veg

maple dijon roasted carrots

When I was growing up I absolutely loved carrots, and could plow through a bag of baby carrots (with a tub of ranch dip) in under an hour.

There’s just something so refreshing and satisfying about the fresh sweet crunch of a fresh carrot. Cooked carrots though, were another story.

I hated them so much I can’t tell you. I think it was probably a textural thing as soft and mushy were the exact opposite of everything I thought a carrot was supposed to be. I also think I may have been traumatized by an abundance of rubbery flavorless frozen ripple cut carrot disks.

Either way, it all began to change a few years ago when a roommate made me some baby carrots in an orange juice glaze with tons of butter. Despite my hatred I ate a few of them to be polite, but after one bite my whole world changed. They were sweet and buttery and slightly salty and tender and delicate and wonderful in a way I’d never experienced. A love of cooked carrots blossomed from that moment on.

While we’re on the subject of food likes and dislikes, let’s talk about my husband for a moment shall we?

When we were first dating he confidently announced one night that he was “allergic” a laundry list of foods including eggs and mushrooms, two of my favorite things in the world. I also learned that beyond his “allergies” he was also a picky eater in general, never used condiments on sandwiches or burgers, and especially hated all forms of mustard, another one of my favorite things.

To someone who used culinary prowess as a way to bring all the boys to the yard, a beau with food allergies and picky eating habits was completely devastating.

Eventually I built up the courage to sneak some of these alleged “allergens” into a meal to witness his reaction, or lack thereof, first hand. Now, before you recoil in horror and call me a monster, rest assured that I had spoken with him in great depth about his “symptoms” and knew with 110% certainty that his “allergies” were not life threatening or even harmful in any way other than a vague irritation. I realize still that this was an irresponsible and potentially dangerous way of calling him on his bull, but I was young and my judgement was clouded by the emotional rollercoaster of having my love of food and my growing love for my future husband pitted against one another.

So anyway, one night I mixed a few finely diced mushrooms into a pasta dish just to see how he’d react, and just as I suspected, he didn’t react at all. After we’d finished our meal and had another glass of wine or two, I explained what I had done and had a long and boozey conversation with him about his food issues. The conversation finally culminated in a tearful realization and admission that he just didn’t like these foods and that his “allergies” were all in his head.

To this day he still won’t even come into the kitchen when I’m making myself an egg for breakfast, but mushrooms have actually become one of his absolute favorite foods. Armed with the knowledge that he can be swayed, I’ve also made it my mission to get him to like, or at least not hate, my beloved mustard.

I don’t ever expect that he’ll reach for a knife and slather some brown deli mustard on his sandwich, but I really really REALLY want to be able to at least cook with mustard again. Dijon has always been one of my secret weapons in the kitchen. A tablespoon or two added to a sauce adds just enough sharp tangy acidity to brighten up any dish. I especially miss being able to cook with mustard in the fall, when I could and would be pairing it with apples and pork, maple syrup, brussels sprouts, salad dressings, and the like, but haven’t been able to for years.

Being a truly devious man on a mission, a while back I started sneaking small amounts of mustard into sauces and dressings just to see if he’d notice or complain. Slow and steady wins the race, as they say, and I’m finally reaching a point where he can actually taste the mustard in certain dishes and doesn’t seem to mind anymore.

The flavor still needs to be subtle for him to be okay with it, but we’re getting there.

This beautiful dish from our Fakesgiving dinner is the perfect balance of bright vinegary dijon mustard, sweet caramely maple syrup, rich salty butter, fresh woodsy green thyme and parsley, and tender earthy sweet carrots. Since the carrots are roasted not boiled, they are packed with flavor and wonderfully tender with a subtle crispness on the ends and edges. The sauce seems loose initially, but in the oven the butter, maple, and mustard caramelize and thicken and coat the carrots perfectly and give them an elegant autumnal flavor that’s perfect for Thanksgiving.

I recommend using multiple colors of carrots if you can find them. Not only do they make for a more beautiful, dramatic presentation, but they also offer slight variations in flavor and sweetness. My local grocery store carries mixed bags of yellow, orange, and purple carrots and these days I don’t believe they’re difficult to find in most parts of the country. Standard orange carrots would work just fine though in a pinch.

I like to think that this is one of those gateway dishes that will convert even the most avid cooked carrot, or mustard, hater and guide them on the path toward food love.

