Dinner, with dirt on it.

In my last post I mentioned I visited the farmer's market last Saturday. Casually mentioning the farmer's market is just a little show-offy and pretentious in an earthy sort of way. I really just threw it in for cool points.

Nevertheless, the farmer's market was a defining experience for the week. It is a different way to do grocery shopping: outside, wandering from stall to stall, touching and tasting before you buy. The process of buying food becomes relational. You look a farmer in the eyes and ask questions, knowing that he or she has tended, handled and labored over the goods they sell to you. The market bustles, not hurried or frantic, but with a meandering commotion of real people moving with unrushed purpose.

And dogs. This place serves a dual purpose as a market for the hard working and a showcase for the adorable. People strut around, flaunting their happy relationship with their pup. My day will come.

Digression, I'm sorry. But not really. Dogs are worthy.

Back to the point. I am coming to value the idea of process in the context of food. The relational, unpredictable nature of buying what the farmers were able to bring to town that day, and the slow, exploratory process of cooking that food.

I wish I could show you what is on my plate tonight (I could, but life is too short for pictures when the food is steaming hot). I'm looking at boiled red potatoes tossed in olive oil, garlic salt, pepper and oregano. Kale sauteed in olive oil and garlic and splashed with fresh lemon. Slices of ham warmed up in the skillet.

This meal is beautiful, but not because it is perfect. The kale has too much lemon. The slices of ham are just sandwich meat from Kroger. Yet, this meal is beautiful, because it is real. It came from the earth. I know because I had to wash some of the earth off before I could cook it. The rough dirt and cool water, the sizzle and pop, the zest and salt are all a reminder of the richness of this real, physical world.

Tangible, flavorful grace.

If you want to give the flavor of grace from my kitchen a go, follow my very meticulous recipe. I think the technical term for this is wilted kale.

Pour some olive oil in a skillet.
Throw in a clove of garlic. The key to cutting up garlic is using an absurdly large knife. Smash it with the flat side of the blade and the skin will slide right off. Then chop, chop, chop. 
Tear up a bunch of kale and add it to the skillet.
Saute until it looks like something you want to eat.
Squeeze a little lemon juice over it, but not too much.

Eat and be thankful.