In one of my previous jobs—that of culinary tour guide in Boston’s “Little Italy”—I used to lead small groups of eager tasters through my neighborhood on a slow-paced marathon of gastronomy. We’d wind through the cobblestone streets, step into small specialty stores for samples of star ingredients and I’d relay information about cooking and dining in the Mediterranean way. One of the most important stops was a visit to the greengrocer where, whether rain, snow, sleet or hail, I’d gather my group around the storefront (the store itself being too small to accommodate more than three people at once) and grab a basketful of the season’s best—from broccoli rabe and fennel to figs and moscato grapes.
In the springtime came the bundles of dandelion greens. Piled up high, filling the shop with their pungent aroma, they always brought smiles, and many dropped jaws when people learned of this oft-spurned plant’s culinary and medicinal value. In fact, the plant is named for its leaves, rather than the more familiar yellow flower; our word comes from a charming misinterpretation of the French name, dent de lion, meaning “lion’s tooth”, which refers to the jagged shape of the leaves. These coveted greens are bitter, peppery and slightly astringent; they’re tonic, diuretic and purgative, full of vitamins and iron, the “spring cleaning” agent for palate and body. They can be soaked in cold water overnight if you find them too bitter, or eaten as is, cooked like spinach or raw in salads.
They were always a popular item on the market tours, but a real treat for the locals. Although we would happily buy them, we’d sometimes get a little wishful thinking of the great luxury it would be to pick them from one’s backyard. The more adventurous of us Bostonians would attempt rooftop gardens (where allowed) and nurse along potted tomato vines on the fire escapes, but wild greens were beyond our reach, and certainly not to be found amid the well-manicured public gardens. Ah! for the days of play in a vast Midwest lawn, splashing about in the early culinary experimentation of dandelion stew and mud pie, never dreaming dandelions were actually edible.
Now that I find myself for the first time with a lawn to tend, I’m both delighted and somewhat trepid to find the green that’s up to be mostly dandelion and very little grass. I miss the easy beauty of the splendid Boston public gardens and strolling down the cobblestones to the markets. But no worry; we’ll feast on dandelion greens (you need to harvest them before they flower) and the kids can pick many happy yellow bouquets all summer. Then, when we blow those wispy seeds into the air, I’ll wish for more dandelion recipes for the year to come. Here’s one of my favorites.
Wilted Dandelion Salad*
This is a no-measure recipe; adjust all amounts to your taste and the number of people being served.
dandelion greens, washed well, dried and torn into pieces
sweet onion, thinly sliced
bacon or pancetta (Italian bacon), coarsely chopped
sugar
Dijon style mustard
extra virgin olive oil
red wine vinegar
hard boiled or poached eggs (optional)
Place the dandelion greens in a large salad bowl. Cook the bacon in a skillet until crisp, then use a slotted spoon to transfer the cooked bits into the salad bowl. If you wish, sauté the onion slices briefly until crisp-tender, then add them to the salad. Add a pinch of sugar to the skillet and a dash of vinegar, stirring over low heat until the sugar has dissolved. Add olive oil, wine vinegar, mustard, salt and pepper to taste. Whisk all ingredients together and pour over the greens. Top with cooked eggs, if desired. Serve immediately.
*recipe adapted from Michele Topor’s Boston’s North End Market Tours
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Editor’s Note: Angela Denstad Stigeler writes a food column each week for the Caledonia Argus. She, her husband and their two young children live in Caledonia.
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