Maple Dijon Roasted Carrots

Servings: about 6-ish
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2 lbs carrots (multiple colors if possible)
4 tablespoons butter
2 to 3 teaspoons finely chopped fresh thyme leaves
1/4 cup dark amber (real) maple syrup
1 tablespoon dijon mustard
2 teaspoons whole grain mustard (optional)
1/4 teaspoon grated nutmeg
salt and pepper to taste
3 to 4 tablespoons chopped flat leaf parsley

Preheat oven to 400F.
Wash, dry, and peel carrots and place in a shallow dish long and wide enough to fit them all.

Add butter and thyme to a small saucepan and heat over a medium flame to melt butter. Continue to warm the butter for 1 to 2 minutes. The butter should take on a green-ish tint from the thyme leaves. Remove from heat and cool for a few minutes. In a small bowl combine maple syrup, mustards, nutmeg, and salt and pepper. Whisk in butter until smooth and well combined.

Pour the butter/syrup mixture over the carrots and toss to coat. Arrange the carrots on a parchment lined baking sheet, and use a spatula to scrape any remaining butter/syrup mixture over them. You may want to use two sheets of parchment to make sure the whole pan is completely covered. Roast until tender and brown, for about 45 minutes to 1 hour, using tongs to turn each carrot about 30 minutes in. Watching carefully that the sugar in the maple syrup doesn’t burn onto the parchment. Top with chopped parsley before serving.

creamed kale gratin

Thanksgiving is officially less than a week away, and I can barely handle the excitement.

We’ve already done Fakesgiving, but now the real deal is coming up and the anticipation is killing me. Russell and I have been finalizing out our guest list, figuring out who’s bringing what, buying and stashing our wine (lots and lots of wine), cleaning the apartment, writing grocery lists, and planning our menu. While there’s definitely going to be some overlap from our Fakesgiving dinner, this time around we’re doing a potluck and not every dish will make it back onto the menu.

There’s absolutely no doubt in our minds though, that this little creamed kale gratin will be making a comeback.

This shit is the jam. The bomb dot com. The cat’s pajamas. The bee’s knees. All that and a bag of (kale) chips.
(It’s really good)

When I was developing the recipe a few months ago I brought it to a work party and it disappeared faster than anything else on the table. People were still talking about it and asking for the recipe days after the party.

Out of every dish on our fakesgiving table, I actually think this was probably my favorite. It was definitely a favorite among our guests, and while it was the one dish I was most looking forward to when I raided the leftovers the next day, there wasn’t anything left to raid.

Okay. So, right about now you’re probably rolling your eyes and asking yourself, “Your favorite dish from the whole meal was kale? Really? Kale?”

I know. I know.
How insufferably hip and impossibly Brooklyn of me.

But it’s true.

When I was doing my initial recipe testing and menu planning a while back, I knew I wanted something deeply green and healthy-ish on the menu. Thanksgiving dishes tend to be rather rich and heavy, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I think they scream for something green to be served alongside them. Thanksgiving buffets also tend to be a bit heavy on the yellow and orange and brown, so again, having something green on your plate is probably a good thing.

Most people would likely opt for a green bean casserole, but for whatever reason, I don’t really enjoy making green bean casserole. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly love eating it, but when it comes to Thanksgiving I’d rather call it a potluck and keep my fingers crossed that someone else will bring the casserole along. Of course, when it comes to posting recipes on a food blog, a potluck doesn’t really tend to work.

So, I had some thinking to do. My head initially went to creamed spinach, but there’s something about the texture of creamed spinach that I thought could be improved upon. Spinach becomes so soft when cooked that it sort of becomes one mushy texture with the cream. My plan then, was to come up with another green that could offer a bit more texture while pairing well with a rich creamy sauce.

Kale would be the natural next choice, but to be quite honest, I’ve never really enjoyed cooking with kale. Until recently, I’ve only had experience using the ubiquitous curly kale, which I’ve had much better luck with eating raw rather than cooked. I find that it tends to overcook easily and goes from vibrant green to muddy brown and mushy in a heartbeat. For that reason I (used to) avoid cooking with it.

I thought about going with swiss chard instead, but when I was digging around for inspiration I found a recipe that called for Lacinato kale and decided to give it a go. If you’re not familiar, Lacinato kale also goes by dinosaur kale or black kale and is much stiffer, smoother, and darker than curly kale. It can be a bit more expensive (depending on the store and the time of year) and can sometimes be a bit harder to find. When cooked though, it retains it’s texture much better than curly kale, stands up very well to braising, and is much more forgiving of overcooking. The very first time I cooked with it it was as if all the pieces suddenly fell into place and I finally understood why people like kale so much. Since then I find myself cooking with it all the time! Who knew?

