Happy New Year! I am determined to write again in 2010. And to kick off my foray into the already over-saturated world personal and culinary essays online, I have selected to write about… Rutabagas.
It is too easy to forget about this homely, yellow and purple root. And yet, when the right menu presents itself and I cook up a batch, I find myself swooning over every nutty bite. (Silently, of course. No one in their right mind would publicly swoon over a mouthful of rutabaga.) My inspiration to spread the gospel of the rutabaga began when I recently made a puree of locally grown rutabagas to serve with a rich, slow-braised beef brisket. The meat was good. The rutabagas were spectacular!
Regardless of how we feel about the root itself, I think everyone can agree that rutabaga is a silly word. It’s a Bugs Bunny/Daffy Duck kind of word that people tend to think of more as a joke than an actual vegetable. That was certainly the case for me when I was growing up. I can safely say that no rutabaga ever even made it past the threshold of our family kitchen. Canned spinach? Yes! Frozen Lima Beans? Definitely! Rutabagas? Never. But that might be because, even today, Dad doesn’t much care for root vegetables. Threaten him with a beet and his spine actually shivers. He’d rather go hungry than eat mashed potatoes. Perhaps it is my lack of traumatic childhood rutabaga memories that allows me to pontificate over the glories of the rutabaga as an adult?
I met my first rutabaga in London, masquerading as something called “Swede.” I was 18, broke, miserable and had agreed to work in a dark, smoky pub, pulling pints for alcoholic pensioners in exchange for a room with a very kind family. Part of my responsibility as barkeep was to help cook dinner while the pub was closed for afternoon break. That first evening, I was put in charge of mashing, stirring and seasoning a pot of bubbling, golden orange puree. It was love at first nutty, buttery, earthy taste. My job at the pub lasted less than 36 hours. My love of mashed “swede” endures.
“Swede” in England is short for Swedish Turnip. How a simple, one syllable term in “the mother tongue” became “Rutabaga” in America baffled me, so I had to look it up. Turns out, our modern day rutabaga was originally discovered growing wild in the forests of Sweden. There, it was called the “Rotabagge” or “root ram”. Aha!! It was cultivated in Northern Europe around 1700. In Ireland it is often just referred to as a turnip. To the Scots, it is a “neep” as in ‘buttered neeps” a classic side dish of buttered turnips or parsnips alongside a nice joint of roast meat. These were the turnips the Scots originally carved as Halloween Jack O Lanterns. In Denmark and Germany, the term for rutabaga starts to sound more like kohlrabi, which is definitely NOT on my list of favorite veggies.
The rutabaga is a cross between a white turnip and the cabbage. It is botanically a brassica, like broccoli and cauliflower, so you can eat plenty of them in the name of preventing cancer, if that’s what floats your boat. The greens are also edible and I would love to try them. In my mind, they have a richer, buttery flavor. But I have never seen anything on the market tables labeled “rutabaga greens” and wonder if they are often just piled high and called generic turnip greens.
The rutabaga became a staple in colder climes like Russia, Scandinavia, the UK, Canada and the US Midwest. It is filling, stores well and provides a source for desperately needed vitamin C and minerals for the dark days of winter. What I want to know now is why rutabagas aren’t seen more in Northern Chinese dishes, much like cabbage, carrots and turnips? I need to look in to that. It sounds delicious- fried up Szechwan style, with red chilies and peanuts! Mongolian lamb and rutabaga? Mmmm. Those ideas will be tested before the winter is through!
I’m going to guess that it is just this practicality and usefulness that has kept the golden root out of the limelight. Rutabagas are not sexy. Nutritionally, they are just fine. They have fiber, a good amount of vitamin C, some B6 and are plentiful in minerals like thiamin and calcium. But a rutabaga isn’t something you would toss in your bike bag for a quick power snack. They don’t have an impressive glycemic index, nor do they fit neatly into the South Beach Diet Plan. It’s a rustic, old-fashioned vegetable that is best served in a rustic, old-fashioned way. They take long, slow cooking. In my imagination, they should be served with a hand carved wooden spoon, near a crackling fire with perhaps some lute music playing in the background.
The rutabaga, (much like myself), does not always play well with others. It is too often relegated to a “filler” position in stews and pasties. I, along with much of the general population, find it slightly offensive when used in this manner. I don’t want to chomp into a savory cottage pie or beef stew and find my mouth startled by a tidbit of skunky, sweet rutabaga. It tastes somehow off, like finding a Brussels Sprout in your Caesar salad. They make good soup. They are good roasted. They are a compliment to braised and stewed meats, but must be a highlight, not a base note. Best of all, they are served alone, mashed with butter, salt and pepper and a perhaps a splash of cream.
As I mentioned earlier, the rutabaga and most root vegetables were not a mainstay of my childhood diet. So imagine my surprise when I first experienced the produce section of a supermarket in Grand Fork, North Dakota. Rutabagas the size of soccer balls was sold heavily waxed, in huge wooden bins. At my local Thriftway, they reside in a small silvery bowl tucked in amongst the “boutique” items like fresh horseradish root, red endive and live watercress.
I tried something new with my last batch of “swede” and I cooked the rutabaga chunks in the pressure cooker. Rutabaga doesn’t cook as quickly as most potatoes. I tend to be impatient and will sometimes undercook the pieces, resulting in a slightly stringy, albeit still flavorful mash. No such worries this time! In just minutes, the pressure-cooked rutabagas were velvety smooth, easy to mash and quick to dry. And of course there is the added bonus of retention of vitamins and minerals and improved carbon footprint, but I’ll save that for another time.
I have promised myself to be more disciplined in the act of writing but less dogmatic about the topics and craft. In other words, I have given myself permission to write grammatically incorrect, whimsical nothings about rutabagas in the hopes that it will eventually inspire more creative and potentially marketable work. It is the act of writing and creative thinking that I need to nurture. And as a reward for those of you willing to plow your way through it… here is a recipe.
Mashed Swede
This was my introduction to the rutabaga, and still my favorite preparation. The puree tastes much more complicated than it is – as if enhanced with and extra step of browned butter or pureed caramelized onions. A splash of cream is all that is needed here, and milk will do in a pinch. If you have a pressure cooker, use it here.
3 lbs rutabagas
2-3 tablespoons butter
2-3 tablespoons cream or half and half
Plenty of salt and black pepper.
Peel and dice the rutabagas. Place in plenty of cold, lightly salted water. Cover and bring up to the boil. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer for 30-45 minutes, until the pieces are fork tender. Drain well, mash or rice the rutabaga and return to the pan. Cook the puree over medium/low heat stirring often for 10 minutes, or until the puree has steamed away the residual water. Add butter, cream and salt and pepper. Stir to blend and serve hot.
Took me time to read all the comments, but I enjoyed the article.
Posted by: buy essay | January 13, 2010 at 03:30 AM