For a small town, the drama here has been queen sized. As in drag queen.
A few weeks ago, local officials got their girdles in an uproar over a drag story hour scheduled at the public library. One of them wrote a letter to the head of the library and the president of the board of trustees. An event like this promotes “hypersexualization and drag to young children,” he wrote. (You can read the rest of his diatribe here.)
The event, scheduled yesterday, was cancelled. Not because of this letter or the prayer circle held the night before outside the library.
But because of a suspicious package found inside the library yesterday morning.
A few hours later, an emailed bomb threat targeted the home addresses of the library director, the head of the local Pride organization, as well as a reporter (whom I happen to know).
Blocks were cordoned off. The state bomb squad called in. Businesses evacuated, including a hotel. People were scared for their safety. Journalists forced to an alternate location to keep working.
A day of inclusion scrapped by little minds. An event that celebrates our differences. An event that could make someone feel like they belonged, not ostracized. Just last month, a twenty-two-year-old trans person died by suicide in this county. The third suicide of a young trans person in this county in six months.
A bunch of us later that day talked about the political vitriol and its lighter-fluid chain reaction. Hate begets hate. Every single time.
But love begets love. My teacher Mel reminded me of that yesterday. Love prevails, even when we think it won’t, she said. Even on days when you want to throw in the towel.
My head was cottony. I couldn’t think straight. Earlier in the week, I had offered to make a side dish for a friend’s dinner party.
I got to work on two bunches of kale. I know its furry texture is polarizing for some. But I got some kale moves; those who have my cookbooks know that. This one is a riff on creamed spinach, that old steakhouse classic. It’s both cozy and grounding, which I needed more than I had realized.
I’m not suggesting that creamed kale makes the hate and the sorrow and the suffering of our world magically disappear. But it can be your new covered dish that you take to a friend and you tuck in and you marvel at the hints of nutmeg and the toasty cloak of breadcrumbs. That friend might make it for another friend and then people start asking for the recipe. And the love that I was talking about? It replicates, like the cells that make your hair grow, and travels as far we’ll let it.
So much better than that lighter fluid.
CREAMED KALE
Makes 4 to 5 side-dish servings
Kitchen Notes
Heavy cream is not necessary; I used a combination of whole milk and half and half. Use what you have on hand.
I like to heat the dairy before adding it to the roux; it reacts more readily and quickens the sauce. If you don’t feel like dirtying another pot, heat in the microwave for 1 minute.
Ingredients
2 bunches Lacinato kale, ribs removed
1 1/2 teaspoon salts
2 cups equal parts whole milk and half and half (don’t fret if you don’t have it exact)
1 shallot, thinly sliced
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
Grated nutmeg
Unsalted butter for greasing, plus 2 tablespoons
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 cup grated Parmesan, plus more for finishing
About 1/4 teaspoon chile flakes or Aleppo pepper (or less, if you like)
½ cup breadcrumbs
Bring 4 cups water to a boil in a medium pot. Add 1 teaspoon of the salt and the kale. Par-cook (in batches, as needed) for 4 minutes. Transfer to a bowl and cool under cold running water.
When kale is cool to the touch, gather into a ball and squeeze like crazy to remove as much water as possible. It will shrink considerably in volume.
Chop your ball of kale into smaller pieces.
Grease the bottom of a baking dish with butter. Arrange the kale in a single layer in the dish. A sprinkle of those chile flakes on top is nice here.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
In a medium saucepan set over medium-low heat, heat the milk/half and half combo along with the sliced shallot and garlic. Season with the remaining ½ teaspoon salt. When you see tiny bubbles emerge on the surface, take off the heat. Give the nutmeg a few gratings. Return the lid and let steep for about 10 minutes. (Plan B: Heat in the microwave for 1 minute with the sliced shallot and garlic. Cover with plastic to steep.)
In another medium saucepan set over medium heat, melt the butter. Whisk in the flour until there are no flecks; it should take just a few seconds for the roux to come together.
Add the seasoned milk mixture, stirring regularly to keep it from sticking to bottom of pan. Heat until the mixture thickens and has some body. Stir in the cheese until no longer visible. Take off the heat.
Pour the cheese sauce on top of the kale.
Finish with the breadcrumbs, and more cheese, if you like.
Bake until bubbly, about 20 minutes. For some color on top, finish under the broiler for 1 minutes. Eat hot.
Wandered over from the Substack Writers at Work office party, and I'm so happy to be here! Food is not only sustenance but comfort in difficult moments, and your recipe sounds like it's made for that. I'm a newbie to kale but already a big fan (kale salads, kale chips, kale chaat, etc.) - will add this to my repertoire too!
that was a kick in the stomach, and blasted the wind out of my sails. just when i have a sliver of hope for our country, i read something like this and it is such a sickening gut punch that requires more kale and cream than exists on this planet. the sheer ignorance and hate and fear and I don’t know what, I’m choking up and shaking and on the verge of tears reading this and longing to be sitting in your kitchen being fed something heartwarming and nourishing and comforting to coax me down from the ledge. The cruelty that has been so viciously unleashed to wreak havoc on the most innocent (as we’ve seen), the most sensitive, the most seeking, the most confused, the most fragile is heartbreaking. I just want to scream a fire breathing dragon kind of scream that stops the insanity if even for just a moment so we can all catch our breath.