The Importance of Eating Turnips

As far as I'm concerned the turnip (I resisted the cliche 'humble turnip' though it wasn't easy) is the Erik Satie of the vegetable world; looked down on by lovers of vegetables regarded as more accomplished, aparagus perhaps the Debussy of the greengrocer's shop, but offering lots of surprises and an ever-present strength.

A couple of varieties will feature in this evening's root salad, just peeled, cut into matchsticks, and teamed up with carrot, kohl rabi, celeriac (perhaps it's going too far to call celeriac the JC Bach of the plate, wrongly overlooked in favour of its more famous relative) and beetroot, only the celeriac needing blanching. Exceptionally virtuous certainly, but with real gourmet merits as well, the turnip will stand out in this company. It makes a fine soup too, Creme a la Vierge; takes some beating in the form of glazed baby versions as a Spring accompaniment to lamb; and with only a couple cooked with the spuds for a mash lifts it in the flavour stakes. 

With our supermarkets never out of flashier veg imported from the rings of Saturn I think we need to make an effort to get back to our roots, as it were, and make the most of the turnip and others of its ilk, including the carrot and even the much despised Swede (logical that, given the Swede is actually a turnip, though not one I'd be for eating raw). I experimented with a mash that incorporated spuds, turnip, Jerusalem artichokes and parsnip the other day, which was far more interesting than the ordinary spud-only type, and as a bonus had matured in flavour overnight when I used the few spoonfuls remaining as the basis of (I can't bring myself to use the word rissoles) 'potato cakes' mixed in with some chopped ham, cheese, and a couple of eggs. And anway, I really wanted to use that title.