Thursday, May 22, 2008

Those big yellow turnips

I wasn't sure what to call this because the thing has too damn many names. Depending on where you live, it's a rutabaga or a swede or a neep or a yellow turnip. Please leave comments with other names if you know what I'm talking about but call it something else. This is where Latin species names come in handy, because no matter how many other names it has and might share with other plants, it can unambiguously be referred to as Brassica napobrassica.

The genus Brassica also includes cabbages, cauliflower, broccoli, and Brussels sprouts. If you are not a fan of that stuff and are going 'ick' right now, remember that turnips and rutabagas are the roots of plants, not the leaves and flower heads and stems, and they taste very different.

A rutabaga looks formidable in the produce department -- a big ugly yellow-and-brown streaked thing, like a giant gas planet only lumpier. In my part of the world they're harvested in the fall, and stored with a wax coating so that they're available right through until the next summer. They're cheap, usually sold per kilogram at a price comparable to that of beets or sweet potatoes.

I'm writing about them because I only just got the nerve to buy one and try cooking it -- and it was a complete success. There are lots of different ways to do it, and I figured the most foolproof one would be boiling and mashing. The only difficult part is cutting it up beforehand. You'll need a non-serrated knife that is long, strong, and sharp, and a large sturdy cutting board. Then you'll have to pare the rind off the pieces you cut.

After that, it was like boiling any other root vegetable -- cut the pieces into a manageable size, cover them with water in a pot, put the lid on, and boil. I let them simmer for about half an hour, then drained them and mashed them. The flavour is something like a parsnip or a carrot, not quite as sweet as a beet. The texture is a bit more fibrous.

It really was tasty enough that it could have been eaten with no toppings whatsoever. I ended up mashing it with olive oil and then mixing in some grated cheese and chopped green onions. One recipe I read recommended sour cream. Purists seem to go for salt and pepper and butter. I'm thinking ahead to my herb garden later in the summer and imagining that rutabaga would be great with basil and rosemary.

Anyways, that's an easy and foolproof way to cook a big cheap ugly vegetable. Google around a bit and you will probably find recipes for roasting or baking them, and suggestions for serving them raw on veggie platters or in salads.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Split red lentil soup

I'm not going to write an encyclopedia of lentils. There are so many kinds of lentils out there that that's what it would take to describe them all (and the Cook's Thesaurus has already done a good job of this). They're legumes, they're a staple food in many countries, they make for cheap and filling food, and they're a good source of dietary iron. See the link for pictures. I used red lentils, but any of the skinned and split lentils will work well for this recipe.

Ingredients

4 to 6 cups of your favourite soup stock
1 to 1.5 cups of lentils
Salt, ground cumin, chilli powder, and garam masala
1 cup fresh chopped cilantro

Directions

4 cups of stock with 1.5 cups of lentils will make a thick porridge, while 6 cups of stock and 1 cup of lentils will make a thin brothy soup. Decide what you want and adjust.

Bring the soup stock to a boil and add the lentils. Add a liberal shake of salt and each spice, and stir. Turn the heat down to low and let it simmer for 20-30 minutes, at which point the lentils will be disintegrating. Taste it and add more of whatever spices you think it needs more of. Add the cilantro, stir thoroughly, and turn the heat off. Let it sit with the lid on to stay hot until serving.

Serve with bread, or ladled over bowls of rice.

Notes

Cilantro is one of those things that people either love or hate. (If you don't like it, don't use it. The soup will be fine without it.) It's available in grocery stores and farmer's markets -- look for a shelf of herbs under the sprinklers or otherwise kept damp and cool in the produce section.

If the bunch you buy is too big to use in one day, unwrap it and let it sit loosely in a jar of water to stay fresh. It'll keep for a couple of days and then it'll start to go nasty, so use it up fast. You can also cut up the leaves, mix them with just enough cooking oil to coat them well, and freeze spoonfuls of this stuff in an ice cube tray to use later.

If you don't want to buy it, it grows like a weed. Get some coriander/cilantro seeds or pods (they're the same plant) and scatter them in a sunny flowerbed, or bury them shallowly in a large pot on your balcony. Clip and use as needed. When the weather is warm, check every day for flower heads. If you see them, cut them off and discard them, as the leaves will taste funny after the plant has flowered.

I am really not sure which of the dry spices is the most important for this soup. I don't use much garam masala, and I think you could get away without it. If there's a significant Indian/Pakistani population around, you'll find this stuff cheap in all the grocery stores. If not, don't bother with the generic yellow 'curry powder' for western tongues. Of course, since garam masala is a blend of spices, you can make your own, which is what many chefs do.

Cumin is probably the one I end up using the most of. It's a common spice in curries, and also gives Mexican dishes a distinctive flavour. It's great for enhancing the flavour of any dry bean or lentil.

Of course, the chili powder can be left out if you don't want it spicy. If you're a heat freak like me, you might try tossing a couple of whole dried cayenne peppers (skinny little red guys; in Asian groceries they might be called Thai chillis or bird chillis) into the pot when you add the lentils. I would not recommend trying to eat the chillis while eating the soup, but they'll add heat just by being in the pot.

This soup freezes well, so if you make too much just pop it in freezer-safe tubs. To thaw it out, let it sit on the counter or in the fridge until you can dump it out into a pot, and heat it up on the stove.