Do you know creamed spinach? It is, in my opinion, one of the dishes given to us by the gods to make our lives more than usually glad. I even loved it when it came out of those horrid little plastic packets that ’60’s moms dropped in boiling water before snipping open and decanting. I loved it when you could get it by the bowlful in a little restaurant in downtown San Francisco: a perfect lunch. I have loved it in every incarnation I have ever eaten it in steakhouse restaurants specializing in the stuff as being the only side that didn’t overly gild the beef lily. I even loved it through my many experiments with overly fussy recipes: bechamel, garlic, white wine and all.
But really, as so often proves to be the case, simplest is best. Simplest, unadorned, classic, one skillet creamed spinach. Easy. Quick. Adorable. Liable to draw loud bouts of applause at the dinner table. Delicious and good for you.
This is how:
A big armload of fresh spinach (more than you think you’ll need, it cooks down incredibly like all greens)
Wondra flour (or plain flour, but Wondra mixes better)
Salt & pepper
Take your large bag, or part of a large bag, of preferably organic spinach. Dump in a colander. Wash thoroughly—fresh spinach has a tendency toward clinging dirt, a sign of its serious organic intent. Drain but don’t shake off all the extra water still clinging to the leaves.
Heat a large skillet on medium low (or big pot, or whatever you have, as long as it’s big enough to hold the spinach before it cooks down). Add a chunk of butter. Say one or two tablespoons.
Mince one or two shallots, however many you like. Add to the butter. Push around until they start to sizzle and soften. Don’t brown them (although if you do, don’t panic, they’ll still taste fine as long as they’re not burned).
Add a tablespoon or so of Wondra or plain flour.
Watch carefully now, so the flour and the shallots don’t burn. Stir around so a paste forms and cook it a bit.
If you’ve used plain flour, turn the heat way down and cook it an extra few minutes to get the floury taste out. Wondra mixes more quickly, so you don’t need this step.
When a paste has formed and is starting to turn golden, prepare to act quickly.
Turn the heat up under the pan to about medium high. When the contents of the pan start to sizzle attractively, dump in the spinach with the water still clinging to its leaves. This is important. It’s this water hitting the hot pan and creating steam as it evaporates that is going to cook your spinach quickly, so it maintains its lovely fresh spinachy taste.
Turn the spinach over and over in the shallot butter as it cooks. Tongs are very useful for this. Watch the fresh spinach shrink and turn into cooked spinach.
Squeeze some lemon over, as much as you like. Hear it sizzle? It’s cooking the spinach too, as well as adding flavor.
Add a little salt. A little fresh ground pepper.
Now stand over the pan with your carton of cream. Add a little. Stir till it amalgamates with the butter and flour. Add a little more. Stir again. Add as much as you want, and cook down till it looks creamy and good.
Grate some fresh nutmeg atop. A grate or two (I usually do three). You won’t taste it later, but it’ll make a difference.
Turn off the heat. Give it a final stir.
I made this on Easter to go with a lovely bit of lamb for my brother John, and he immediately asked how it was done—it tasted so much of our childhood festivals. Then I served it up last night to my friend Lanny (there was spinach left in the fridge from the Easter binge on the weekend) to go with a mushroom and garlic frittata, and SHE said it reminded her of eating in a German restaurant when she was a child, and how did I make it? So it seemed important to get it down. It’s so simple and good, and it does tend to remind those of us of a certain age of a happy childhood. Even when the childhood in question wasn’t really particularly happy. It was, though, I maintain, whenever we ate creamed spinach.
Creamed spinach to the fore! Onward!
(And don’t forget leftover creamed spinach is a very handy thing to have, if you can ever manage to have some. Folded into a French-style omelet it is, I still maintain, food for the gods and goddesses in your life. Put some sauteed mushrooms atop, and sit back to bask in the admiration of those you love.)