I have tomorrow off – it will be easier to do that sausage post tomorrow. I’m letting myself off the hook for now.
In the meantime, and in the interest of writing SOMETHING food-related, here’s one of the nibbles I put out last night for our tree-trimming snacking. (No sit-down dinner last night, just snacky food. Our favorite food group.)
I include that “one version” in the post title because I am well aware that this version is not the traditional version, and I don’t want all the clans of Ireland coming after me, swinging shillelaghs and slinging stones at my head. I’m Scottish. I’ll open my purse and all the moths will fly out and send you running.
Now that I’ve dispensed with the mocking, (and it’s mocking with love, of course, because I wanted to BE Maureen O’Hara’s character, Mary Kate Danaher in The Quiet Man, which we watched faithfully every March, despite the strange “we are Scots, not Irish, and we don’t ever wear green” upbringing I had), it’s time to talk colcannon.
Nearly a year ago I posted a recipe and photos for a version of Caldo Verde, Portuguese Kale Soup, that came from our neighbors when I was a kid. You can read that post here.
I received a bunch of comments from readers of Portuguese descent – not to mention a phone call from a friend of ours – letting me know that the version I’d posted was only ONE way of making this much-loved national dish.
And one reader, Ana Rocha, provided (in the comments) a recipe that she said was a version very close to the original Caldo Verde. Here’s the comment, which includes the recipe:
When I was growing up our next door neighbors were the Plymessers. Mr. Plymesser worked as (I think) a typesetter at the local paper, and Mrs. Plymesser always had popsicles on hand in her freezer.