Collard Greens with Smoked Ham Hocks
Southern Style Collard Greens
With the dawn of every new year, there are some constants: fireworks, midnight kisses, watching the ball drop and heaps of collard greens. What? You don’t look forward to New Years Day JUST so that you can pile your plate with greens and eat them until you pass out?? Okay, so I guess that’s just me. Down South, we have a tradition: New Years Day= pork, blackeyed peas and collard greens. The blackeyed peas are supposed to represent luck and the greens represent money for your new year. The pork just represents pork being tasty. I look forward to this meal every year, even though it takes a bazillion hours to make because it’s amazing. I didn’t make it myself last year since I was on bed rest, but my mom did make it for me. Yay for moms!
Since it has come to my attention that there are a lot of people out there who think that they don’t like collard greens, I thought it would be fun to teach one and all how to make awesome Southern greens. I promise, if you think you don’t like them, you just haven’t eaten them cooked the RIGHT way. A lot of restaurants around here serve them, and, well, they’re not so good. It’s because they’re too bitter- they don’t know the secret: getting rid of the stalk and parboiling. My dad makes the best freaking collard greens on the planet, and he taught me how to do them, just like his mom taught him. And they’re darn good, y’all.
Southern Style Collard Greens
Collard greens are one of my favorite soul food side dishes. This is an easy but time consuming recipe, but it's definitely worth the trouble. Enjoy!
Prep Time 10 Minutes
Cook Time 1 Hour 31 Minutes
Total Time 1 Hour 41 Minutes
Servings 12 servings
Calories 141kcal
Ingredients
4 lbs collard greens cleaned and cut
1 lb bacon ends chopped
1 large onion diced
6 cups chicken broth
2 cups water
1 tsp seasoning salt
1/2 tsp ground black pepper
1 tsp minced garlic
1 large jalapeno pepper sliced
2-3 tbsp of white distilled vinegar
Instructions
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Place the bacon ends in a pot, and place the pot over medium heat.
Brown the bacon then add in the diced onions, and cook until the onions start to sweat.
Add in the minced garlic,then cook for 1 minutes.
Pour in the chicken broth, and turn the heat up to high and let boil for 20 minutes.
Pour in the 2 cups of water, and turn the heat down to medium.
Start adding in the collard greens into the pot.
Once all of the greens are in the pot, sprinkle in the seasoning salt and ground black pepper.
Add in the sliced jalapeno, and the vinegar and stir the ingredients.
Cover the pot, and let simmer for 1 hour and 10 minutes over medium heat. Be sure to peak in and stir periodically.
Enjoy!
The Old Man Walked Into the Shelter and Asked for the One No One Wanted — “I’ll Take the Mean One,” He Said Quietly, But the Night He Collapsed Alone at Home, It Was the Cat Everyone Feared Who Refused to Leave His Side and Changed Everything
The Old Man Walked Into the Shelter and Asked for the One No One Wanted — “I’ll Take the Mean One,” He Said Quietly, But the Night He Collapsed Alone at Home, It Was the Cat Everyone Feared Who Refused to Leave His Side and Changed Everything
The first time I saw her, she wasn’t just sitting in the back corner of that county shelter—she was watching the world like it had already disappointed her beyond repair, like every pair of footsteps that had ever passed her cage had confirmed a quiet, stubborn belief that nothing good was coming, and that she had better be ready for that.
For 204 days, that’s what she had done.
She had watched people walk in asking for kittens with round eyes and soft fur, watched children press sticky hands against glass while their parents laughed and said, “Something friendly, something easy,” watched volunteers lower their voices when they reached her enclosure as if the mere act of speaking normally might provoke her into proving every rumor they had spread about her—that she scratched, that she bit, that she could not be trusted, that she was, in the softest and most polite way possible, a problem no one wanted to bring home.
Her fur was uneven, not in a way that suggested neglect alone but in a way that hinted at a life that had not been gentle, her left ear carried a jagged tear that never quite healed cleanly, and her yellow eyes—sharp, unwavering, impossible to soften—met every gaze with the same unspoken challenge: I will not beg you to choose me.
Most people didn’t.
And then one morning, when the air still carried that thin, biting edge of early winter and the shelter smelled faintly of disinfectant and stale coffee, a man walked in who did not look like he belonged among hopeful adopters searching for companionship as much as comfort.
He was seventy-six, though he moved with the slow caution of someone who had learned the hard way that a single misstep could change everything, his shoulders bent just slightly forward as if life had pressed on them for years without ever fully letting up, his boots worn in the specific way that suggested decades of standing rather than walking, and tucked carefully into the pocket of his shirt was a small plastic pillbox that he touched every few minutes without seeming to notice he was doing it.
His name, I would later learn, was Leonard Hayes.
Behind him came his daughter, Evelyn, whose voice carried the kind of worry that had hardened into frustration over time, her words spilling out in that careful balance between concern and impatience that only family members seem to master.
“You cannot keep living like this,” she said, not loudly enough to cause a scene but loudly enough that everyone within ten feet understood that this conversation had happened before and would likely happen again.
Leonard did not argue immediately. He shifted his weight, adjusted the paper bag in his hand—a bag of cat food he hadn’t yet purchased, as if he had already made a decision before stepping through the door—and then he exhaled slowly.
“That’s exactly why I need a cat,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, though she heard it anyway.
Evelyn pressed her lips together. “You fell last month. You forget your medication. The house is too big for you. You can’t fix loneliness with an animal.”
He tapped the pillbox lightly. “I forget because nobody lets me remember on my own.”
There was something in the way he said it—not defiant, not even particularly strong, but steady—that made the room feel quieter for a second, as if even the distant barking had paused to listen....
