We’ve been eating kale for a while now—even before it became the newest chic, superleaf on the street.  Before kale chips and smoothies.  And other unlikely incarnations.  We follow the hoopla in the media—the articles, blog posts, recipes and such, touting boatloads of vitamins, minerals and fiber—and think back over our personal relationship with this ultra sturdy leaf, over months and years.  To be honest, it hasn’t always been easy—or quite so lovey-dovey.  Mostly we’d hide the curly chunks in soups and sautés—you’d have to look hard to know they were in there—and cook them long enough that the distinctive chew was no longer recognizable.  The thing is, we didn’t necessarily want kale to stand out in our meals, even if we did covet its health benefits.  Would we choose earthy kale over, let’s face it, less chewy brethren?  The truth is, probably not.  Sorry, kale—no offense intended.  Unlike others, we never warmed to the energizing power of a green smoothie or the snack appeal of a salty kale chip (to us chips will never be green).

But that was before we stumbled over a few solid recipes that did nothing more contrived than offer kale up as the leaf that it is.  In all its jaw-taxing glory.  Suffice to say, we were surprised.  In a good way.  Well done, kale.  We thought we had you pegged, but how wrong we were.  When teenagers request kale-ricotta tartine for dinner now, you make us proud.  Though you’ll never have the ghost of a chance in a standoff with chocolate—still, you’ve come a long way, baby.  For a chewy leaf.

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March isn’t just about basketball.  Among Indians there’s another sort of madness afoot.  A holiday called Holi.  Joyful, psychedelically-hued and unabashedly rowdy to the core, this is a day eagerly anticipated by the child deep inside even the most stodgy adult.  A chance to willfully embrace chaos.  To run wild and misbehave in ways that would land us in the time-out chair or worse on any other occasion.  Adults act like kids, while kids rightly recognize this as the moment to seize—when rules no longer apply.

In its tamest incarnation, Holi involves brightly colored powder called gulal, playfully tossed with a friendly squirt here or there from a water gun called a pichkari.  At the other extreme buckets of tinted water are dumped over unguarded heads, garden hoses aimed for battle and bodies covered from head to baby toe in a Jackson Pollack-inspired palette, as revelers dodge one another at full throttle, while simultaneously plotting their mischief. Imagine the most colorful water fight you can, then crank the intensity up a notch.  On this day the grass turns red, the sidewalk purple, and afterward, a trail of pink footprints is forever imprinted across the bathroom floor.  Today is Holi.  If you’re with Indians (or others in the know), watch your back—punkrock-worthy streaks have been known to linger in light-hued American hair for weeks.  And a white t-shirt will never be the same again.  But really, that’s just the point.

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