Issue #161: Long-Cooked Greens with Chickpeas

Not All Vegetables Should be Crisp, Brownish But Flavorful, A Spanish Recipe of Moorish Origins

The other day I was talking with my friend Anita Jaisinghani of Pondicheri in Houston. She was telling me how, as an Indian chef, one of the most important things for her to overcome about traditional Indian food was not cooking her vegetables to death. It’s common, she said, for okra or spinach to simmer on the stove for an hour or more. Everything ends up like a brownish sludge, she laughed. (Which is not to say it isn’t delicious.) By contrast, she always wants her vegetables to remain vibrant and bright. An early, glowing review noted that her saag was the color of AstroTurf—a colorful comparison she wears like a badge of honor.

This is the delicious sludge I was thinking about in my fridge while Anita was talking.

The funny thing is, as she was sharing her point of view with me, I was thinking about the brownish sludge I had in my fridge. A couple of weeks ago a recipe arrived in my inbox as part of my subscription to Vittles, a British food “magazine” published on Substack. I love Vittles for its British take on food matters. I like reading about international London restaurants in suburbs I’m unlikely to ever visit. And I really appreciate the depth of knowledge and strong opinions their writers occasionally express about somewhat seemingly arcane subjects. Recipes are a new thing for Vittles. And this one for Espinacas con Garbanzos, spinach with chickpeas, caught my eye the other day, in part because it required you to cook and cook and cook the spinach for three hours or more. I’ve made it three times in three weeks.

Though a good cook in her own right, we used to make fun of my mother, who liked her vegetables like her meat, well done. We joked she put the brisket in the oven and the broccoli on the stove at the same time. As my palate evolved out in the world beyond my mother’s kitchen, so did my preference for vegetables that were still green and crisp. But, if I’m honest, I never lost my fondness for mushy broccoli and green beans.

So, imagine my surprise the first time I went to Italy, land of great food, back in 1992 and I was repeatedly served vegetables cooked to a state my mother would have appreciated. Although Italians are known to be some of the world’s biggest consumers of vegetables, it sometimes surprises salad-starved American tourists that those vegetables are rarely served raw. Many years ago I was working on a cookbook proposal with a famous food personality from Montecatini. We cooked together in her beautiful Tuscan kitchen, making fritattas, salsa crudas, pastas, and roast meats. One night she made her famous coniglio stufato, rabbit stewed in a spicy tomato sauce, into which she packed a handful of long green beans that cooked for the same two hours as the meat. I still remember those beans, which had soaked up all the flavor of the rich tomato broth seasoned with garlic and pepperoncini. They were very, very soft and very, very delicious. I believe all green beans are more flavorful cooked past crisp.

Arturo’s (overcooked) broccoli in red wine at Latteria San Marco, Milan, May 2016. Unforgettable.

One of my favorite restaurants in Milan (maybe the world) was the late Latteria San Marco (see Issue #32). On one visit, Arturo, the octogenarian chef/co-owner, insisted I order a special, which tuned out to be a plate of brown, mushy broccoli, made all the less visually appetizing for having been overcooked in red wine. That broccoli was unforgettable. Flavorful, soft, almost creamy, and rich with umami. Beguiled, we ordered a second plate. I asked Arturo how he made it—red wine, water, olive oil, and salt. Basta. I’ve tried many times to recreate that broccoli at home without success. I can never bring myself to let it cook long enough.

Italians and Indians are not the only cooks who like their vegetables way beyond al dente. (You can cook your broccoli to mush in Italy, but don’t you dare overcook your pasta!) The cuisines of Greece, Morocco, and Spain, whence comes this long-cooked spinach dish I’m about to share, all feature vegetable dishes that are traditionally “well” cooked. Maybe it’s an old-food-culture thing.

Spinach with chickpeas, perhaps not quite ready for its closeup?

This recipe for Espinacas con Garbanzos was contributed to Vittles by Nick Brahmam, chef of Quality Wines in London. It is his interpretation of a Spanish dish of Moorish origins that he first tasted at a 350-year-old tapas bar in Seville called El Reconcillo. I understand why he was smitten.

