For over a month now, Paul has been engaged in a sisyphusian battle with the dandelions in our back yard. Some days he goes after them systematically, using a weed digger to remove leaves, flower and root in one easy step. Other days, when the number of yellow flowers springing up in the yard threatens his, um, equanimity, he takes the weed whacker to the entire area, littering the ground with a fine mulch of leaf, petal, and the odd bit of grass.
In the aftermath of such whackery, the dandelions’ intact roots send up a fresh growth of tender green leaves. This morning, as I gazed out our kitchen window, the back yard looked like a field of randomly planted, poorly weeded salad greens. I’ve never eaten dandelion greens, but I know some people love them. In the interest of eating locally, I decided it was time for a harvest. Within a few minutes, I had filled a plastic bag with enough small dandelion greens for a salad for two. Back inside, I washed one of the leaves, and took a bite. Tender, slightly bitter, peppery; these are my kind of salad greens. I tucked my harvest in the crisper, next to this month’s staples of asparagus and kale.
I may end up eating that salad by myself. I don’t know how Paul will feel about eating his weeds, even if they are peppery, tasty weeds. Perhaps I can frame this salad in larger terms. Eating the flesh of one’s foe - even a not yet vanquished foe - has a certain mythic quality. Might eating those dandelion greens give Paul increased power over the seemingly invincible plants? Or might incorporating a part of those dandelions into his body change his feelings about them?
Later today, I’ll toss those greens with blueberry vinegar and olive oil. Perhaps I’ll add some chopped hazelnuts, half a pear, and a bit of blue cheese. I’ll offer some to Paul. We’ll see what happens.
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Your home grown dandelions look considerably more civilized than the ones around here, which are giant and hairy, despite poisonous sprayings by the minions of The Landlord.
I’ll still be shopping for mine at the market, I’m afraid. I’ll be interested to see whether your salad is a hit with Paul. I haven’t tried any in an uncooked format yet, myself.
They are kind of cool-looking aren’t they? I’ve seen an intricate William Morris pattern with a theme of dandelions, which is pretty in a victorian sort of way.
I agree. I think yours look more tasty than ours. Doing the digging this spring, I have found that to my surprise, there are many varieties of dandelion. This is a sad thing for the consumate yardman though. I will be interested in seeing how he takes to it.
BTW we finally had a price decrease on the asparagus. I saw some for $1.99 today. And I saved the “fairytale” pumpkin seed last fall, planted sixteen seeds to try them out and ALL came up. Now to keep the rabbits out. These pumpkins are mostly meat, very little cavity and one large one made enough cooked pumpkin for seven pies. WE may need some new recipes if they actually bear fruit.
Some people [ my Dad, the chemist, once] made “dandelion wine” of them. One bottle exploded. No idea how the others tasted.
The leaf I tried was bitter and had repellent earthy notes. Perhaps, if it was hidden in some real salad, you could get away with serving it, if you didn’t want your guests coming back soon.
As I told Kimberly, maybe in a famine I would eat it.
He won’t be able to resist a salad like that. Will he?
In my family, Spring meant a number of naturely rituals. Among them, the favs were tossing the stones back into the driveway, looking for the wild asparagus that grew near the railroad tracks and uprooting dandelions for salad or frying.
HATED the taste as a tiny fellow. But, as I grew, my Sicilian hardwiring toward Bitter must have kicked in. My tremendous Grandma Fieata made the best of the bitter that she could but we’d all have moments of squinching up. Kinda similar to throwing down shots of whiskey. Why, why do we do those things that make our faces accordian?
The key was to get the dandelions very early, way before they flower. That timing seemed to move them off the DefCon 5 bitter scale, maybe down to 4 or 3.
The other thing is the name: “dent de lion,” “lion’s tooth,” which makes me very happy. Maybe that accounts for the repellent, earthy notes. Not that I’ve spent very much time in a lion’s mouth. Just a guess.