Spinach and Kale Gratin

I looked at an apartment on Saturday. Second floor of a duplex on Gin Shop Hill Road, which is a real street name in Prattville, Alabama, and I need everyone to just accept that and move on. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen the size of a generous closet, a window that faces the parking lot of a tire shop. $425 a month, utilities not included. The carpet is beige in the way that all rental carpet is beige — the color of no one caring. The landlord, Mr. Hicks, is a man who speaks primarily in sighs. He sighed about the deposit. He sighed about the lease terms. He sighed when I asked if the stove worked. It works, he sighed. I think.

I stood in that kitchen — four steps from the stove to the fridge, two steps from the counter to the wall — and tried to imagine cooking in it. Gloria's kitchen has space. Gloria's kitchen has a table where three people can sit and argue about whether cornbread needs sugar. This kitchen has a counter barely wide enough for a cutting board and a stove that Mr. Hicks is only moderately confident functions. But it has a window. A small one, above the sink. And the light came through it in a way that made me think: I could stand here. I could be a person who stands in her own kitchen.

I told Gloria about it at Sunday dinner. She listened, nodded, asked the questions I hadn't thought to ask — is there a smoke detector, is the water heater gas or electric, does the front door have a deadbolt. I didn't know the answers. She wrote them on a napkin and handed it to me. "Ask these," she said. "Before you sign anything." James said the rent was fair for the area. Then he said, quietly, "You don't have to rush." He meant: you can stay here. He meant: we want you to stay. I know that. But I need to know that I can leave and still be okay, because every home I've ever had has been someone else's, and I need one that's mine, even if mine is beige carpet and a stove that probably works.

For Sunday dinner Gloria made fried okra — fresh okra sliced thin, soaked in buttermilk, dredged in cornmeal with salt and cayenne, fried in batches in the cast iron until each piece is golden and crunchy. You have to fry in small batches or the oil temperature drops and they go soggy. Gloria says patience with okra is patience with everything. I ate it straight from the paper towel, too hot, burning my fingers, because I have not yet learned Gloria's patience. I'm working on it. The okra was perfect.

Gloria’s patience with the cast iron — the way she holds the heat steady and refuses to rush — is something I’m still learning. While I’m working on that, this Spinach and Kale Gratin has become my own way of practicing: it rewards the cook who takes their time, builds the sauce slowly, and doesn’t skip the step that makes the top go golden. It’s the kind of side dish that belongs on a Sunday table — the kind I’m already imagining making in that small kitchen on Gin Shop Hill Road, on a stove that probably works.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 35 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more for the baking dish
1 small yellow onion, finely diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
10 oz fresh baby spinach (or one 10 oz package frozen spinach, thawed and squeezed dry)
6 oz fresh kale, tough stems removed, leaves roughly chopped
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup whole milk, warmed
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
3/4 cup grated Gruyère cheese, divided
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/3 cup plain breadcrumbs
1 tablespoon olive oil

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Butter a 9-inch cast-iron skillet or a 2-quart baking dish and set aside.
Wilt the greens. In a large skillet over medium heat, melt 1 tablespoon of the butter. Add the kale and a pinch of salt and cook, stirring, for 3–4 minutes until just wilted. Add the spinach in handfuls and stir until all the greens are wilted and any liquid has cooked off, about 3 more minutes. Transfer to a colander, press out excess moisture, and set aside.
Build the sauce. In the same skillet over medium heat, melt the remaining tablespoon of butter. Add the onion and cook until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more. Sprinkle in the flour and stir constantly for 1 minute to cook out the raw flour taste.
Add the dairy. Slowly pour in the warmed milk and heavy cream, whisking steadily to prevent lumps. Increase the heat slightly and continue whisking until the sauce thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon, about 4–5 minutes. Season with salt, pepper, nutmeg, and cayenne.
Combine. Remove the skillet from heat. Stir in 1/2 cup of the Gruyère and all of the Parmesan until melted. Fold in the wilted greens until evenly coated in the sauce.
Top and bake. Transfer the mixture to the prepared baking dish and spread evenly. In a small bowl, toss the breadcrumbs with the olive oil and the remaining 1/4 cup Gruyère. Scatter evenly over the top.
Bake until golden. Bake for 20–25 minutes, until the gratin is bubbling around the edges and the topping is deep golden brown. Let rest 5 minutes before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Spinach and Kale Gratin — The Side Dish That Taught Me to Be Patient in the Kitchen