Rutabaga

There are certain unfashionable meals I want to slap a preservation order on lest they disappear altogether. Faggots and gravy, traditional Midlands meatballs fashioned from pork innards and belly and wrapped in caul fat, is one such recipe (lardy cake—the name speaks for itself—is another). Pease pudding would be many people’s chosen accompaniment; others probably a pile of minted fresh peas. To my mind, the faggot needs a cooling sidekick to soften the blow of the liver and onions. A mash of rutabaga is good, but also this rather more subtle approach.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Not everything Feniger serves at her restaurant is typical street food, and here's a delicious case in point. The intriguing combination of shredded brisket, diced root vegetables, and apples is based on a recipe that Feniger's grandmother Sylvia Morgan often made for family meals in Toledo, Ohio. Roasted poblano chiles, a nod to the chef’s days at Santa Monica's Border Grill, add a spark of heat, and a fried egg makes it enormously satisfying.

Editor's note: This recipe is adapted from chef Paul Flynn of The Tannery in Dungarvan, Ireland. The French regard rutabaga as animal feed, but the Irish know better and use it in numerous beloved dishes. In this recipe, the root vegetable's sweet starchiness is the perfect foil for smoked mackerel, another ingredient for which the Irish have great respect.

Chef: Wylie Dufresne, 71 Clinton Fresh Food, New York City. Claim to fame: His restaurant won a rave review from The New York Times — now it's a hot spot. How he defines natural: "Clean, simple food tastes best; by happy accident it's also healthiest."

This puree is a wonderful vegetable side dish for any cool-weather braise or stew.

Rutabagas and buttermilk add wonderful taste and texture to the potatoes in this recipe.

This dish is even better served over couscous.