Dialogue about a root (vegetable)
Dialogue I didn’t imagine: “Dad, what’s the difference between a turnip and a rutabaga?” Before we continue, this is not the context for a smart-aleck joke. It shows the level of parental-filial discourse that has evolved over the years around the kitchen. Not the basement; that’s a whole other ball of wax.
So, the difference. No time for a quick jog over to Wiki on this one. “Well, a rutabaga is the name for a small turnip that they use down in the states. It’s really the same thing. We’ve had them for hundreds of years, because it’s one of those vegetables that keeps well in the root cellar through a long winter”. And the reply: “Is that why they taste so bad?”
I can’t take it personally any more. Turnips are necessary for a healthy meal. They provide fibre and vitamin A and C. Did I mention that they hold up well through long cold winters in the root cellar? Forget those oranges, kids; here is your glass of turnip juice. Not exactly. I can hide the colour in a good feed of yellow potatoes, but it’s the lumps that give me away, along with the occasional peeling that the dog stole and then neglected behind the sofa.
I once had a dream of becoming a turnip farmer. I’d plant my seeds with one of those drill affairs that my grandfather had in the back of the barn. I could hoe my rows with diligence, and then I’d dig, and grade, and wax my crop carefully. Finding out that there was a) no market and b) no money to be made, I decided to pursue other fields, if you’ll excuse the pun.
Anyhow, my meal of pot roast with some sliced turnip in the bottom of the clay pot was well received. Unfortunately, my roaster developed a fatal crack during its oven visit, and has now been recycled. Maybe that’s why archeologists are always finding terracotta fragments in their digs. Clay pots are wonderful, and ephemeral. I’ll miss you, old friend.
