Wilted spinach squeezed bone dry before it meets the cream, which is the whole difference between this and a puddle.
Named from the ingredients as written, including those carried in from sub-recipes. This is not a guarantee — check the labels on what you actually buy, and note that a product’s recipe can change.
Put a third of the spinach into a large dry pan over high heat, with only the water still clinging to the leaves.
Turn it with tongs for 60-90 seconds, until every leaf has collapsed and gone dark.
Tip the wilted spinach into a colander.
Wilt the remaining spinach in two more batches the same way.
Do not force the whole kilo in at once. The bottom layer overcooks to a slimy grey while the leaves on top are still raw, and there is no evening it out afterwards.
Run cold water over the spinach in the colander until it is cool enough to handle, which also stops it cooking.
Squeeze it in handfuls, as hard as you can, until no more water runs and each handful is a tight ball about the size of a golf ball.
Squeeze harder than feels reasonable. A kilo of spinach holds close to a mugful of water, and every drop left in it thins the cream to a grey puddle in the base of the dish.
Pull the balls apart and chop the spinach coarsely.
Melt the butter in a wide pan over medium-low heat.
Cook the shallot for 4-5 minutes, until it is soft and translucent with no colour on it.
Stir in the garlic and cook for 1 minute, until it smells sweet.
Pour in the cream and simmer for 4-5 minutes, until it has reduced by about a third and coats the back of a spoon.
Fold in the chopped spinach.
Warm it through for 2-3 minutes, keeping the pan below a proper boil. Spinach is acidic enough to split cream that has already been reduced, and long heat takes the leaves from dark green to army khaki.
Season with the nutmeg, the 4g of fine salt and the ground white peppercorns.
Stir in the lemon juice off the heat, in the last moment before it goes to the table. Added any earlier, the acid dulls the colour it is meant to lift.
Serve hot, straight from the pan.
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Cream first, and then something distinctly mineral underneath that is spinach and is unlike any other green. Spinach carries a real iron-and-earth note and a slight astringency, and both of those are what the dairy is there to soften — this is a pairing that exists because the two halves genuinely need each other. Nutmeg is the traditional partner and does something specific: a small amount makes cream taste creamier and takes the metallic edge off spinach, which is why it appears in almost every European spinach-and-dairy dish. Shallot is sweet and mild. White pepper is floral. Salt is essential and easily under-done in a dish this bland-looking. And the lemon at the end is the correction — without acid, creamed spinach is heavy and slightly cloying, and a tablespoon of lemon juice lifts the whole thing without making it taste of lemon.
Butter and shallot first, sweet and gentle. Then cream reducing. Nutmeg comes through clearly, and spinach itself smells of almost nothing once wilted. It is a quiet dish aromatically and always has been.
Thick, unctuous and slightly fibrous — the spinach is chopped rather than puréed, so there is a real leaf texture in it. That distinguishes it from a spinach purée, which is smooth and is a different thing. There should be no liquid separating out anywhere. Some people find spinach leaves a slight furriness on the teeth, and that is oxalic acid binding with calcium in the mouth; the dairy in this dish reduces it, which is one more reason the pairing works.
Almost nothing. The wilting is a brief loud sizzle-and-steam as wet leaves hit a hot dry pan, over in ninety seconds. Everything after that is silent.
Butter and cream first, spreading. Then the mineral spinach note through the middle. Nutmeg sits behind it. And then the lemon at the finish, which clears everything and is the reason a second spoonful is appealing. Without the lemon the finish is fatty and stays, which is exactly what makes badly made creamed spinach feel like hard work.
Hot, and it holds heat well because of its density. It is also perfectly good at room temperature and is one of the few side dishes that survives sitting on a table through a long meal.
Steak, which is the classic and is a genuinely good match — beef fat and cream, cut by the spinach's mineral edge. Roast chicken, lamb, pork. Baked potatoes. Poached or fried eggs. Grilled fish. It is one of the most useful side dishes there is because it goes with almost any protein and needs no starch alongside it. Where it fails is next to another creamy dish, and on a plate with no acid anywhere.
Easy and physical. There is no technique to learn; there is a lot of squeezing.
Moderate. A kilo of spinach and 250ml of double cream.
A large pan for wilting, a colander, and a wide pan for finishing. Nothing else, though a salad spinner helps with the washing.
Any time. It is winter food by temperament and works all year.
Spinach is a spring and autumn crop and is available year-round.
Wilted spinach has gone from bright green and voluminous to dark green and collapsed, in about a minute. The cream is ready when it has reduced by roughly a third and coats the back of a spoon. The finished dish should hold its shape on a spoon with no liquid running out of it.
Thick and spoonable, with the spinach distributed evenly rather than in clumps. If a pool of grey-green liquid gathers at the edge of the dish, the squeezing was not hard enough.
