If Granny hadn't been born in a time when a lot of country girls quit school after the eighth grade she might have been a nurse or even a doctor. As it was, she became a lowly nurse's aide at Florida State Mental Hospital in Chattahoochee, hired for simply being saner than almost half of the patients.
(Florida State Mental Hospital at Chattahoochee,
picture courtesy of FPC.)
Professionally thwarted, Granny practiced medicine on her family. She had a cabinet full of tinctures, syrups and salves, but her favorite remedies were the enema and the mustard plaster. Fearing enema or plaster, we children learned to mask illness and discomfort, to make ourselves scarce when Granny had time on her hands or if it had been a while since she'd doctored anybody.
One afternoon, during a game of hide-and-seek, I came upon Granny sitting in her chair beneath the fig tree. She'd hung pie tins in the tree to keep the birds from the ripening fruit, but a shotgun leaned against the house just in case. Beside her sat my Aunt Floy, shelling butterbeans one handed, the other hand holding a cigarette like a dart.
Granny called to me, "Bell! Why're you breathing so hard? You sick?" Scrawny, pale and a slow runner, I was a natural target for her ministrations.
"Naw, Granny. I ain't sick. I'm just hot, " I hollered and ran. Not fast enough.
"Child! Come here!" Outright disobedience was unthinkable. I jogged back to her with what I hoped was vigor. She looked me up and down. "You look peak'ed," she diagnosed. Then she turned to Aunt Floy and asked, "Don't she look peak'ed?"
Aunt Floy had had a hard life, and though I was only a kid, I knew she thought my life had been far too soft. Going further back, she thought my mother's life as the daughter of a more prosperous farmer had been far too soft. So when it came time to answer, she took a drag off her Pall Mall, exhaled slowly, and said, "Mighty peak'ed."
That's when I started coughing, hoping for a mustard plaster.
The plaster was a foul-smelling paste of ground mustard seeds smeared onto a piece of old t-shirt that had been heated in a pan of water and wrung out. You had to lie still on the couch with the steaming cloth on your chest while Granny sat beside you and listened to gospel on the radio. She often sang along, with a voice like a rusty gate -- "...When the ROOOOLLLLL is called up YONDERRR! When the roll is called up yonder, I'll be THARE!" Meanwhile, the cousins would run through, using the house as a shortcut between the front yard and the back, their not-so-subtle way of taunting you for getting plastered.
The ground mustard seed for the plaster bears no resemblance to the mustard greens we ate throughout the winter months (though they are intimately related), but I must have made a connection between sickness and mustard of all types because the minute I get a tickle in my nose, a scratch in my throat, I crave mustard greens – a steaming bowl of tender, astringent leaves and fragrant pot liquor, doused with pepper-heat.
I'll be the first to admit mustard greens aren't for beginners. Training wheel greens would be collards. Fat tire greens would be turnips. When you can pop a wheelie and ride a hundred yards hands-free, then you're ready for mustard greens.
They're in season now, and are available briefly. Given dying demand, each year I've found the supply more spotty, so when I see them I stock up. They freeze well. Word has trickled out to my friends about the stash in my freezer. During cold season, calls come in from stuffed-up beggars – "You hab doze musurd greens?"
I know my life has been far too soft (Aunt Floy was right), because I'm able to replace the ham hock Granny used with ingredients she would have found extravagant and outlandish, but I know she'd be the first to take a swig of the pot liquor, swish it around her mouth in the manner of a sommelier, and after a long, breath-held pause, nod her approval.
Mustard Greens with Harissa and Lemon
Harissa is a salty/spicy pepper condiment from North Africa/Morocco. It has a complex heat that builds gradually. Because it's not immediately tongue-searing, it's tempting to add too much. Start with 1 Tbsp and add more to taste. I use Mustapha's Harissa, available at most large grocery stores, or online.
