We were having some friends over for dinner. It had been raining all day and I had a big pork roast planned for a main course, so I thought for a first course I'd serve a soup made from mixed braised greens.
This is one of my favorite dishes and it couldn't be easier: You sauté some onions and garlic, add chopped greens, cover with stock and simmer until the greens are tender. Then you coarsely purée them and add cooked rice or small pasta shapes. At the last moment, you grate over it some Parmigiano-Reggiano.
What could go wrong, right? Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
The greens -- a mix of chard, kale and, it turned out, mostly dandelions -- all came from my garden. (Go figure, dandelions in my garden?) I also picked a couple of pounds of broccoli rabe to serve along with the roast pork.
At this point, an incredibly intuitive reader might begin to sense where things might get complicated.
I blanched the broccoli rabe in a big pot of boiling salted water, cooled it in an ice bath to keep it bright and set it aside until I was ready to sauté it. Then I started on the soup. I cooked the onions and garlic and chopped the greens into little pieces. I added the greens to the pot a handful at a time, letting them wilt and shrink before adding the next handful.
And that's when I discovered I didn't have any stock in the house. That really shouldn't have been a critical issue with this dish -- a weak stock is best here anyway; it's just another layer of flavor, and the mixture of greens, garlic and onions would probably be enough to make a nice soup.
But I wanted this to be special because I was cooking for friends. So I came up with a solution: In place of the stock, I'd use some of that bright green blanching water from the broccoli rabe.
Is my problem becoming clearer? Like I said, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I ladled some of the blanching water over the greens in the pot. I'm not sure how much: probably three or four cups. I brought the mixture to a simmer and let it cook until the greens were limp and just beginning to darken, about 15 minutes.
So far so good. I grabbed my immersion blender and went to work. The idea with this soup is not to reduce the greens to a smooth purée; what you want is more like a mixture of puréed and very finely shredded greens. That way when you add the rice or pasta, it stands out in contrast.
I have to say, it was beautiful, very slightly thickened and with alternating shades of dark and emerald green. Feeling very, very pleased with myself, I dipped in a spoon for a taste to correct the seasoning.
Class, repeat after me: "It seemed like. . . ."
GACK! It was horrible, and not just simply horrible, but horrible on a couple of levels. Horrible squared. In the first place, because there was so much dandelion in the mix, the soup was really, really bitter. But that wasn't the worst of it: Because I'd salted the blanching water so generously, the soup was also incredibly salty.
And did I mention that I'm faced with this bitter, salty mess less than an hour before the guests were supposed to arrive?
From bad to . . .
What to do? After a few minutes muttering repeated Gordon Ramsay quotations (hint: "it seemed like a good idea at the time" was not among them), I realized that my only option was to try to fix the dish. I didn't have time or greens enough to start from scratch.
It seemed like the obvious place to start was by getting rid of some of that salty liquid, so I spooned off a couple of ladles-full and replaced it with (unsalted) water. This worked somewhat, but not enough. The soup was less salty and bitter, but certainly not yet in the "mmm, good" range.