Nothing to manage. Wash the spinach properly if it came loose rather than in a bag; grit in creamed spinach is unmistakable and unforgivable.
Not squeezing hard enough, which is the fault and produces the grey puddle this dish is notorious for. Forcing all the spinach into the pan at once, which overcooks the bottom and leaves the top raw. Colouring the shallot, which makes the dish taste of fried onion. Skipping the lemon, which leaves it heavy. And under-salting, which is very easy in something this pale.
Watery: the squeeze. Drain it, squeeze the spinach again, and reduce the remaining liquid before folding it back in. Grey and slimy: overcooked at the wilting stage, usually from too much in the pan. Bland: salt first, then more nutmeg, then check the lemon went in. Too rich: more lemon, and a spoonful of crème fraîche in place of some cream next time. Gritty: it was not washed properly, and there is nothing to be done.
Very well. Make it completely a day ahead and reheat gently with a splash of cream — it is one of the most useful make-ahead sides for a Christmas table for exactly that reason.
Three days in the fridge. It sets firm and reheats well.
Very well, gently in a pan with a splash of cream or milk. It is one of the more forgiving reheats in the collection.
Two months, and the texture holds up better than most cream-based dishes because the spinach is already broken down.
Genuinely useful. Folded into pasta, stirred into a baked potato, used as the base of a spinach and ricotta filling, or spread under a poached egg.
Doubles easily. The wilting takes proportionally longer since it must be done in batches regardless.
Frozen spinach is genuinely good here and is the sensible choice — it is already blanched, it is a fraction of the price, and it needs only thawing and the same hard squeeze. Use 500g frozen for 1kg fresh. Chard works and is slightly sweeter. Crème fraîche instead of double cream gives a sharper, lighter dish and is a real improvement for some palates. A béchamel base instead of straight cream is the older, more classical version and makes it thicker and less rich.
Vegetarian, gluten-free and nut-free. Contains milk, declared. A plant-cream version works reasonably; the dish is mostly spinach and the cream is a binder rather than the point.
Large-leaf spinach rather than baby leaf, which is bred for salads and has less flavour and more water. Frozen whole-leaf spinach rather than chopped, which holds up better. Whole nutmeg, grated fresh.
Frozen spinach is a fraction of the price of fresh, is already blanched, and works genuinely well — this is one of the few dishes where frozen is close to a free upgrade rather than a compromise. Use 500g frozen in place of 1kg fresh and squeeze it just as hard.
Frozen spinach avoids the very high waste rate of fresh bagged leaves and has a lower footprint overall. The cream is the main impact.
Around 310 calories a serving, most of it cream. Spinach itself is exceptionally nutrient-dense — folate, vitamin K, magnesium — and cooking concentrates it enormously, since a kilo becomes a few spoonfuls. The oxalic acid does bind some of the calcium and iron, which is why the numbers on a spinach label overstate what you actually absorb.
Worth it, and worth making with frozen spinach on a weeknight. Everything that gives creamed spinach its poor reputation comes from one avoidable step — not squeezing the water out — and once that is done it is a genuinely excellent side dish that makes ahead, freezes, and goes with almost anything. Do not leave out the lemon.
European in technique, American in fame.
Creamed spinach in English. The French épinards à la crème is the same idea and generally lighter.
As it looks.
Literally what it is.
Spinach reached Europe from Persia via the Arab world and was well established by the Middle Ages; cooking it in butter and cream is an obvious and old thing to do with a green that is otherwise astringent. What turned it into a named dish was the American chophouse. From the second half of the nineteenth century a particular menu format hardened in New York and then across the country — a large plain-cooked steak, a baked potato, and creamed spinach — and Delmonico's is the restaurant most often named as its origin. That format is now more than a hundred and fifty years old and is still what a steakhouse serves.
It is one half of a fixed American restaurant convention, and its presence on a menu tells you what kind of restaurant you are in before you have read anything else. It also carries a peculiar association with strength through Popeye, and it is worth noting that the iron content of spinach was for decades overstated in popular accounts — spinach does contain iron, but its oxalic acid binds a good deal of it and makes it less available than the numbers suggest.
Beside a steak, at Christmas, and on any table where there is a large piece of roast meat.
The classical French version builds it on a béchamel rather than on straight cream, which gives a thicker, less rich result and is what most old cookery books specify. The straight-cream version here is the American steakhouse form.
It got richer. Béchamel gave way to cream, and in some American versions to cream cheese and Parmesan, which is a long way from where it started.
The French version is lighter and often uses just butter and a splash of cream. German Rahmspinat is usually puréed rather than chopped. Some American steakhouse versions include onion, cream cheese and cheese, making something much closer to a dip.
It chops rather than purées, uses cream rather than béchamel, and finishes with lemon — that last is not traditional and is the single change most worth keeping.
The Delmonico's association is the standard account of the steakhouse format and is repeated widely rather than documented precisely.