Honeyed Words: Colcannon at the Change of the Season

Colcannon at the Change of the Season · 4 September 2007

Picture of a Plate of Colcannon

I’ve been mostly absent from the kitchen for several weeks due to the intense heat (and lack of air conditioning at home) but weather here is finally cooling down. Long after the sun had set and the warmth of the day seeped out of the walls of my house, I braved the kitchen to make Colcannon as a final look at Tipperary before moving on to the talk of the season, Carl’s R.I.P. challenge.

In the novel Tipperary, Charles wanders around Ireland and interacts with both the rich and the poor. He has quite a few gastronomic stories to share, but as always they’re couched in the terms of his constant exposition on love and Ireland.

He is considering the problem of land ownership, and trying to define the differences in the love for the land between the Anglo-Irish and the Irish when he recalls some funny stories about eating around the country.

The Anglo-Irish he claims, for all their wealth, set a very poor table, while the Irish may not have two coins to rub together, but always share the best they have and prepare their food with pride.

In selecting the second dish to prepare for this book, I chose something that would probably have been served to Charles at the table of one of the better off tenant farmers (the very poorest he describes as eating nothing but porridge and potatoes). The ingredients are simple and readily available.

I could imagine how this classic Irish recipe would be much more satisfying to Charles than the elaborate creations served to him by the great Anglo-Irish houses. It’s hearty and immensely satisfying. According to Irish Cultures and Customs, it’s also one of the traditional dishes served by the Irish on Halloween.

As Honeyed Words transitions into fall, and prepares to kick off participation in Carl’s R.I.P. Challenge which culminates on Halloween, I thought this festive recipe was doubly appropriate. I also thought it appropriate to the season that the head of kale reminded me of brains. The focus on the eerie and creepy is working its magic, and I'm starting to see the world with eyes expecting gothic symbols.

Picture of a Head of Kale

Colcannon

Adapted from Irish Customs and Cultures and The Irish Food Page.

1 ¼ lbs kale or green cabbage (I used kale)
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 ¼ pounds potatoes (I used red)
1 leek
1 cup milk
½ cup butter
Salt and pepper to taste

Method:

Scrub and clean potatoes, being careful to remove all the eyes. Cut potatoes into 2 inch pieces.

Place potatoes in a large saucepan and cover with water. Add a pinch of salt, cover pan, and bring the water to a boil.

When the potatoes are about half done, (about 15 minutes), strain off two thirds of the water. Replace lid and place on a gentle heat and allow potatoes to steam until they are cooked.

Place approximately ½ inch of salted water in a sautéing pan. Bring to a gentle boil.

Discard the dark outer leaves of the cabbage (if using cabbage). Cut the cabbage or kale into small pieces, across the grain of the head.

Place cabbage in the pan with the boiling water until soft. (I like my vegetables on the fresh side, and so I cooked these just barely to the point of softness in approximately 4 minutes. The longer you cook the cabbage or kale, the softer it will be).

Drain the cabbage or kale, then season with salt and pepper and a little of the butter.

Cut the white part of leek into small pieces. Take the pan used for the cabbage or kale and combine the leeks and the milk. Bring the mixture to a boil.

Pull the skins off the potatoes (I skipped this, I like potato skins), then beat the milk into the potatoes until they are fluffy.

Stir in the cooked cabbage and taste for seasoning.

Serve in a heated dish; make a well in the center and add the remaining butter.