1 large bunch of mustard greens. Strip the leaves from the woody veins and wash them thoroughly. Then chop into bite size pieces. I usually end up with around 12 cups. Greens will cook down significantly so don't be alarmed by the volume.
3 Tbsp olive oil
1 small sweet onion, chopped (about 1 and ½ cup)
2 Tbsp tomato paste
2 cloves garlic (finely chopped)
1 tsp ground fennel (optional – it can be difficult to find)
2 tsp smoked paprika
1 or 2 Tbsp harissa
Water
A liberal amount of kosher salt and fresh black pepper, to taste.
2 lemons, thinly sliced (pick out the seeds)
In a large stock pot, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the onion and saute until translucent. Add the tomato paste, garlic, ground fennel and smoked paprika. Heat briefly, until everything's fragrant, then add the washed, chopped mustard greens. Pour in enough water to *almost* cover the greens (about 8 cups). Add enough salt so that the water tastes slightly salty, and add the harissa to taste. Cook until the greens are tender – 20-30 minutes, stirring every so often. Add additional salt if necessary, and black pepper. Adjust the harissa heat. Tuck the lemon slices down into the greens and stir gently to release the lemon juice.
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Comments
Rated with hugs
the writing approaches spectacular this time, bell. holding a cigarette like a dart -- it doesn't get better than that.
I bet those mental patients were free of physical ailments while granny was there. Really funny and great, Bells.
I bet those mental patients were free of physical ailments while granny was there. Really funny and great, Bells.
i am gonna get me some of that harissa, thanks for the tip.
"I'll be the first to admit mustard greens aren't for beginners. Training wheel greens would be collards. Fat tire greens would be turnips. When you can pop a wheelie and ride a hundred yards hands-free, then you're ready for mustard greens."
Me? I'm qualified to eat all three, so I prefer mine mixed. WITH the ham hocks, thank yew!
Lezlie
Mission -- I never got them both at the same time. Lord, I don't think I would have survived that.
Linda -- They're on the stove right now, heating up for supper!
Token -- Ha!! My Granny was quite a bit bigger than that Granny, but they held similar notions. One day I'll write up a squirrel recipe. She was big on those.
Elijah -- She could have used a few weeks as a patient. When I read about the history of Chattahoochee (and other asylums) I wonder what ANYONE was thinking!
Femme -- You're an honorary Southern Gal! Aunt Floy was the first female bad ass I ever knew. Quite inspirational now; frightening at the time.
Scarlett -- You know I love me some Loretta!
Scanner -- Luck you, living in a place where they are retaining popularity. Along the coast -- where the population is more mobile/transitory -- they're getting harder to find.
Alysa -- The mustard plaster is a nasty remedy. These days I much prefer a swig of Nyquil and a big bowl of greens instead! Hope you feel better soon. It was all that running about that did you in!
Blue -- There are enough varieties of greens for everybody. No need to make yourself eat something you don't care for -- they are strongly flavored -- although they do say you have to try a food ten times (I think) before you can begin to know if you really like it or not.
Greenheron -- I remember "ugly" as a behavior -- "Don't be ugly." I also remember paragoric! We had cod liver oil, but we never had the vaseline. That brings to mind the hairball remedy I gave my cats!!
Performance (2mchwrk?) -- Sure you can substitute kale. It's not a "traditional" Southern green this far South but it's one of my favorites.
Boanerges -- So I guess you're saying you wouldn't mind the enema so much, just the plaster? You're a weird one...
Caroline -- Glad you liked!
Gabby -- Depends upon what you want cured. Most EVERYTHING can be cured by enema or plaster. Except warts. For that you need either a spitting frog or a night-dug potato.
Fusun -- All greens are good and good for you! I was grading them for pungency more than desirability, so eat what you like.
Fernsy -- Aunt Floy would have approved of you!
Sophieh -- Some folks never get the mustard, and that's okay. Harissa is new to me and I've found all sorts of uses for it. I even gave it as gifts to a few friends at Christmas.
