Anyone who has ever eaten in a restaurant where your food is not already wrapped to go has seen a plate liberally adorned with kale. It’s deep green, frilly, and not easily affected by the heat or sauce of the food; haven’t you wondered fleetingly if they ever rinse it off in the kitchen and recycle it for the next unsuspecting diner? It keeps its biting taste and crunch even when it’s cooked—none of that dissolved slime you get with spinach cooked too long in the soup. If they put it in cans, Popeye would have been perfectly happy to substitute it for his favorite vegetable because it confers a certain indestructibility on the diner: no cholesterol, some dietary fiber, and a whopping 354% of the daily requirement of Vitamin A and 89% for Vitamin C. It maxes out on the high edge of the Nutrition Target Map (see http://www.nutritiondata.com/facts-B00001-01c20di.html .)

Ironically, as every second grader learns (but surely doesn’t really appreciate), the miracle of seeds and plant growth is such that this Iron Man vegetable comes up the hard way. The seed leaves (the first two to appear, but bearing little resemblance to the true leaves we will later recognize as kale) are big and hearty enough, but the stem of the seedling is long, brittle, and water-filled. If it bends, from human carelessness, the weight of its roots, or becoming entwined with its neighbors, the tissue is broken and that seedling is no longer viable. This characteristic makes it challenging to transplant the seedlings into peat pots for later transfer to the outside. Every year, my potting table is littered with the ones that could have been contenders. Nevertheless, there are enough that have survived the ordeal this spring and will by fall become a border of ruffled rosettes, pink and cream against the lovely blue-green of Osaka Ornamental Kale.