Gary Snyder, WH Auden, and Hildegard of Bingen were heard.
By Valentine’s Day we’ve eaten enough floury, buttery, sugary things. The hoary hellebore has poked above the snow, the new leaves hiding its tuft of red flowers below. Our blood calls for the bitter spike of lion’s teeth, dents-de-leon – our sunny yellow-flowered harbinger of spring. And poetry. This year, I think it will be Dylan Thomas making the rounds:
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
