GARDEN FRESH : The Dandelion: A Weed in Its Place

Even the most city-bred among us at some time in childhood bent down and plucked a puff of dandelion, blew on it and watched, transfixed, as a zillion seeds on silken wings sailed away on the wind.

Then some of us grew up to be gardeners and installed lawns. Rather than being transfixed by the blowballs, the adult in us now gets agitated. Out the plants come by their roots, usually with a curse.

Never was the definition of a weed more apt than for the dandelion: a plant out of place. Certainly dandelions don’t belong in a manicured lawn. But with their raggedy leaves in ebullient rosettes, dandelions are a joy in the border. Set their sprays of green beside bright primroses and dahlias. Lend their sauciness to sedate sages and kales.

Back to childhood. If any of us knew the leaves beneath the puffs were good for us, there’d have been fewer seeds on the wind. No self-respecting child has anything to do with something healthy.

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So next time you pull up a dandelion when it’s out of place (assuming it has never been sprayed), bring it into the kitchen. The thinnish, slightly succulent leaves are lightly bitter--refreshing in the manner of curly endive. With its forgiving nature, dandelion will nourish you mightily. The raw leaves have twice the beta carotene of beet greens, as much iron as spinach and as much calcium as turnip greens.

In its season, every part of the dandelion can be enjoyed. As is the case with most plants, the leaves are tenderest and most delicately flavored before the plants flower. Of course, raw dandelion leaves are an enchanting addition to tossed salads. Pick them as small as you can so you’ll have the pleasure of seeing a whole indented leaf-- don’t waste the effect by tearing it into pieces.

If you nip off buds as they come along, you’ll keep the leaves virginal. The trick is to have enough plants dappled through the garden so you can let some flowers bloom. Summer’s small golden daisy-like flowers are also charming in salads. Were you to have bucketfuls, you could make a delicate and flowery golden wine (ask your local library for a book on homemade wines). And if you let a few flowers turn into fairy puffs, your supply of fresh plants for next season will be assured. Then in autumn, the large roots may be cooked as parsnips. Or slowly roast the roots until dry and dark brown, finely grind them, then brew them into a lusty sort of coffee.

Now dandelion leaves are classed as a potherb--one of the greens that rise so easily in spring they’re disprized. Potherbs are traditionally dropped into a simmering pot along with savory vegetables such as carrots and onions to make an invigorating soup.

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You’ll also read about potherbs being cooked like spinach. For my part, I don’t fancy a mess of boiled dandelion greens. Whether raw or barely cooked, I like to use them as an accent. I’m partial to slicing slender greens into ribbons. When a recipe calls for leaves of chicory, arugula, escarole, curly endive or Italian parsley, for example, I play with dandelion leaves in their place.

Bear in mind that, as with other greens that are wild at heart, lemon buffs the rough edges and makes dandelion’s flavor shine.

Italians have a gift for lifting what others consider lowly to the inspired. Especially in compositions of pasta. Mix al dente rigatoni with chopped, softened sun-dried tomatoes, ribbons of dandelion leaves, thinly sliced celery, minced garlic (all these vegetables raw), olive oil and lemon juice. Toss piping-hot cheese tortellini with ribbons of dandelion leaves and fine shreds of lemon zest, dress with olive oil and wisps of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese (ready-to-cook tortellini are available in many deli cases). Chop dandelion leaves and mix with toasted pine nuts--melted butter this time with the lemon juice--into translucent egg noodles.

Another Italian way is to thread ribbons of raw dandelion leaves through rich broth, then top with grated cheese.

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The confusing thing is that when you see greens labeled Italian dandelions in the market or a catalogue, they’re not dandelion but chicory. There are several dandelion-like chicories, and their leaves can grow a foot long. True dandelion leaves are rarely longer than the span of a hand.

Now in these sensuous days when even water comes in designer flavors, there are designer dandelions. Naturally, they’re French. They are refined forms of our childhood dandelion, the leaves a bit larger and the flavor a bit milder. With names such as Amelior and Verte de Montmagny, they are beautiful.

Dandelions are hardy perennials, that is, they’ll be evergreen in a balmy garden and return after frost in a frosty garden for years. Although some say the plants lose quality after the first year and recommend pulling them up, I don’t. I find that it depends on the plant’s quality of life. Although they’ll grow generously almost anywhere, what makes dandelions happy is well-drained soil in full sun, and they’ll beam if their soil is fertile.

