in search of grünkohl

on belated hankerings and recipe annotation

Grünkohl entered my life in December 2022. I was living in a small town in Germany on an artist residency, sharing a few renovated farm buildings with a dozen artists, spending two months typing away at my little book. I cooked nearly all my meals, puttering between my little kitchen and my desk, a rhythm that suits both sides of my work. But there was one good restaurant just outside of town, where we went twice. Flora’s was grand-feeling but homey, its best table propped in front of a roaring fire place, white tablecloths and home cooking. It was run by a retired couple: the wife ran the kitchen, and the husband took orders, humoring those of us who could only manage a few words of German.

On our second visit there, my friend Franziska pointed something out on the menu. They have grünkohl here, she said, a local specialty. Something about kale, and pork, and sausage. It looked good, but we had all decided what we wanted to eat, so I said why don’t we get one for the table? and she met me with a blank stare. Well if you want it, I think you should just order it, she said, and we went back and forth until a pilot light went on in my head and I nearly stuck my finger in the air: aha! I said, I think we have located a cultural difference! In Germany you do not get an order of pancakes for the table, say. You order what you want and you eat it. More back and forth followed until I asked will anyone be offended if I order one for the table and nobody said yes and so I told our host I was going to ask him a very strange question, I was so sorry, but could we get one order of grünkohl, and could we—here I gestured to the empty heart of our big round table—put it there? And he raised then furrowed his eyebrows but consented.

What landed at the center of our table was a pile of slouchy, cooked-forever kale, tangled around a few sausages and a small slab of smoked pork. Aside from Renee Erickson’s gratin it was certainly the least virtuous kale dish I’ve ever eaten, rich and porky and endlessly soft. There were probably some potatoes in there too, for good measure. Each of us forked a little onto our plate, and by the end of the meal Franziska said she had been converted to one for the table, that she was going to try it on her East German parents. They’re going to freak out she said, chuckling.

The dish lodged itself in my heart then, and again at Christmas markets in Berlin and Cologne, where it makes an excellent base for however many mugs of glühgin you can manage. Its memory has stuck with me, and for the last year I have been meaning to find a good German cookbook, because I am ever-skeptical of the SEO recipe game. When I was up at Bennington last month, I sifted through the library’s cookbook collection and found Nadia Hassani’s Spoonfuls of Germany: Culinary Delights of the German Regions in 170 Recipes, whose p.26 has a recipe for grünkohl.

The book came out in 2004 but its cover feels very ‘90s: blown-out still lifes, random bottles of wine, very charming. This past weekend as I recovered from some weird self-neck spasm, I laid in bed while Jackson read me some of the more intriguing recipes from the book, including wine soup, a sort of mashup between mulled wine and tapioca pudding. (Like this, with more spices and, randomly, cream whisked in at the end. I am desperate to try it.)

Anyways I tried Hassani’s Kale Stew with Smoked Meat and Sausages, with a few awkward meat substitutions: instead of “smoked pork loin” (not something I have seen in stores here) I used smoked ham, and instead of two types of sausage I used bratwurst, which was delicious but not the right thing.¹

In hopes of adding more smoky-porkiness, I added some scraps of Benton’s bacon I had in the freezer, which happily did the trick. The result was good, though not as lush as I remembered. I wished I had trusted my gut and used chicken stock instead of water. I left the meal satisfied but eager to keep searching for my ideal grünkohl.

Below is an annotated recipe, a record of process and thought. (I’d normally mark up the cookbook page, but it’s on loan.) I thought it could be interesting to share a dish-in-progress, something I’m aiming for but haven’t yet reached. If anyone has good german cookbook recs (or a great grünkohl recipe!), please let me know in the comments.

Kale Stew with Smoked Meat and Sausages

v1

2 1/2 to 3 pounds kale, washed and stems and ribs removed [This was about 3 big bunches of curly kale for me]
2 tablespoons vegetable oil [Next time I’ll use some animal fat here, for more flavor.]
2 medium yellow onions, chopped
2 tablespoons rolled oats
1 pound smoked pork loin [I used twelve ounces of smoked ham plus some bits of smoked bacon. Next time I’ll go heavier on the bacon.]
1 Pinkel sausage [“This specialty from Bremen, which was named after the part of the cow intestines used to case the sausage, is made with beef and/or pork, onions, oat groats, and bacon,” explains Hassani. She says you can swap in “any other smoked boiling sausage, or precooked sausage, like kielbasa.” I used bratwurst, which was fine if not loyal to the original concept. Next time I’ll use kielbasa, or maybe even see if a German butcher in the city carries Pinkel.]
2 smoked boiling sausages [Swapped in more bratwurst…]
Salt and freshly milled black pepper
Generous pinch of ground nutmeg [I also found that I wanted a little acid in here at the end—I served it with some grainy mustard on the side; I’ve seen that some recipes call for German mustard mixed into the stew, which I’d like to try.]

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Plunge the kale into the water and blanch for 1 to 2 minutes. Drain the kale well in a colander and chop it coarsely.

2. Heat the oil in a large saucepan and add the onions. Sauté until translucent. Add the kale and 2 cups water. [Next time I’ll use chicken stock, which I’ve seen some recipes call for.] Stir in the oats and bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for 30 minutes. [Mine could have cooked for longer—I wanted a really soft final dish.] Add 1 cup water in 1/4-cup increments, if necessary. The stew should be very moist but not soupy.

3. Add the pork loin and the Pinkel sausage, and cook over low heat for 30 minutes. Add the smoked sausages and up to 1/2 cup water, if necessary. Cook for 30 minutes. The smoked sausages should only be added for the last 30 minutes of cooking time, otherwise they will burst. Season with salt, pepper, and nutmeg. Serve with boiled or caramelized potatoes.

1. The recipe suggested kielbasa as a substitute, which I completely forgot when I was hungry and staring down the sausage case at Met Fresh on a sunday afternoon.