Dandelions are darlings of the foraging community. They are entirely edible. Apparently, you can use the roots (dried then ground) in a coffee-like tincture. I have also read you can simply prepare/eat dandelion roots the same way you would other root vegetables.
Herbalists use dandelion root to detoxify the liver and gallbladder, and dandelion leaves to support kidney function. Dandelion is a rich source of vitamins A, B complex, C, and D, as well as minerals such as iron, potassium, and zinc.
Dandelion greens can be added to sandwiches, eaten in salads and dried to make tea. Dandelion greens are a bit bitter (younger leaves are less bitter) and many people prefer them cooked—including myself. My absolute favorite way to cook dandelion greens is ‘creamed’—think of creamed spinach. With sweet leeks and cream, the bitterness is softened; try sauteed scallops served on creamed dandelion greens.
The stems you can use like straws, which is ironic and whimsical when you serve up a dandelion mojito. And don’t be afraid of the buds and flowers. With some foraged greens you can eat the unfurled buds, as well as the flowers. Dandelion flowers are used to make dandelion wine. You could also ‘fritter’ the dandelion flowers and saute unopened buds. I recently made dandelion ravioli (using cooked greens for the filling), then sauteed the buds in olive oil, S&P for the ‘sauce.’
Now when I walk by dandelions, and see their white puff-ball heads, it really REALLY makes me want to pluck them all and blow the seeds everywhere. Maybe when people are mortified that I am spreading ‘weeds’, I can hand them recipe cards—LOL.
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Us French wait impatiently for Spring.
Not because the sun or the warmth or the tulips and lilac it brings, but because of the young dandelions. Pissenlit, literally Piss in Bed!
Hordes of families, each member armed with an old rusty paring knife, scramble in fields and pastures, back bent and eyes straining to discern the barely past-infancy weeds, looking forward to terminating their not-quite started lives.
We go home with dirty hands, broken nails and sore spines, but no one complains.
We fill up the kitchen sink with cold water and the unlucky designated scrapper does what he or she was designated to do: scrape them dirty little roots! It is not an easy task, for our dandelions, the ones that we relish, are VERY small: past one inch, we let them finish their short weedy and seedy existences. Goats can have them. Slugs can have them. But no dandelion any bigger would ever pass a French lip.
Once the roots are clear of dirt, exposing their lovely white underbellies, the fun begins….
Bacon is sliced and fried ( we call it Lard and it’s mostly meat streaked with a little fat…ain’t we annoying to do everything opposite).
Next comes the smooth, thick, mustardy vinaigrette: any American used to the stuff they find on a grocery-store shelf that dares call itself by that name would think it is mayonnaise.
The dandelions, greens and roots, are tossed in that beautiful simple perfect sauce, the bacon and its grease are thrown in, may be some nice garlicky sourdough bread croutons just out of the oven join the fun.
While all this is going on, eggs are SOFT-boiled, so their yolks can run off and marry …the vinaigrette! Each and everyone has their own way of cutting and eating the egg.
I would smooch mine until no recognizable body-part was left. My dad used the precision of a forensic expert. My mom just wanted hers still warm. My brothers probably gobbled theirs as fast as possible so nobody could reach in their plate and help themselves. I was too focused on the perfection in front of me to pay them too much attention…
I miss this salad. I never go home in spring, only summer, which of course is just fine, since they are peaches and cherries and cantaloupes and green beans and courgettes and aubergines and everything tastes the way it is supposed to. Nothing is overgrown, nothing has traveled more than 40 miles, nothing has spent 2 weeks in a refrigerated train.
But the dandelions are now giant bitter tough woody weeds that just won’t work for a salad. High time for me to hit a few mountain meadows, adjust my glasses well and pull out my old trusted Swiss Army knife.