I Love Rutabaga

Rutabaga is like the last kid to be chosen for kickball. It’s not a vegetable that typically evokes emotion but when I was a child I became a super-fan. My grandmother BeBe, from Ireland’s County Kerry, served it in a rough mash, braided with butter, seasoned with lots of salt and pepper.

I know it’s unusual at Sunday supper to lust for rutabaga instead of mashed potatoes but I appreciated its bitterness and crunchy texture. It had more flavor, somehow. I didn’t understand it as complexity at the time. All I knew was it was both sweet and bitter and that it was dynamite when I had it with her caramelized pieces of lean pork roast.

The other day, I noticed a purple and orange root settled next to the mixer on my bread rack. Its waxed skin wrinkling. I was making homemade chicken stock and I thought, hmmm. I wonder if I could dice that and add it to the leek, chicken, and kale soup I was winging?

Earlier in the day I had watched Alton Brown’s video on making chicken stock, because the few times I have made it, I never wound up with something that had any savory depth of flavor. With no real plan for the stock other than adding what was in the crisper to make some soup, it occurred to me I could chop up the rutabaga and toss it in. But, I have never had rutabaga in soup. I wondered, was there something terrible that happens when you add this modest tuber to soup? Does it make it unpleasant? Add off-flavors? Makes it watery?

The stock simmered for six and a half hours. The whole house was scented with roast chicken, onion, carrot and bay. Once chilled, and after a night in the refrigerator, the stock was the epitome of a well-made fancy hotel bed – layers of crisp sheets and bedding combining to provide a luxurious foundation. Definitely worth the risk of tossing in rutabaga. And now I may have something new to crave on Sundays.

Rutabaga, Kale, Leek and Chicken Soup

4 servings

Ingredients

2.5 quarts chicken stock (half of Alton Brown’s recipe, i.e. one chicken carcass instead of two) https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/alton-brown/chicken-stock-recipe-1914051

1 tablespoon butter

1 medium sized leek, cut off the dark green part, thoroughly clean, halve length-wise and slice cross-wise

I bunch Lacinato kale, washed. Cut off the stems and slice into half inch strips

I half medium sized rutabaga, peeled and diced into half inch pieces

8 ounces pieces of chicken, torn into small pieces

1/4 serrano pepper, seeded and diced into small pieces

¼ cup dry vermouth

Half cup grated parmesan cheese

In a medium size sauté pan, over medium heat add the butter. Once melted, add the chopped leeks and sauté for 5-7 minutes until softened and lightly browned. Remove from heat.

Pour the chicken stock into a pot and put over medium heat. Add chicken pieces, leeks, sliced kale, diced rutabaga, serrano pepper and vermouth. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Cook over medium heat until rutabaga is tender but not mushy (approximate 15-20 minutes). Ladle into bowls and sprinkle with parmesan cheese.

Guest Post – We’re All On the Same Path

Green Lake, Seattle

By Rachel Chittick

We are coming up on 8 weeks since the first US case of coronavirus was confirmed just north of where I sit in Seattle. In that time, the stress and hysteria seem to have begun doubling about as fast as the virus itself. Adults are working from home or heading to workplaces that can’t be run remotely with an ever-increasing sense of caution. Students are stuck at home unable to be with their friends and without all the fun benefits of a snow day. Tourist destinations, event venues, restaurants and places of worship are all struggling to adapt to the new reality, either moving online or shutting their doors altogether. The highways are empty but so are the grocery store and drugstore shelves.

As you can guess, people here, as around the country, are on edge. We are all feeling uninformed and unprepared, threatened and protective, inconvenienced and angry. What all that really means is that we are afraid, and the feeling is so intense that it is sometimes hard to tell whether the tightness in my chest is a sign of anxiety or a symptom of respiratory illness (which of course takes me right back to scared).

This morning I went out for a walk to burn off some of the crazy. It was 35 degrees and a strong wind made it feel even colder, yet the Green Lake bike path was packed, at some points making it hard to maintain the magic 6 ft bubble. Clearly, we were all looking for an outlet for our stress.  I was furious with all these people for being out in public and not taking the guidance about social distancing seriously. Yes, I was on the path too, but in my view, my silent rant, anger, and judgment absolved me of any guilt. Though I didn’t express my fury verbally, my face is not one to hide a thought or feeling, and I’m sure my ire was visible.

Ahead I saw two families, clearly, friends, approach each other. A woman in one group yelled to the other group in jest “Hey, you’re not supposed to be walking with other people.” Her lighthearted humor sat there in stark contrast to my inner enforcer’s rant. It stopped me in my tracks, and it made me think of an Instagram video I’d watched earlier in the day by the writer, Elizabeth Gilbert.

Admitting to some overreacting of her own, Gilbert shared that when texting her family that she was returning early from her travels due to the coronavirus, she’d initially done so with a great sense of panic and heightened language. But when she read her words before hitting send she thought, “Is this how I want to be talking right now? There is enough trauma in the world right now. Do I need to add drama?” Mindfully changing her words before sending, to simply state the facts, she decided she didn’t want to add to people’s stress and panic but rather wanted to be a calming influence. I think that’s good guidance. We should all be mindful of what our words (and also our faces) communicate with the people around us. We are all scared and uncertain, and I for one plan keep in mind a mantra I borrowed from Brené Brown, “try to be scared without being scary.”