So yes, thanks to my new favorite variety of kale, this dish was indeed my favorite thing on our fakesgiving table.

The sauce is made with roux-thickened-milk rather than heavy cream, so while it is wonderfully rich and creamy, it manages not to feel too heavy. A bit of parmesan cheese adds a rich salty nuttiness, but there’s also loads of flavor thanks to some onions and plenty of garlic, a nice hint of spice from some pepper flakes, and a touch of brightness thanks to a bit of fresh lemon zest. The kale retains a nice, slightly al dente texture and pleasant green bitterness that compliments the creamy sauce perfectly, and the whole shebang is topped with a bit of crisp panko bread crumbs and parmesan that add a lovely bit of crunch.

Creamed Kale Gratin

Servings: 8 to 12
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Adapted from thekitchn

2 to 3 pounds of Lacinato kale (or 3 one-pound bags of chopped curly kale)
8 tablespoons (1 stick) butter
1 small white onion, finely chopped
4 to 6 cloves garlic, minced or crushed
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
3 cups whole milk
1/2 to 3/4 cup finely grated Parmesan or Pecorino cheese
1/2 to 1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg
2 teaspoons salt, or to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
zest of two lemons

topping:
1/2 cup panko bread crumbs
1/2 cup finely grated Parmesan or Pecorino cheese

If using whole kale leaves, remove the stalks and ribs and discard. Roughly chop and wash the leaves.

Set a large bowl of ice cold water in one half of the sink, and a large strainer or colander in the other. Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil. Add the chopped kale to the pot, stir, and simmer for 1 minute. Immediately drain and transfer to the bowl of ice water. Swirl and stir the kale around in the cold water, then drain again and wrap in a clean kitchen towel and squeeze dry. You may need to do this in batches.

Preheat the oven to 400.

Melt the butter in a deep skillet, sauté pan, or 3-quart saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the onion and garlic, and cook, stirring constantly, for 1 minute. Add red pepper flakes, nutmeg, salt and pepper, and sprinkle the flour over the onion mixture. Stir and cook for about 3 minutes. Turn the heat down if necessary; do not let the flour brown.

Whisk in the milk, a little bit at a time, until completely combined. Cook the mixture, stirring slowly and continuously, until the sauce comes to a boil and thickens, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat.

Use your fingers to break up any clumps of drained kale and sprinkle into the milk mixture. Stir in the cheese and lemon zest until everything is well combined. Transfer to a baking dish and top with panko and additional 1/2 cup of grated parmesan.

Bake at 400 for 20 minutes or until cheese begins to brown and the sauce is bubbly.

Recipe Notes:
You can make this 1 to 2 days ahead of serving. Cook the creamed kale on the stovetop, transfer to the baking dish, and allow to cool slightly. Do not add the panko and parmesan topping. Press plastic wrap or parchment paper directly onto the surface to prevent a skin from forming. Cool to room temperature and then refrigerate.
When ready to proceed, remove the plastic wrap and sprinkle the topping over the top. Let stand at room temperature for at least 30 minutes before baking at 400. Since the kale will be cool it may take a few more minutes to bubble.

shaved brussels sprout salad

Earlier this week I shared my first official Thanksgiving recipe for the year. Now that I think about it though, I guess I started sharing things a little out of order.

Sometime next week I’ll let you guys in on my secret for perfectly cooked, perfectly moist turkey, and I might even give you a sneak peek into the rest of the meal. Today, though, I’m sharing my first course.

Have you ever noticed how certain vegetables get a bad rap?

Brussels sprouts have a reputation for making children stick their tongues out and gag, but I know more people who love them than don’t. I never ate brussels sprouts growing up, I don’t even think I’d tasted one until college. A few years ago I was gabbing with my mom on the phone when I casually mentioned that i was roasting brussels sprouts for dinner. She was like, “Really? Brussels sprouts? You like Brussels sprouts?”

