Let’s do the Okra Cheer: Okra! Okra! OK! Rah! OK! Ra! Go….. OKRA!
We’ve been eating okra almost every night for the last two months. The 18 or so okra stalks in the garden, now each about six feet tall (one is eight… like I should write a story: Jack and the Okrastalk), are lined, near bottom to near top, with little dried stubs, the remembrance of all our harvests. If you were to count all these little bits of stem you’d know just how many of these odd green pods my wife and I have consumed this Summer of Okra Abundance. I’m thinking nearly 400 by now. Probably more. The near-daily okra harvests ranged from less than one dozen to two dozen or more. Once or twice I think I picked more than thirty in just one okra patch foray. I wouldn’t want to try to count all the stubs to find out for sure how many I’ve grown so far because okra plants are a sticky, prickly business. The pods and the stems are covered with tiny sharp spines that don’t hurt, really, but certainly don’t tickle. And the plants themselves are slightly sticky all over. Can’t say I love wading into the okra patch with sticks and the pricks on every side, but when I’m savoring the lightly fried fruit of my labor I think, gosh, it was worth it.
Impossibly prolific
Okra is a surprisingly lovely plant, first cousin to a hibiscus. I first saw that beautiful plant in Florida or the Bahamas or some other similarly tropical place. Hibiscus flowers sit like bright surprises on lush, green bushes and are made to go with gins and tonics served pool-side on long, lazy days reading a book under the shade of a very large umbrella. But now, Lo!, my okra patch is dotted with a half dozen or more creamy yellow hibiscus-esque blooms, exquisite, with a velvety royal maroon center complete with a golden scepter of a stamen. These exotic flowers here in the humid heat of a Virginia summer stay pretty for about six hours, then fold up and wither. When you squeeze the spent, rolled-up-like-a-cigar bloom you feel a certain stickiness. Ants crawl up and down okra stalks in lines, I suppose, to enjoy a drink of their own, little gins and tonics. Maybe an okra stalk is a summer resort for hard working ants, a sweet interlude between frenzied bouts of toil.
A glorious trinity.
I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on the nutritional value of okra. I googled it like anyone else would. It doesn’t take an okra googler long to get the idea that this green odd pod is quite a healthy thing to eat. Good for losing weight, for reducing cholesterol, and, of course, reducing your risk of cancer. Very low in fat and high in vitamins A, B complex, C, and K, not to mention iron and calcium, this miracle fruit can also help keep (or make) one who eats it regular. (Did I just write that? Forgive my indelicacy.) So why am I still so amazed I like the stuff? Why do so many people I mention okra to tell me they don’t care for it? Because of the unfortunate word, mucilaginous. Okra is slimy. We all know it. I’ll just admit it. But listen: we’ve found ways to reduce or even eliminate (!) the slime. One is to soak it in vinegar before cooking. Another is to eat it young and small, easy to do if you, like me, grow it yourself. And it’s excellent, like in gumbos and the wonderful fresh tomato and okra stews the missus makes, for thickening. I’ve gotta say we love it so much, we hardly notice the slime any more. Do you still respect me?
Okra growers know there is a God. How else could such a randomly lovely flower become a spiny, slimy taste treat?
I’m being honest. We’ve got an okra habit and are dreading the end of the season, even while the stalks are still producing dozens and dozens a week. It’s almost the start of September here and I know from years past, let the night time temperatures get below sixty, let the days become beautiful late-summer low 80s, and the okra will turn off like someone here mashed the off button. So, like people who know but deny the inevitable end, we rush home from work each day and first thing after shedding the suit and tie, the nice dress and heels, grab the clippers to snip yet more lovely okra appetizers. So we beat on, okra harvesters against time’s current, borne back ceaselessly into a past summer of okra abundance.
