For your consideration: Kale Salad with Plums, Roquefort and Walnuts. By now it’s hard to believe that there remains a kale stoned unturned. A few days ago, idling at a traffic light, the bedraggled bumper sticker on the car ahead of me drew my eye. The sun had bleached out the yellow background and faded the text to WRAITH56, and the edges of the sticker had that scalloped, singed effect favored by moviemakers for pirate treasure maps, as though someone had tried to peel away the bumper sticker, gotten disgusted, then said the hell with it. I had to squint. EAT MORE KALE. Good lord, I wondered with a frisson of culinary panic, is kale overexposed? Not so long ago you could hardly cruise down to the Gap for new underwear or Pinkberry for whatever it is that people buy at Pinkberry without noticing the sea of EAT MORE KALEs around you, as though overnight everyone in town in had joined a spanking new megachurch, and somehow forgotten to tell you. Have we been kaled to death? Can STOP TALKING ABOUT KALE bumper stickers be far behind?
Not so fast. Are we over-kaled? I think not. Not all important things fit on a bumper sticker: Eat kale, if you’re not already. It’s really f****** delicious.