Franish -- I hope your allergies get better! Granny would say what you need is to eat the honey of some local beekeepers. A spoonful every day. Followed by an enema.
Dianaani -- I think you'll like the harissa. We are so into the spicy that finding NEW spicy (ingredients that take spicy into another direction) are hard to come by. Mr. Vance likes to use it in hummus.
Jonathan -- Always good to see you stop by!
Kate -- Mustard lovers unite!
Joan -- I so wish I knew where to get homemade harissa. I've seen recipes online, but when I look at the ingredients on the back of my storebought jar, I don't have access to some of those ingredients individually.
Lucy -- I remember your New Year's post, so I know you've still got some collards to plow through! I like all greens pretty much equally (it's only when I'm sick that I REALLY REALLY want the mustard greens over all others), I was just grading them with regard to strength of flavor. Over the years I've managed to get my friend Sue (from Minnesota) hooked on kale and collards -- in fact she denies she ever disliked them (she did) -- but I can't get her to go for turnips or mustard. I'll keep trying...
Sheila -- That's such a sweet thing to say. I appreciate you reading and commenting. That's a project I'd like to work on. That would please both of my grandmothers.
Lulu -- Work your way up to the hard stuff. A big bowl of boiled mustard greens probably shouldn't be the first time you're exposed! There are other, more delicate recipes for mustard greens out there.
Lea -- Thanks for reading and commenting!
Sarah -- I shudder to think of the cod liver oil. My mother says she used to get a bottle of Coke as a treat whenever they were dosed with the cod liver oil, and after a few times, she couldn't even stand to drink a Coke.
Lezlie -- Yep. You're qualified!! Ham hock and all.
Felisa -- I hope you try it. And freeze some for when you need it. The times I didn't have any in the freezer and a cold came on, I was reduced to dumping a can of greens into a bowl and dowsing it with vinegar and hot sauce. Not quite what I wanted.
Mamakaze -- Oops! Sorry! I meant to coax, to lure, not trick. But I'm glad you found something you liked anyway.
Susan -- If he likes the mustard, he'll like them this way. Although I don't remember having them a way I didn't like. I just leave the ham hock (or other smoked meat) out because we don't eat meat anymore -- you can add it back if he prefers it that way.
Stim -- If that's true, I need a refresher course. And I'm NOT looking forward to that.
Amy -- Don't you love that song? I requested it at her funeral. It always makes me think of grandmothers and Southern church ladies. Thanks for the RRR!
Christine -- Git here anytime. We ain't goin' nowheres.
Sheba -- I wish it wasn't true. At least the enema and plaster part.
Robin -- Good to see you stop by!
Matt -- Whoooaaaa there. Slow down, Cowboy! You've got to eat grass with the calves before you can chew cud with the steer!
"I'll be the first to admit mustard greens aren't for beginners. Training wheel greens would be collards. Fat tire greens would be turnips. When you can pop a wheelie and ride a hundred yards hands-free, then you're ready for mustard greens."
I'm a wuss...swiss chard for me. (r)
I use golden seal root powder, hot and sour soup from Chinatown, and my neti pot to prevent colds, coughs and flu.
I gotta find that Harissa!
if I ever decide to learn how to cook, I'll call you for lessons
Geezer -- A neti pot is an enema for the other end. I wish Granny had known about those.
500words -- Thanks so much for reading. I'm glad you enjoyed it. (I hope you'll try the mustard greens.)
Tom -- Surely you know your way around a bowl of mustard, even if you don't make it yourself.
Damon -- Whatever green you can stomach is a good green! I thank you for reading.
Fred -- I know, I know....they are pungent. You should keep trying, though. One day you'll find they are less objectionable, and then even less objectionable, and then you can't do without them. That's the way of things.
Maria -- I'm glad you enjoyed the piece.
Vanessa -- Hey, I just saw your flan. It looked delicious! We could trade some lessons.