No, No, No, Yucky Dandelion

Wazoo Farm doesn't have much in the way of edibles yet. We've got a wild, independent bed of mint, a lot of fuzzy-headed thyme, a bit o rhubarb, and some volunteer, lacy baby dill sprouts.

One crop that has taken off, though, without any assistance from us, is our dandelion. How's the dandelion this year? our neighbors ask, leaning on our deer fence (a dangerous pastime). Well, we answer, gesturing to our yard, We were afraid the frost might get 'em, or the deer, but no siree, we're happy with our dandelion this year.

This is of course what would happen if we all were starving by spring and salivating for fresh, wild, tender greens. Instead, we're awfully spoiled and out of touch, picking up out-of-season lettuces at Giant Eagle and bagging them up in plastic. And so our neighbors tolerate us, despite the yellow discs that quickly become white globes of hated seeds, covering our organic, no-pesticide/poison garden.

Martin took the girls out all morning and weeded, and things are beginning to look a bit more organized. The mint bed was the worst: invasive species seemed to be battling; mint shoots twined around the deep tubers of the dandelions; Martin was frustrated though he and the area smelled as delicious as spiked lemonade.

So when life gives you lemons. . .well, let's just cut to the chase, shall we?

Martin heaped a tray full of dandelions and rinsed them in the sink, stems, greens and all. (Messy).

Now, I've heard about eating dandelions but I knew, somehow, though I'd never eaten them, that the longer the weeds are around (like nettles), the nastier they get. Well, these dandelions had been around a little while.

So we all sat down for dinner, and Martin brought to table a beautiful bowl of succulent dandelions sprouts. At first, you only tasted the butter and the onions. And then the dandelion juice spread into your mouth, and oh, baby, it was bad. Bitter. I actually spit mine out.

No, no, no, yucky dandelion. Think I'll wait for arugula.