Every great now and then, I try to cook something. Indeed, I was inspired the description Jenny gave last night of her most recent culinary masterpiece that sounded vaguely reminiscent of something baked in a wood-fired oven full of hand-hewn cedar chips fresh from the Alaskan forest. In creative response, I -- of course -- decide that I'm going to try my hand at turnip greens.
First off, I am not sure what my recent obsession with turnip greens is. On a whim, I tried some at the Shoney's in Donelson, and they were amazing. Granted, I've had turnip greens before, but these really struck my fancy. Ever since that fateful encounter, I have been on the hunt for turnip greens as good as these. Several plate lunches later, I am still at a loss. And the canned versions at the store look like the same lumpy mush I get in the restaurants -- not the leafy glory from Shoney's. So today, while perusing the produce at WalMart, I decide I'm going to cook my own. Fresh.
After piecing together the logical parts of about three recipes I found online, I cooked me some turnip greens. I even "cooked them down real low" -- whatever that means -- as every person who celebrates the turnip green knows is the proper preparation. And what do I get? Mush.
This is why I don't cook. I mean, my greens were edible and all, but I would just as soon go to Shoney's. And that's why I will live my life broke.