Buttered Spring Greens

The first spring greens at the market are unmistakable. They sit there in loose, open heads, the leaves a blue-green that catches the light, still looking half-wild compared to the tight, well-behaved cabbages beside them. I buy them without thinking. This is what March tastes like.

There is almost nothing to this. You shred the leaves, melt butter in a hot pan, and toss the greens through it until they wilt. Two minutes, maybe less. The colour goes from dusty green to something so bright and alive it looks lit from inside. The butter clings to every ribbon. A pinch of salt. That's dinner sorted, or the best part of it.

I don't know why people overcook greens. Habit, probably, handed down from school canteens and Sunday lunches where the vegetables went on before the meat and sat there for the duration. Forget all that. Spring greens want almost nothing from you. A hot pan, good butter, your attention for ninety seconds. The less you do, the more they give back.

I wrote it down in the notebook last spring: "Greens. Butter. Two minutes. Why do we make things harder than they are." A recipe is a conversation, not a contract. This one barely needs words at all.