This got me thinking. Maybe it was the parents that didn’t like brussels sprouts? Maybe I grew up thinking they were gross even though I’d never had them, because my parents thought they were gross? If that was the case, I would guess that that generation didn’t like them because of the way they were prepared by the previous generation, our grandparents.
Growing up I also thought I hated asparagus. My grandfather has a gorgeous vegetable garden with a huge asparagus patch, and every spring he’d get really excited when the pale little stalks started coming in. He’d be out in the garden bent over staring at the ground with a little paring knife just waiting for the moment they were ready for harvest.
But then my grandmother would wash the stalks, plunk them into a pot of boiling water, and boil the ever loving crap out of them until they were reduced to limp, flabby, grey-green strands having little in common with what went into the pot initially. Then they’d be served, covered in butter and smelling like farts, where I’d politely decline or push them around my plate until I was excused. If I was forced to guess why my parents might not have liked brussels sprouts, it probably was because they’d only ever had them prepared the same way my grandmother prepared asparagus. Boiled until mushy and farty and entirely unappetizing.

Oddly enough, I was gabbing with mom again sometime last week and she mentioned that my 16 year old sister had ordered brussels sprouts out at a restaurant. My how the tables had turned! It was my turn to ask, “Really? Brussels sprouts? She likes brussels sprouts?”
This time around though, mom’s response was a little different. “Yeah, She does! We both do. We love them!”

My my how times have changed. In world where Kale is king, Brussels sprouts might be queen. Or at least, maybe the little prince?

I think that the trend of properly cooking vegetables, leaving them bright and crisp and flavorful (and more nutritious), has finally reached the restaurants in my little slice of Upstate New York and taught my mom to finally see brussels sprouts in a different light.

For this recipe I wanted to get as far away from mushy, farty, overcooked sprouts as possible, so I shaved them super thin with a mandolin and tossed them completely raw with a few simple ingredients.

The first time I tested this salad out on Russell, the sprouts I used were sort of sad and wilty and well past their prime, and the resulting salad was really unpleasant. No matter how thinly I shaved them, they were rubbery and flabby and no fun at all to eat raw. Russell said the salad was awful and that I should do something else, something with wilted brussels sprouts or maybe arugula or something.
I almost took his advice and ditched the recipe altogether, but I knew I really had something with this idea, and that better fresher sprouts would result in a far superior salad. So, I decided to ignore Russell’s advice and try the recipe again with fresher, crisper produce. Even Russell had to admit it was a huge success, entirely different from the first attempt.

So, take it from me, when eating them raw you really need to make sure your brussels sprouts are as fresh as can be.

This salad is bright, light, delicate, and wonderfully refreshing. While it would make a great side salad for any meal, it’s the perfect thing to serve along with a rich, hearty, heavy meal like Thanksgiving dinner. It’s exactly what you want along with all that decadent food. The crisp bitter walnuts, crunchy sweet bursting pomegranate seeds, freshly shaved raw brussels sprouts, and simple bright lemony dressing are a welcome contrast against all the rich roasty indulgences that make up the rest of the meal. A lot of similar salads call for goat cheese or parmesan to compliment the acidic and bitter flavors, but I intentionally kept this salad as light and simple as possible, and it couldn’t be more perfect.

Shaved Brussels Sprout Salad

Servings: 12
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Dressing:
6 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons honey
generous salt and pepper to taste

Salad:
1 1/2 lbs brussels sprouts
1 1/2 cups walnuts
1 1/2 to 2 cups pomegranate seeds

To make the dressing combine olive oil, lemon juice, honey, salt and pepper in a bowl or lidded jar and whisk or shake until well combined. Can be made a day ahead an stored in an airtight jar.

Slice off the tough bottoms of the brussels sprouts and discard. Using a mandolin slicer (use a guard and watch those fingers) or the slicing blade of a food processor (or with a sharp knife and some patience) slice the brussels sprouts as thinly as possible. Soak in very cold water for 5 to 10 minutes before drying with a salad spinner or some kitchen towels. If necessary, this can be done a day ahead and covered with a damp paper towel and plastic wrap or an air tight lid.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Arrange the walnuts in a single layer on a baking sheet and toast them for about 8 minutes or until they smell like toasty nutty heaven. Be careful they don’t burn. Cool.

Combine brussels sprouts, walnuts, pomegranate seeds, and dressing and toss to combine. Taste for seasoning and adjust if necessary. Serve immediately.

Note: Brussels sprouts should be as fresh as you can find them or they can be rubbery and a bit unpleasant to eat raw. The thinner you can shave them, the easier they’ll be to eat.

braised chicken with kale and white beans

It’s the most wonderful time…. of the year!

No not Christmas time silly! I work in retail.

It’s Fall!

