Eastside Road, January 31, 2011—WHEN I WAS A BOY it was not considered food for humans. We grew kale in the garden strictly for the chickens, and for years I persisted in believing that kale was the chicken's favorite food. Perhaps it is; I haven't really researched this; but in fact I believe chickens like insects, especially soil-living insects, more than anything else in the world.
Both L. and I have grown kale from time to time. Sometimes when the weather's right kale will live over from one year to the next; L. grew some that attained the stature of small trees, and harvested the leaves one by one. They were enormous.
It was our friend Kees who woke us up to kale, years ago, in 1976 I think, when he cooked up a mess of boerkool. Since then I've loved it: chickens, fend for yourselves.
Tonight L. cooked up a pot of kale from the store. Kale, salt, crushed garlic, olive oil: that's all you need, that and a little time, a little more perhaps than she gave it, as she was the first to point out.
Afterward, jambalaya left over from last night. Man, that was good.
Syrah, Lagranja 360, Cariñena, 2009: young and friendly.