The K-Word

A couple of years ago at the height of the pandemic I decided to join one of those ‘urban farm’ subscriptions that would provide me with beautiful produce every 2 weeks. They had different plans for different prices, but I went with the cheapest one, at about 30 bucks a month. I think they called it ‘Farmer’s Surprise’. That meant they’d choose for me the stuff I’d get in my box. The first time I drove out there to the wilds of South Pasadena I got horribly lost, not a big surprise in Maudlandia. Actually South Pasadena is outside of Maudlandia by about 6 miles, but I can get lost anywhere and do all the time, inside and outside of the territory. After circling around a few times I spied the street...a tiny little cul-de-sac off a main road—easy to miss. As I parked and walked up a lovely driveway lined with herbs in pots, and lots of flowers, there was a building with a glass front that housed the produce boxes. It was all very impressive. I grabbed mine without looking inside, though they did have a policy that you could exchange anything you didn’t care for while you were there. The place was arranged with hanging baskets of red onions, yams, oranges, all kinds of gorgeous things in all kinds of gorgeous colors. Seemed to me you couldn’t go wrong! I got home and unloaded this giant box to find yellow heirloom tomatoes, romaine, arugula, 2 kinds of squash, baby fingerling potatoes, dill, basil, and something mysterious...like giant bananas. I had to Google these up, and they’re called burro bananas. I love an exotic fruit! These were kind of starchy and more tangy than a regular banana, pretty awful actually, but I still love an exotic fruit.

So this subscription started in mid-August, and it was great fun! There was a woman there, clearly the matriarch of the family, who dressed in big floor-length skirts and boots, and had her hair done up in braids wrapped around her head...very ‘Little House on the Prairie’. I often wondered if this was really what she wore all the time, or if it was a special get-up to enhance the farm-life vibe. Did she change into skinny jeans and high heels after 5PM... take down those wrap-around braids, and go wild at the disco into the wee hours? She was quite sweet and friendly and we always chattered away during my bi-monthly visits.

Summer turned to autumn, and the selection in my boxes changed...more root vegetables, always delicious, and fewer gorgeous tomatoes. There’s nothing in this world better than a real tomato. You can barely find them anymore! Even if you get some from the supermarket that look deep red, still on the vine, they’ll be beige on the inside, and taste like nothing resembling a tomato. Where do they grow these things? Clearly somewhere indoors around downtown L.A. next door to an Amazon warehouse. The nice squash kept on coming, and there was lots and lots of greenery. Green celery. Green peppers.  Green apples. Tons of leafy stuff. Micro greens. Macro greens. Parsley...hmmm...never use the stuff.

By then I’d begun to search through my boxes and exchange things. I’d take an onion and give back some zucchini, I’d take out the okra (of course) and grab some fresh dill, and every single time I’d find, at the very bottom, a big bunch of fucking kale. I had a lengthy conversation with the farm gal about this stuff, and she explained how you had to massage the leaves, and douse with olive oil and let sit for a few hours before you could ever use them in a salad. ‘Massage the kale’...who thought THAT up? She also said that baby kale was more tender and didn’t need that kind of attention. Baby vegetables have always sent me reeling. In the 90’s when I was still catering everyone wanted their produce tiny and young. I promise you, the babies taste exactly like the grown ups, so just let the carrots grow up and experience adulthood already.

As winter came on I gave up the subscription. My boxes were filled with celery and yams...maybe some radishes. Makes me shiver just thinking about it. I’ve been in L.A. so long I get cold as soon as the temperature goes down below 70. Don’t give me cold weather vegetables. I’d always rather have some strawberries than some apples. Plus that trip to the fake farm was getting on my nerves. The pioneer gal started wearing overalls and plaid shirts with big sweaters wrapped around her shoulders...and she still stuffed a bunch of kale in every box.

In the last few months it’s occurred to me that my old jeans are really tight, and I hate tight clothes. The weight I’ve gained seems to be sitting right in the middle of my body, in the front, where I can see it. How depressing is that? I know I ate a lot of bread and chocolate pudding during the Corona years, and laid on the couch watching a lot of Netflix, but all that is over now (sort of) and my body has not bounced back the way the economy has (sort of). I realized I needed to take some drastic measures. Yes, kale has returned to Maudlandia. I’m eating sparingly. Some might call these meals rather meager. When you’re eating mostly plants you have to become open-minded as only the desperate are.

There’s a lovely restaurant a few blocks away that has a salad, blackened tofu and kale. I’ve been out with friends who’ve ordered it, and they love it. I’d watch in awe as they scarfed down every bit, and seem utterly satisfied at the end. I thought maybe it was an act to shame me as I dug into a BLT. Two weeks ago I found myself there and ordered it, hesitating a bit in my too tight pants, but ultimately realizing I had to take action if I expected results. Well, guess what. It was just fantastic! Crunchy but not too crunchy, the tofu salty yet sweet, better than even bacon! This kale is different, or maybe I’m different, a convert!

At my grocery store a couple of days ago I picked up a big bunch of curly kale. So pretty with its fluted edges and a tinge of purple towards the middle. “I’m gonna love this. I’ll do it right. I’ll massage each leaf. I’ll offer it up to the god of green plants. I will tell the world how I’ve changed. I’ll fit into my old jeans again!” 

I’ll tell you what, it was like eating paper...and not typing paper, but thick textured watercolor paper, cut up into strips and dipped in vinaigrette. I surrender. Maybe it’s time to buy some stretch pants.