Less than a week ago I was wearing shorts to work, and then overnight temperatures dipped and suddenly Autumn weather was upon us. This is and always has been my favorite season, and while a lot of people are lamenting the end of summer, I’m over the moon that Fall is finally here.

Maybe it’s because I grew up upstate in a region dripping in corn fields, pumpkin patches, and apple orchards. Maybe it’s the mild temperatures and the fact that I can finally turn off the damned air conditioner and open the windows. Maybe it’s the warm colors and fall foliage, or maybe it’s the smell of the air. Maybe it’s the outdoor activities like hay rides, apple picking, and last chance hiking. Maybe it’s those quintessential Fall foods like apple cider doughnuts, pumpkin pie, and roasted turkey. Maybe it’s the fact that I can finally put something other than shorts on without breaking into a sweat. Or maybe it’s the fact that I can turn the oven back on and start making rich, hearty, slow cooked meals…

Even one of my coworkers, who’s admittedly more of a Summer person, just confessed that she’s really enjoying spending time in the kitchen without the boob sweat.

The minute the weather dips below 73 degrees I’m ready for soups and stews and braises. Over the weekend it was cold and rainy here in Brooklyn and I was craving soup something fierce. On my lunch break I sat pondering the possibilities and planning my grocery list. My first thought was a white bean and kale soup with sausage and tomatoes, but the colder and rainier it got, the more my cravings started to lean toward some type of braised chicken. Rather than choosing one over the other, I decided to combine the two in to one perfect Fall meal.

I bought a whole air-chilled chicken and cut it into pieces myself. I think for this recipe it works best to cut your chicken into 10 pieces, including wings, drumsticks, thighs, and quartered breasts.

You can definitely substitute all breasts or all thighs, or a mix of both, but I enjoy the mix of textures and flavors you get from using a whole chicken. I also like the fact that it’s generally cheaper to buy a whole chicken and butcher it yourself than it is to buy an equal amount of pre-butchered pieces and parts. You’ll need to cut store-bought breasts pieces in half anyway, so why not just go for the whole shebang?

I promise that it’s not as scary as you think. You just need a sharp knife, some self-confidence, and a little bit of patience with yourself. If you have no idea what you’re doing and want a reference, just ask Martha.
The best part is that the more you do it the better, and faster, you’ll get at it. The first time I ever tried was the night I proposed to Russell. I wanted to make fried chicken from scratch, and while the chicken turned out kind of greasy, the night turned out wonderful!
That first try taught me that it didn’t need to feel so intimidating, and since then I’ve learned to really enjoy the process. I think it can be just a little too easy to forget where your dinner comes from when you buy it wrapped in cellophane and styrofoam, and getting your hands dirty and doing some of the work yourself gives you a greater respect and understanding for exactly what it is that you’re eating.

When I was in high school we actually raised chickens in our garage, so maybe that experience also gave me a greater appreciation for knowing where my food comes from. We’d moved from the center of town to a larger house on some land out in the country, and sort of out of nowhere I decided I wanted some chickens. My grandfather had a handful of older laying hens and a couple roosters on his farm that he was getting a little sick of caring for, and I really just wanted them for the experience so their advanced age didn’t bother me. They didn’t produce a ton of eggs, but it was usually enough that we didn’t have to buy them and never really had a surplus either.

There was a large storage room in the garage so we sectioned off part of that with chicken wire, laid down some straw, took some of Grandpa’s equipment off his hands, and we were in business. The one thing I wasn’t really expecting is how mean and sort of territorial chickens can be, especially when there are roosters involved. I also learned never to go into their cage in sandals. It turns out that exposed toes are fare game in the eyes of a chicken…
I understand that the situation probably would have been a bit different without the roosters, but to this day I’m a little bit uncomfortable around birds.

Despite all that I still fantasize about having chickens again some day. Especially with all the baking I do I’d love to have a good source for delicious fresh eggs! Russell and I constantly dream about the day we can buy a cute old farmhouse in the Hudson Valley and build a chicken coop and maybe a pen for some pygmy goats. We even have names in mind already! The plan is to name them after the female characters from Dallas starting with Pam, Sue Ellen, Lucy, & Miss Ellie, and depending on how many we get, maybe branching out into the satellite characters like Donna, Valene, or Kristen. We probably won’t get any roosters, but it might be fun to have a cranky old J.R. chasing the poor hens around. I’d just be afraid somebody might shoot him!

