This is one of those times when my effort, my intense desire to "make" like Grandma did, to connect with her and Mama - results in an epic fail.
Saturday I made a rare trip to the farmer's market to get some herbs & collard greens, or kale if collards weren't available. But it was collards I wanted and collards I was thrilled to get, a nice big dark green bunch, freshly cut that morning.
As soon as I got home into a tub of water they went. Grandma had taught me they needed to be soaked and rinsed over and over and over and over to eliminate any sand, clay or dirt. So every few hours I'd dump out the tub, holding the greens in place, then refill it with cold water to both clean them and keep them from wilting.
As happens more often than not, I ran "plumb out of" the few "spoons" I wake up with each morning, and my spine was flinging foul epithets at me to boot. The greens would have to be cooked the next day.
And the next day, an entirely different bunch of collards greeted me. Some were limp. Some were turning slimy and black. Some were yellowing. All had holes in them. Holes that weren't there when I bought the bunch. I poured out what should have been perfectly clean water. It was tinged green, littered with bits of dark green leaf and slimy threads of lighter green waving off the stems, and a layer of black grainy specks at the bottom of the tub. Odd. Very odd. Well. Dan Gill says 'It's okay to eat the holes.' So I rinsed the collards again, and turned to get a pair of scissors and a knife. When I turned back to the tub, movement caught my eye. I did a double-take. A pair of dark, slick antennae waved and crept up one of the leaves - followed by a repulsive, slime-covered body. I nearly puked. Ugh! A slug!
I knew that they love to feast on hostas. Never would I have expected to see one on my precious collard greens!
Remembering Gill's words, and trying very hard to not be a wuss, I lifted away the disgusting beast with a paper towel and dropped it in the kitchen trash, then began picking the leaves out one at a time, intending to salvage as much as possible. But with each leaf lifted from the water, hope for a nice meal of "cornbread & collards" circled the drain faster and faster. The lower part of most of the leaves had been gnawed off and the stems macerated - hence the long fibrous strands swimming in slime - and of course the dozens and dozens of holes. By the time I finished, only about a third of the bunch remained, and my gag reflex was fully activated. Even if the greens were "safe" to eat - nope. Wasn't gonna happen.
I burst into tears. When everything you do is five times as hard as it used to be, or just plain impossible, or it hurts like hell to do it and then you pay dearly with even more pain than usual for the rest of the day, and four dollars were wasted - a loss like this feels ridiculously hard.
I just wanted some fresh collards. Next time, I'll buy them at the grocery store, pesticides and all!
