If you bought too much (and who can blame you, with those gorgeous dinosaur leaves?), blanch and freeze it. Drop the strips into boiling water for two minutes, then into ice water. Drain, bag, and stick them in the freezer. Six months later, you can pull out a handful and pretend you’re a seasonal chef.
Honestly, I’ve used frozen cavolo nero as a last-minute addition to soup at 10 p.m. on a Tuesday. It worked. Nobody knew. And that, my friend, is the real art of cooking: making people believe you planned a magnificent dinner, when really you just won against a bag of frozen green stuff from last autumn.
So go forth. Buy that cavolo nero. Wash it, chop it, sauté it, and eat it with the smug satisfaction of someone who conquered a dinosaur’s salad. Your taste buds will thank you, your blood will thank you, and if you add enough bacon, even your soul will do a little happy dance. Buon appetito, you absolute leaf-wrangler.
