Eggs Among the Turnip Greens

“What I don’t understand about him,” the beautiful, languid woman said, her elbows resting on the table amid picked-clean Cornish hen bones on china plates and emptied glasses, “is how he made you happy. You always knew he didn’t like eggs.”

The other woman quickly retorted, defensive still, “Well, nor do I understand how yours made you happy--he never liked onions.”

She went through the heretofore secret litany she had against her friend’s old beau. “How could anyone love a man who didn’t love onions?” she asked. “Whenever he came to dinner, I’d have to pick the onions out of his food.”

Neither, she reminded her, did he like meat. He was not a vegetarian nor an animal rights activist. He simply didn’t like meat because his mother had made him eat steak for breakfast before he played a football game because his father told her that’s what the boy should eat.

And so they continued, talking about the nature of men and food, their likes and dislikes, virtues and foibles separate from their allergies and physical restrictions.

His mother loved cooking too, as much as she did. Her refrigerator and freezer were bursting the last time she was there. His mother said the reason he didn’t like eggs was rooted in her insisting that he have them for breakfast when he was a little boy.

It made her sad to remember when she had made him scrambled eggs--creamy, soft and rich, laced with butter and tucked in next to grilled sausages and corn meal-coated fried green tomatoes, tart and firm under their crisp crusts, centered between two triangles of burnished toast topped with his favorite raspberry jam.

It was sad that he ate around them, declaring, “I just don’t like eggs.”

It hadn’t been that he minded them in things, however, and so she could almost live with his rejection of perfectly poached eggs, topping English muffins and ham and cloaked with hollandaise, be cause he ate everything else--the muffins, the ham, the hollandaise (made with eggs).

And one of his favorite dishes was her turnip green roulade. He could eat turnip green roulade standing up. In fact, her last memory of him eating turnip green roulade was of him standing up, leaning his taut frame over the counter, cupping one hand under to catch any drips and declaring it was wonderful, a green carpet rolled and filled with a zippy tomato sauce.

And, she wanted to remind him, turnip green roulade is full of eggs.

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This is a beautiful and colorful dish, delicious at room temperature.

TURNIP GREEN ROULADE WITH TOMATO-PEPPER SAUCE

1 (16-ounce) package frozen turnip greens or spinach, thawed

1 tablespoon butter

Salt

Freshly ground pepper

6 eggs, separated

6 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese

Tomato-Pepper Sauce

Brush 15x10-inch jellyroll pan with oil. Line with wax paper or foil, then oil again.

Drain thawed turnip greens and squeeze dry. Stir in butter, salt and pepper to taste and beaten egg yolks. (This can be done up to several hours ahead and kept covered and refrigerated. If refrigerated, rewarm gently in heavy saucepan over medium heat before proceeding.)

Beat egg whites until stiff but not dry. Fold 2 tablespoons whites into greens mixture to blend, then gently fold in rest. Spread mixture quickly and evenly in prepared jellyroll pan. Sprinkle with cheese. Bake at 400 degrees until souffle has risen and is firm to touch, about 10 minutes.

(This can be made several days ahead and refrigerated in pan, covered with plastic wrap or foil. Reheat at 350 degrees.)

To finish, cut off piece of foil as long as souffle and place on counter. Turn souffle out onto foil with pan. Remove pan and peel off wax paper or foil that has adhered to souffle. Spread hot Tomato-Pepper Sauce on souffle. Roll up by lifting foil underneath and pushing souffle into roll. Place platter at end of foil and make final roll onto platter.

Garnish with any leftover sauce. (Roulade may be made to this point about 1 hour or so ahead. Reheat if necessary at 350 degrees.) Makes 6 servings.

Tomato-Pepper Sauce

1/2 medium red onion, pureed in food processor

2 cloves garlic, pureed in food processor

1 large (8-ounce) sweet red pepper, pureed in food processor

1 (28-ounce) can crushed tomatoes with added puree

4 bottled pepperoncini peppers, diced

2 teaspoons pepperoncini pepper juice

1/4 teaspoon sugar

Freshly ground pepper

1 teaspoon salt

Combine red onion, garlic, sweet red pepper, tomatoes, pepperoncini peppers and juice, sugar, generous amount freshly ground pepper and salt in 1 1/2-quart saucepan. Simmer 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Makes 4 cups.

Dupree is a cookbook author.