In addition to its haunting flavor and texture, what I love about this Espinacas con Garbanzos is that you can its a technique you can use with greens beyond just espinacas, or spinach, of course. Now that we are fully into our CSA from the beautiful Edgewater Farm just down the street, I’ve got turnip tops, arugula, kale, and other greens a-comin’. I’m sure beet greens, radish tops, and just about any leafy green will work great given this Moorish Spanish treatment. My advice is to keep the mix at least 50% spinach, for nothing else cooks down to the same silken texture and deep mineral flavor. But when you cook the greens together, low and slow for hours with warm spices and chickpeas, they transform into something entirely different from how they began. They become the opposite of salad, that’s for sure.

Lunch yesterday was these long-cooked greens with chickpeas in homemade whole-wheat pita with labne, arugula, and cucumber tomato salad.

I’ve eaten this dish, warm, room temperature, and cold. I’ve served it as part of a collection of meze, as a side dish, on crackers as an hors d’oeuvre, and spread in a pita. I’ve eaten it out of the container from the fridge. I’m not ashamed.

I’ve followed Nick’s original instructions to a T (see here), cooking my own chickpeas, using broad leaf spinach (not baby), roasting my cumin and grinding it and the garlic in a mortar and pestle before steeping it all in olive oil, and then drizzling the finished with fine olive oil before serving, as advised. The results are superb. But I’ve also taken a few liberties for convenience sake, using a combination of greens, as I’ve already said, using ground cumin and canned chickpeas, even some frozen spinach. It’s still very good. What I haven’t done is sped up the process, presuming the full three hours is required to achieve that ethereal texture. Tinker with timing at your own risk.

RECIPE: Long-Cooked Greens with Chickpeas

Adapted from Nick Bramham who adapted it from El Reconcillo in Seville

Serves 4 to 6

• About 2 pounds broad leaf spinach, turnip or beet tops, laccinato kale, arugula, or other leafy greens. If using an assortment, be sure to have at least 50% spinach

• ½ cup extra-virgin olive oil

• Sea salt

• 2 ½ teaspoons cumin seeds, toasted and ground, or 1 tablespoon ground cumin

• 3 large cloves garlic, pounded in a mortar and pestle or grated on a Microplane

• 2 ½ teaspoons sweet pimentòn (smoked Spanish paprika)

• 1 cup cooked chickpeas, plus some of their cooking water

• Freshly ground black pepper

• Fine extra-virgin olive oil, for drizzling

Roughly chop the spinach (with stems) and other greens. Even if they say they are “washed,” you’ll need to wash them again. Place the chopped greens in a salad spinner or large bowl. Fill with cold water, swish around, then lift the greens out of the water (don’t dump or you’ll pour the sand back on them) and let drain. Repeat until you feel no grit. Drain well. It will look like you have too much. Don’t worry.

In a large saucepan, heat a couple of tablespoons of the olive oil over medium heat. Add the greens in large handfuls, cooking until wilted before adding more. Everything will eventually fit. Add a pinch of salt, reduce the heat a little, and let simmer for about an hour, stirring often, until all of the liquid given off by the greens has evaporated.

Meanwhile, in a small pan, combine the remaining olive oil with the ground cumin, garlic, and pimenton. Set over medium-low heat and gently bring up to a sizzle, stirring so the spices evenly heat. Be careful not to let it burn. As soon as bubbles begin to appear around the garlic, remove it from the heat. You should smell the the other spices have begun to bloom.

Once the hour is up for the greens and all the liquid has evaporated, add the spiced oil. Scrape the pan with a rubber spatula so you get all that goodness. Continue slowly simmering the greens for another hour or so, stirring occasionally so they don’t burn.

After the second hour, add the chickpeas along with 3 or 4 tablespoons of their cooking water and continue cooking another hour or so, until everything has come together nicely and the water has evaporated. Add some freshly ground black pepper. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Serve warm or room temperature with a drizzle of fine olive oil, perhaps a wedge of lemon on the side, and plenty of bread to wipe up every last drop.