Rutabaga

It’s late March and green leaves as sharp as a dart are opening on the trees that shield this garden from the most bone chilling of the winter winds. The mornings are still crisp. You can see your breath. Stew weather. Unlike carrots, rutabaga becomes translucent when it cooks, making a casserole the glowing heart of the home.

Modern pasty recipes, especially those in the more touristy enclaves of Britain’s farthest southern county, stretch the recipe almost as far as Titus, swapping beef for pork, the rutabaga for apple, even daring to crimp the finished turnover on the top instead of at the side. I make one without meat, in which I use goat cheese and thyme along with the usual starchy filling of potato and rutabaga. It is filling, yet somehow soft and gentle, too.

There have been many highly original versions of the straightforward miner’s lunch (if you couldn’t come up to the surface for lunch, you took a warm pasty down with you, holding the thickly crimped edge with your grubby hands, then leaving it behind to appease the spirits of the mine) but I have rarely enjoyed one as much as those I have eaten in Cornwall. My pasty is (categorically) not a Cornish pasty. I precook my filling, you see, which Cornish cooks would never do. I cook the meat and vegetables before wrapping them in the pastry crust purely because it results in a pasty whose filling is especially tender and giving. I also use a proportion of butter in the pastry too. The similarity between my pasty and a Cornish one is purely in the ingredients: beef, potato, onion, and rutabaga. Chaucer was partial to a pasty—they appear in The Canterbury Tales, and in several of Shakespeare’s plays, including The Merry Wives of Windsor, All’s Well That Ends Well, and Titus Andronicus. We shall gloss over the small point that Titus uses Chiron and Demetrius’s bodies rather than the more traditional beef skirt steak. I do suggest you let the finished parcels rest for half an hour before baking, if you get the chance.

Rutabaga’s ability to sponge up liquid is shown to good effect when it is baked with butter and vegetable stock. When it is teamed up with potato and seasoned with garlic and a spot of mustard, it is as near to a main course as I feel you can safely get with this particular root.

I’m not suggesting we should inflict anything on our family or friends that they won’t eat, but there are worse ways of getting rid of an unwanted rutabaga than in this three-root mash. Works well with pretty much anything, even fish.

Even the smallest pinch of sugar will take any possible bitterness out of a rutabaga. The method that follows, of cooking the chopped vegetable with a small amount of butter and stock so that it takes on a deep, earthy richness, is one I use for carrots and turnips too. A very fine side order for roast chicken or something altogether more gamey.

The kormas of India, serene, rich, silken, have much in them that works with the sweetness of the parsnip—cream, yogurt, nuts, sweet spices. The Mughal emperors who originally feasted on such mildy spiced and lavishly finished recipes may not have approved of my introduction of common roots but the idea works well enough. Despite instructions the length of a short story, I can have this recipe on the table within an hour. For those who like their Indian food on the temperate side.

A pickle can be a symphony of flavors. Be creative with pickling spices—try throwing in the whole kitchen sink if you like. Experiment with different accents: cumin seeds and coriander for an Indian pickle; caraway, celery, and mustard seeds to evoke Eastern European flavors; ginger, garlic, bruised lemongrass, and a shot of soy for a taste of Southeast Asia. For a crisp pickle start with crisp fruits and vegetables; those that are just shy of ripe work well.

Rutabagas are a robust winter standby that lend themselves well to Asian dishes, where they can act as a sweeter stand-in for the turnips often used in Chinese, Japanese, and Korean cooking. I use chicken stock in this recipe because its richness brings all of the subtle flavors of the dish alive. The star anise lends this soup a fragrant, smoky sweetness.

Pretty much everyone has a neighbor or friend (kind of a June Cleaver type) who loves to cook and also somehow manages to be a CEO and raise three Rhodes scholars while spending three hours a day (minimum) in the kitchen. This is the recipe you give that person when she says, “Oh, I’d so like to make something for you.” This is a labor of love, and while not quite as physically intensive as, say, coal mining, it takes a bit of effort. But it’s worth it, because the recipe is big enough to be made in ramekins so it can serve as six little meals, and it stores well, too.

(A chunky mélange of rutabaga, carrots, potatoes, and parsnips with a hint of cheese) This hearty soup makes use of a couple of underused winter vegetables—parsnips and rutabaga—to great results. Make sure you have a good, sharp knife for cutting the rutabaga.

These glazed rutabagas look like topaz when cooked down with brown sugar, cider vinegar, and butter. My friend Jule adores rutabagas and thrift store jewelry. I came up with this dish for her.

Gina: This simple, beautiful braise of sweet root vegetables and shallots is a perfect complement to any roasted meat (a Thanksgiving turkey, Cornish hens, and pot roast come to mind). For the deepest, richest flavor, be sure to get a good brown color on the vegetables before adding them to the chicken stock. We finish the dish with sage and parsley, but any number of fresh herbs will do the trick, including rosemary, thyme, or oregano.

I’d like to champion these underused (and often maligned) vegetables by urging you to try them roasted. Roots are naturally sweet and become even more so during the roasting process.

Honey enhances the natural sweetness in rutabagas and parsnips. This is a perfect side dish for a holiday menu.

This hands-on French feast of vegetables and cuts of meat boiled in a savory broth is traditionally served in courses. It begins with the bone marrow on toast, then follows with the broth and the meats and vegetables. Feel free to serve it all at once, providing plenty of toasted bread and savory condiments for dipping.