As a kid, I would not touch anything that resembled spinach. Collards fell into that list. One day I was out with a family friend in the Columbia, SC, vicinity when he turned off the road and drove up a sandy trail through the woods and stopped at a "shotgun" shack in the middle of nowhere. And old, white-haired black guy in overalls and wife beater t-shirt greeted us. He had a cast iron pot of something cooking on the front porch. It smelled wonderful! I asked what it was, and he said "Collards." I guess he saw my nose turn up and asked if I wanted some. I told him I didn't like them. He said, "You haven't tried mine," and handed me a bowlful. I was in heaven! I think I could have eaten the whole pot and have loved them ever since.