I woke up angry the other day. A lot like how I appeared in this poem the moment I wrote it:
i drove plate movement the other day. it was subtle.
radio telescopes received signals from distant galaxies
and this, alone, measured my move.
a part of earth’s face changed the other day. i was angry.
it was subtle.
during the quick shake from underneath,
a dandelion lost her head.
—Slow Show, published in Newtown Literary, Issue 5
I had an unexpected Thursday off from work and I just happened to be very newly single, a combination that could’ve easily meant not getting up from bed. But unlike previous angers felt, this was the sort that made me want to kick all sorts of ass out of the day, and I couldn’t do that in my unlit, basement apartment. I went for a long walk and hoped I’d magically stumble upon a farmer’s market. Or a Mage whose restoration staff I could steal (ok, borrow.) I didn’t. My mom told me there’s a green market at the Jamaica Hospital nearby (there isn’t), so I walked some more, an additional 22 minutes to Kissena Farms where I knew I could find me some beautiful vegetables. I so did.
I didn’t go into this knowing what I’d be making today. I went into this with the simple desire to pick things out that spoke to me. Like green kohlrabi I was secretly wishing was purple, kumquats I never had before, chioggia beets, and a bunch of rainbow carrots (wtf is it with the ONE purple carrot in each bunch? same thing for cherry tomatoes.) I wanted color and sweetness. I wanted refreshing.
On my way home, a flower flew into me, forcing me into smiles.
When I got home, I went on my pinterest and started viewing kohlrabi recipes, just to get an idea of what direction I may take. It came down to 2: kohlrabi chips or salad. Salad, I went. I needed inner soul cleansing, and I already had lime, orange, tons of cilantro at hand.
Kohlrabi Zested Cilantro Salad
kohlrabi (green or purple, about 3 big bulbs)
1 lime (for juice and zest)
1 orange (for juice and zest)
tspn honey (i used raw)
juice of 1/2 orange
juice of 1/2 lime
salt n pepper to taste
Peel these hard core kohlrabi and match stick ’em. Roughly chop cilantro according to how much green you like. I also threw in some chives my neighbor gifted me. I eyeballed my zest according to color, too. I wanted more orange than green (I friggen love orange on anything). Then for the dressing, whisk all together and taste. Make any changes you see fit. If you want less sweet, cut the sweetness with more lime and/or salt. I tossed everything together. Refrigerate for about a half hour before serving. You’d want that dressing to settle. Tastes even better the next day!
Suggestion made by Jen, who I live with: dash of hot sauce, “it’s how we Mexicans would go about this.”
I caught Angie, my baby niece, happily chewing on one stick of kohlrabi. She’s my toughest critic, rejecting anything and everything she truly does not like, so, if my day wasn’t already made, this done did it for me.
I’m pretty proud of myself. I kicked some serious ass, and will continue to kick if that’s what it takes to turn almost-sinking days around.
BY TOMAŽ ŠALAMUN
TRANSLATED BY BRIAN HENRY
Yeah. It’s only a matter
of environment if
I’m a genius.
A genius is
kohlrabi in a turnip in
in the freezer.
files they descend on
the white skin and
converge in the corner’s
The ants are illuminated.
2 thoughts on “Kohlrabi Zested Cilantro Salad + poem(s)”
Wonderful. I had my first kohlrabi two days ago. Now I know what else to do with them! Love that kohlrabi poem. Do you like the lemon poem by Pablo Neruda?
A friend of mine also suggested green apple for the kohlrabi. I can see how that’d work.
Yes, that ode to lemon is beautiful. It really is the gold of the universe. I’ve always enjoyed his hands-on approach in poems. You gotta be that hands-on when talking about fruit and love, right?