My big sister Rachel doesn’t really know how to cook, and has never had an interest, so she relies on me to dictate her oven temperatures. Our mom keeps old scraps of my scribbles, an 8-year old’s efforts to transpose recipes as quickly as Jacques Pepin made them on television; Rachel’s childhood relics are her pointe shoes. One (and only one) Christmas we did a role reversal and Rachel cooked for the family. I walked into the kitchen to find her using a whisk to stir a chunky Moroccan stew, struggling to pluck pieces of lamb from the loops of wires. I handed her a wooden spoon.
Last month, Rachel lost her phone, despite having just had it in sight. 24 hours pass, Find My iPhone is fruitless. We’re convinced someone stole it. In agony over the cost and hassle of it all, she treks to Verizon and replaces the phone. Around midnight that same evening, box of Triscuits in hand, she cracks the refrigerator, pops the lid to her Tupperware of pre-sliced cheese— an addendum to her dinner— and there, wedged between slices of Pepper Jack and Muenster, sits the phone. Frigid.
Perhaps the ol’ phone-in-the-fridge doozy is more a result of her mothering four young children than of her being a non-cook. If nothing else, it paints a picture of a woman spread thin, just trying to figure out the best way to crisp up my niece’s dinner.
I know it might seem random that in just two more sentences I’ll be touting a simple twist on sautéed greens– shouldn’t I be engineering a new-fangled popcorn chicken suited just-so for the 7-year-old who shares my bloodline?? Nah. Sometimes a classic non-sequitur is just what the NOODLE needs.
If you already have a greens sauté committed to muscle memory, this recipe might entice you to eat your leaves a little differently. For those who don’t, this mess of greens is easy and approachable, and requires zero chef-ery gymnastics. Even my sister can handle it.
Portland: forget about a bird! Put a green on it.
My jaw is sore just thinking about the number of olive-oily-garlic-y mouthfuls of sautéed insert-favorite-greens-here I’ve chewed in the past 6 months.
Skillet. Olive oil. Garlic. Chile Flakes. Greens. Salt. Lemon. Autopilot: on. Always good, some versions better than others, but it’s reliable and you know what to expect. Like a Seinfeld rerun.
So CHANGE THE CHANNEL. Do these two things and VARY IT UPPPPPP (up and away)…
#1. Use butter: such a seemingly inconsequential element to make a big deal about. But swap it in place of olive oil and brown in conjunction with #2, and greens become shrouded in savory.
#2. Use Better Than Bouillon. (I prefer the chicken variety, the one sold as a paste in a jar, not cubes.) Brown the bouillon in butter, which will also brown. Plus garlic, and the result is… the 6th sense.
I promise that I will only reference “umami” when something truly showcases those qualities because “umami” is an overused word. Umami, umami, umami. And I also promise never to follow that word with another word that rhymes with Tom and starts with a B. But if I did, I would proclaim it here.
Nostrils: Their Time to Shine
There’s a powerful aromatic moment in this recipe right when the bouillon is toasted and the white foam of the butter gives way to browned milk solids: the second the garlic hits the pan, your nose detaches from the rest of your body and lives on its own for just a moment, like a separate, omnipotent entity, fortified solely by the strength and madness of a scent so intense that it nearly has its own pulse. In short, it smells pretty good.
Better Than Bouillon: Keep it quiet or shout it loud and proud?
I’m not quite sure the answer. There’s no doubt that BTB is manufactured. But even if I were to roast 40 pounds of chicken wings, necks, and backs myself and simmer them down for thousands of hours, I’d never be able to get such concentrated, undiluted schmaltzy flavor. Sometimes we need the cheat. Like pre-sliced Pepper Jack. And besides, the first ingredient is “roasted chicken,” which kind of feels redeeming.
“Of course, my stocks in class always tasted far better than my classmates’. No one could figure out how I coaxed such hearty flavor out of a few chicken bones, or made such wonderful fish fumet with fish racks and shrimp shells, all in the limited time available. Had my instructors given me a pat-down before class they might have learned my secret: two glassine envelopes of Minor’s chicken and lobster base inside my chef’s coat, for that little extra kick. They never figured it out.”
– Anthony Bourdain, Kitchen Confidential
Wait, have you nothing to say about the sunflower seeds in this recipe?
So listen, they’re textural, they’re cheap, and when browned in butter and bouillon they taste… not cheap.
YES, after a glass of wine or two you might feel that those browned buttered sunflowered seeds have pine nut reminiscence. An unexpected transformation, and I really hope you try it.
So answer the door for your Thai takeout or preheat your oven for the frozen pizza. But stop rummaging through that veggie drawer, because your side dish is sorted, and it’ll go with just about anything you’ve got crisping up in the background.
7-MINUTE BROWN BUTTER BOUILLON BUNCH O’GREENS
Serves 1-4
REMEMBER, BEST PRACTICE: READ THE RECIPE ALL THE WAY THROUGH BEFORE YOU START COOKING!
Yes, you read the serving size correctly. I could finish this for a solo dinner with some rice and an egg, or divide tongfuls among 4 friends.
1 large bunch leafy greens, such as kale, collards, chard, broccoli rabe, or bok choy
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
¼ cup raw sunflower seeds
1 teaspoon Better than Bouillon roasted chicken base
Red pepper flakes, optional
1 clove garlic, peeled
Olive oil
Kosher salt
1-2 lemons
1. Prep the greens: if your greens have tough stems, remove them by either cutting them out with a v-shaped cut with a knife, or using your hands to strip the leaves from the stems. Cut any stems that you do want to cook into 1-inch pieces. (I tend to eat chard stems, but not as much kale or collards, unless they’re tender. Broccoli rabe and Bok Choy I eat from top to bottom.)
2. Add the butter, sunflower seeds, and Better than Bouillon to a small skillet or pot. If desired, add some red pepper flakes. Have your garlic peeled and ready to go with a microplane grater handy. Place the skillet over medium high heat and stir with a silicone spatula, mashing the bouillon into the butter. Cook, swirling the pan continuously and scraping the bottom of the pan, until the butter is foamy, the bouillon smells aromatic, and the sunflower seeds begin to turn a touch golden around the edges, about 2-3 minutes. The bottom of the pan will be coated with the bouillon— all of this will be reincorporated into the sauce in just a moment, when you add a splash of water.
Continue cooking until the white butter foam is nearly gone and the aroma becomes even more strong: the butter is now browning. Grate the clove of garlic directly into the skillet, give it a quick stir, and cook for just 15 seconds. Immediately add a splash of water (mixture will sputter) and swirl to combine to stop the cooking and prevent burning. Scrape bottom and sides of pan to deglaze. Brown butter bouillon: complete! Set aside.
3. Warm a large skillet over medium-high heat. Coat with olive oil, about 1-2 tablespoons. If using the stems from the greens, add them, season with salt, and sauté, stirring, until softened, 2 minutes. Add the leaves of the greens, season with salt if you haven’t already, and cook, tossing occasionally, until just wilted, about 1 to 2 minutes. Skillet may be crowded but the volume will reduce as the greens cook. When wilted, immediately remove from heat. Greens will continue to soften with the steam in the pan.
4. If your butter mixture needs rewarming, do so over medium heat. Drizzle over the greens in the pan, add a tiny splash of water to the butter pan, and scrape to get every last bit of the sauce into the greens. Toss to coat and squeeze the juice of one lemon into the skillet. NOW TASTE. More salt? More lemon? Both? Adjust seasoning and serve warm.
Awesome! I’ll give it a try. And love to Rachel too. ❤️
so much to love here.