You may need a wool sweater to eat this...

Apply to the upper body before eating.

In Appalachia, in my hometown, there was one sure way to get me out of the barn, pond, woods, etc, and get me to come to supper. This was it. If I knew the Colcanon was on the dance card, I would not miss my share (or as much as I could hoard). Nearly every person of Celtic descent in our area had kale and other hardy greens in the garden. Poke, kale, collards, chards, shaved Brussels sprouts, white cabbage of all sorts. These grew right through the early winter snows. We joked that they were as tough as winter and tasted just as bland. But this, of course, was not the case.

Living Food in the Winter. We grew it in cold frames by the coal chute, were it was warmer. Worked like a charm.

Where we were, winter was often very hard. We lived a long way from a real town (about 30 miles on tiny roads), and when the snow covers the house, it’s hard to move. Once, when I was 13 months old, I fell from my crib and stopped breathing. My mother was a surgical nurse and gave me mouth-to-mouth while we waited for an ambulance. It took 13 hours for them to reach us. No kidding. So, not only does this tell you much about me (??), but it indicates just how dear the bounty of the harvest stood between us and winter. These foods were life.

In the weeks before the November 1 celebration of Samhain, the Celtic New Year was the time to harvest the season's crops, butcher the livestock, and ward off malevolent spirits (or drink the malevolent spirits you made in the still).

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Legends say the line dividing the human and spirit worlds blurred as the new year approached. To appease any otherworldly visitors, households left offer­ings of food out on their doorstep-often colcannon, mashed potatoes studded with green vegetables such as kale, cabbage, scal­lions, and leeks and topped with a glistening well of melted butter. Inside the house, families might be sharing their own bowl of the mash, often served for Samhain with hidden trinkets folded in to make predictions about the upcoming year. Finding one in your portion, and you'd be married by year's end; find a coin, and you'd soon be rich. This is a tradition still when we have feasts at Musea; we often prepare a small plate (doll house size) for the ancestors that honor us, and we are as they have been. I have always been a little hesitant to put inedible things blindly into edible things, especially opaque ones. My teeth hurt just thinking about it. When I lived and worked in New Orleans, I always wondered which of my fellow inebriants in the room would get the small baby icon in his slice of King Cake and if it would be found or just down the hatch. You never know until the next day; just saying.

They should make gummy babies for this.

Today, colcannon (minus its fortune-telling tools) is a side dish widely available at pubs and restaurants. Traditionally, however, it was a main course, especially during periods of fasting or, in our case, winter.

The butter might be colcanon's most beloved feature, but the jade-hued inclusions define the dish. A recipe designed to use up vegetables on hand, colcannon typically includes both an allium, like leeks, onions, chives, or scal­lions (all members of the allium family), and a hardy, seasonal vegetable, such as kale, cabbage, or nettles (my favorite). In my take, I chose earthy kale and scallions, chopping both small so that they'd fold effortlessly into the potatoes and including the kale's stems in the lofty spirit of the dish (plus, their slight bitterness helped balance the rich, creamy potatoes). I sauteed the greens in butter and then stirred in milk, simmering it briefly so the liquid would take on a subtle flavor from the vegetables. Remember, of course, you can use dairy-free products as needed.

I strained my milk into a pot of peeled, sliced, and boiled Yukon Golds and then mashed the tender potatoes to my desired smoothness (separating the milk from the solids allowed me to cream the potatoes without crushing the vegetables). Then, I gently folded in the scallions and kale and seasoned the mash with salt and pepper.

I transferred the potatoes to a large bowl; fashioned a divot in the center; and placed a large knob of butter in it, allowing it to melt and fill its pool. To share this cozy bounty with the ancestors would be generous indeed. If they were my ancestors, they might break something coming into the room because they just cannot say no to this either.

While Kale bitterness provides a welcome balance to the rich, creamy potatoes, the stems can be fibrous and tough; we chop them small and cook them slightly longer than the leaves to ensure they fold effortlessly into the creamy mash.

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COLCANNON

SERVES 4 TO 6 TOTAL TIME: 50 MINUTES

Yukon Gold potatoes are the pick here, but rus­sets will work. A food mill or ricer can be used; if using, process the potatoes first and then stir in the milk and kale mixture (no need to strain it). Colcaimon is traditionally served with a well of melted butter in the center for sharing. Either diners can take bites from around the well and dip them in the butter, or you can scoop each serving to include some butter.

1. Place potatoes in a large saucepan, add water to cover by 1 inch, and bring to a boil over high heat. When boiling, add 1 tablespoon salt. (Hint: adding salt before the water is hot may cause pitting in your metal pans.) Reduce heat to medium and simmer until potatoes are ten­der and a paring knife can be easily slipped in and out of potatoes, 20 mins. +/- (I often use +/- meaning at about 20, poke at them, and keep an eye on them; this is not the time to walk away from the stove, hey!)

2. Meanwhile, stem the kale, then slice stems thin crosswise and set aside. Cut leaves into little pieces. Melt 6 tablespoons butter in a 12-inch skillet over medium heat. Add kale stems, 1 tablespoon water, salt, and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until kale stems have softened, 6 to 8 mins. Stir in kale leaves, add scallions, and cook until the kale leaves have wilted and scallions are softened, 1 to 2 minutes. Stir in the milk, increase your heat to high, and bring to a simmer. Remove pan from heat and cover to keep warm.

3. Drain potatoes and return to saucepan. Cook over low heat, stirring, until potatoes are thoroughly dried, about 30 seconds.

Remove from heat. Pour the milk mixture through a fine-mesh strainer over the potatoes; reserve the solids.

Using a potato masher, mash potatoes to desired smoothness. Gently fold in the solids from the strainer. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

4. Transfer potatoes to a serving bowl. Using a spoon, create a depression in the center of pota­toes (let’s call it a rabbit hole). Place the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter in the rabbit hole. Serve and watch your hands! Injuries may result from savage forks flying…. or rabbits.