We never ate any of our old hens back then, and if Russell and I do end up getting any in the future they’d probably just be for egg laying too. When it comes to buying chicken to eat though, I’m actually pretty picky.

I know it’s not my job as a food photographer or recipe developer to tell you to eat organic, or local, or free-range, or hormone free, or whatever the buzz word du jour is. If you’re reading this you’re (probably) an adult and (probably) can make those decisions without my help. I will however remind you that spending a few extra dollars on your food doesn’t just mean you’re voting with your wallet for a healthier environment, better local economy, and more sustainable food system; it also means your food will probably taste better and be more nutritious! In my experience the biggest indicator for higher quality, better tasting chicken is the label “air chilled”. I won’t get into the gory details of how chickens are processed, but I will say that since air chilled chickens aren’t processed in water baths they usually have a meatier, chicken-ier flavor and crispier, less flabby skin. They also have a higher meat to weight ratio and better texture since they’re not absorbing any water during processing.

Since it is a slower, more labor intensive process, air chilled chicken does cost more at the grocery store. Based on flavor and texture alone though, I really do believe it’s worth the extra couple bucks.

Knowing what I now know, it’d be pretty hard for me to go back to conventionally processed chicken. I know I promised not to get into the details, but the conventional way is pretty gross, and the air chilled method is much less so. If you’re interested in learning more, there’s a ton of information out there on the world wide web, but I learned from reading Johnathan Safran Foer’s Eating Animals. If you care about food politics and the sustainability and environmental impact of our food system I think it’s a really interesting and informative read.

Whatever type of chicken you find in your basket while you wander the grocery aisles, this recipe is sure to please.

Browning the meat on the stovetop and then braising it in the oven gives it a rich and roasty flavor and a mouthwateringly tender texture. The touch of acidity and subtle sweetness from the white wine and tomatoes balances perfectly with the richness of the chicken and sausage and slight bitterness of the kale. The fresh pungent garlic and woodsy thyme add layers of earthy flavor, and the beans add a nice tender texture and just enough starch to make this a hearty filling meal all on it’s own.

Is your mouth watering yet?

Braised Chicken with Kale and White Beans

Servings: 6 to 8
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one 4 to 5 lb chicken, cut into 10 pieces (you can substitute an equal amount of skin-on, bone-in breasts and/or thighs)
Coarse Kosher salt and ground pepper to taste
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 lb sweet Italian sausage (about 3 sausages)
1 medium to large onion, chopped
6 cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced
6 to 7 sprigs of fresh thyme
1 cup dry white wine
2 cups low sodium chicken stock
one 15 oz can diced tomatoes (drained)
two 15 oz cans white beans (I used Cannellini)
1 lb Lacinato kale (about 2 bunches) *see note

Preheat oven to 375.

Generously season your chicken pieces with salt and pepper. If using store-bought breasts you’ll want to cut them each in half with a very sharp knife.

Heat olive oil in a large dutch oven or braising pan over high heat. Working in batches, brown chicken pieces on all sides (about 4 to 5 minutes per side), and transfer to a plate to rest. Drain off all but about 1 tablespoon of any grease from the chicken, and brown the sausage and onions over medium high heat. Try to break up and crumble the sausage as it browns. Cook about 5 minutes, or until sausage is mostly cooked through and onions are starting to soften and get some color. Toss in garlic and cook one minute more. Add thyme and white wine, and simmer until wine has reduced by about half, about 5 or 10 minutes. Add chicken stock and drained tomatoes and bring just back to a simmer. Arrange chicken, skin side up, in a single layer and transfer to the oven to braise, uncovered, for 35-40 minutes.

While chicken is in the oven; remove the ribs, roughly chop, and thoroughly wash the kale. Dry well with a kitchen towel or salad spinner.

Once cooked through and tender, transfer chicken pieces to a plate and tent with foil. Turn the oven off and transfer the chicken back to the oven with the door slightly open to keep warm. Move the pan back to the stove and reduce the braising liquid over high heat for about 10 minutes. Add kale and beans, toss, and cook until all the kale is completely wilted, about 5 minutes more. Taste the sauce and adjust seasoning with salt and pepper if necessary. Add the chicken back to the pan and serve.

Serve the chicken in shallow bowl over a bed of beans and kale. Spoon some of the liquid over the top just before serving.

*note:
You can use other types of kale if you can’t find Lacinato, but I think it has the best flavor and texture for this dish, and holds up to best to braising and reheating.