I can’t carry this guilt any longer. Sleepless nights and this gnawing in the back of my mind are becoming unbearable. I realize only one of us is truly authorized to do this, but I ask you, my dear extended family, to please hear my confession. I recently was forced into a relationship with Cavolo Cinese and I… well—darn it!—I enjoyed it. I might even go so far as to say it may blossom into a love affair.
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Due to the recent self-isolation entreaties by local and federal governments, we’ve all (at least I hope all!) have been keeping to ourselves and making adjustments to our daily routines. For me, staying home means I’m cooking more meals for myself. And staying home also means that I often don’t have all of the ingredients for my typical meals. And this time of hoarding causes some items to not be readily available in the stores so I (we) sometimes have to make do with what we have.
I find it interesting that the shelves in the supermarkets have been stripped bare, while the produce departments seem to be pretty well stocked. Is this a commentary on how Americans eat? Or is it that canned and boxed items last longer on shelves than fresh produce so those are the items hoarded? As an aside, I recently took note of a frozen pizza section in the store. Every bin in that freezer was empty save for one. Pineapple pizza was untouched; the bin filled to the top. I believe that settles that debate once and for all.
Get on with it!
Okay. I’m stalling. Let me get on with my confession. I happen to love a dish that was, on many occasions, prepared for me by my maternal grandparents. 
It is called fagioli e scarola. In our Neapolitan dialect, we pronounce it, fazool e schkahrol. It’s basically beans and escarole. It probably had its origins as a peasant food. It’s a simple dish; wilted escarole with some white beans (like Great Northern or Cannellini), olive oil, garlic and salt & pepper. That’s it. But it’s not a dish (or side-dish) I’ve come across in any “American” household. And it is probably an acquired taste. But I love it.
Many years ago, my Aunt Connie and Uncle John were vacationing near my desert home and they brought my grandfather to my house for dinner. I prepared our meal and wanted to demonstrate that I was carrying on the family traditions by including fagioli e scarola with the meal. I eagerly awaited my grandfather’s first bite and I’ll never forget his reaction. I can still picture him as he took a bite and, with his fork, pointed to the escarole and said, “You overcooked this.”
Ahem! The confession?
Right. Sorry. Okay.
Well, recently—as I quite often do—I decided to make some fagioli e scarola for myself, but I had no escarole. So, I went to the store. They had no escarole. Then my roommate called my attention to these large, luscious-looking heads of bok choy (in Italian: cavolo cinese). So I decided that, since I had the ooli, and I’d made the trip to the store, I’d try bok choy instead of escarole.
And it was good!
Perhaps it lacked a bit of the bitterness of the escarole, but the stem portion of the leaves was actually more succulent than with escarole. Not exactly the flavor I’m used to, but tasty enough and seems to have appeased my craving (ooli). And sopping up the juice with bread is just as fun and delicious!
So… there. I’ve said it. That’s my confession. I did enjoy it but there’s something that keeps poking at my subconscious; it’s as if I’ve somehow betrayed my heritage. So I hope you, my extended family, can find it in your hearts to forgive me. I have substituted bok choy for escarole in my fagioli e scarola. Perhaps you can take into account the currently over-taxed supply chains, the somewhat esoteric nature of this recipe and, perhaps, my general lack of intelligence, common sense and my tendency to be a rebel without a clue.