The refined sorts of dandelions do best when started indoors. For autumn eating, sow from the month before through the month of your last expected frost of spring--or if you have no frost, any time in spring. Where it’s very hot in summer and also where it’s temperate, you can sow seeds in late summer for fresh dandelions over winter. Keep at about 60 degrees and don’t let them dry out. When the plants have five or six leaves, set them in the garden, first hardening them off (for a week before transplanting, put them outside every day, then bring them in at night).

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To plant, snip back the roots and tips of leaves by about one-quarter. This light pruning makes the plant throw its energy into vigorous roots and new leaves. Keep moist the plants you don’t want to flower (dry soil causes them to start making seeds). Regularly pick leaves for salad from the center, those for cooking from the outside, to keep leaves coming.

Should dandelion leaves prove too bitter in late summer, blanch them. Although blanching cuts down on nutrients--the deeper the green, the richer the Vitamin A--pale dandelion leaves are as elegant as Belgian endive. And unlike Belgian endive, you can’t buy them.

Wait until the plant is mature and the days are relatively cool (usually autumn or spring). Expect the plant to deteriorate once blanched, so either eat fast or do a few plants at a time. Make sure the leaves are bone-dry, or they’ll mildew (if the plant is in the path of necessary watering, cover it with a bucket for a few days). Remove all dead or dying leaves. Gather up the leaves fairly tightly and tie with something soft about one-third down from the top. The outside leaves won’t blanch, of course, but in 10 to 14 days, inside leaves will be creamy-white tinged with butter-yellow and will taste worlds sweeter.

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Still not mainstream, when you’re looking for dandelions in seed catalogs, if they’re not listed, look under Greens or Salad Greens or, as a last resort, under Herbs.

And when you pass dandelions in the grass, remember your childhood and return their smiles.

Sources

Fresh--Supermarkets and farmers’ markets.

Seeds--Amelior from the Cook’s Garden, P.O. Box 535, Londonderry, Vt. 05148. Verte de Montmagny pissenlits (French for dandelion) from Le Jardin du Gourmet, P.O. Box 75, St. Johnsbury Court, Vt. 05863-0075.

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Greens and potatoes are a tasty pair, so I thought to make a salad of them. It turned out to be wonderfully versatile. According to your mood and menu, this may also be prepared with walnut oil and embellished with toasted walnuts or pine nuts . . . or with chopped, hard-cooked eggs . . . crumbled bacon . . . diced pimientos . . . matchsticks of softened sun-dried tomatoes . . . or cooked celery root . . . or make it a main dish with small shrimp or diced ham . . .

When dandelions are scarce, I substitute part or all curly endive or another chicory--any slightly bitter leaf that still has a vestige of crunch when wilted.

LEMONY SALAD OF NEW POTATOES AND DANDELIONS Cold water 1 teaspoon salt 1 1/2 pounds unpeeled 2-inch red new potatoes 1 pound dandelion greens, including slender stalks, well rinsed (some part or all may be curly endive or other chicory) 1/2 cup chopped green onions, stalks included (green garlic, chives or Chinese chives may be substituted) 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil 1/4 cup fresh lemon juice Salt Cayenne or freshly ground black pepper

In 11-inch skillet add 1/2 inch cold water. Add salt to water and bring to boil. Quickly (so they don’t discolor) slice potatoes crosswise scant 1/2-inch thick. Stack and slice crosswise same thickness into French frylike pieces. Drop into boiling water, stir, cover and return to boil over high heat. Adjust heat to maintain simmer and cook until barely tender, 12 to 15 minutes, stirring once or twice.

Meanwhile, stack greens and slice crosswise scant 1/2-inch wide. When potatoes are ready, heap greens on top, cover and simmer 1 minute. Holding lid, drain (save broth for soup). Turn into mixing bowl.

Add green onions, oil and lemon juice. Mix gently. Season to taste with salt. Salad is most flavorful warm but may be served at room temperature. If prepared in advance, bring to room temperature.

Season to taste with cayenne pepper. Makes 8 servings.

Each serving contains about: 156 calories; 380 mg sodium; trace cholesterol; 7 grams fat; 22 grams carbohydrates; 3 grams protein; 1.32 grams fiber.