Pickled Turnips

Chiogga beets from our garden give these pickled turnips a pink hue. They're wonderful to look at, sitting in a two-quart jar on our kitchen counter. They're even better to eat.

Making these pickles is a snap. Supposedly they are of Middle Eastern origin. People with Middle Eastern backgrounds have assured me they have tales to tell of pickled turnips. One of those readers has requested the recipe, so here it is, from the Joy of Pickling, by Linda Ziedrich.

2 pounds small turnips, peeled and cut into wedges

tops of 3 celery stalks

4 garlic cloves

1 small red beet, peeled and cut into wedges

2 cups white wine vinegar

2 cups water

3 tablespoons pickling salt (or additive-free sea salt)

Pack all the vegetables into a clean jar. Combine vinegar, water and salt and stir until salt is dissolved. Pour brine over vegetables. Seal jar with a non-reactive cap and let stand a week or 10 days before opening. Pickles will keep at least a month in the refrigerator.

A Final Flurry of Pickling

It's been a race to get my Pickling Powerpoint ready for presentation at the local historical society this morning. Lots of pickling and photos of pickles. I think we have enough pickles to last us through the winter. Some of the best pickles are the easiest, such as these Middle Eastern-style pickled turnips with beets. They simply marinate in a big jar with a vinegar brine, taking on a pinkish hue from the beets harvested from our garden. We brought some of these pickled turnips to a recent presidential debate party and everyone fell for them--even those who normally don't like turnips. (Well, they hardly taste like turnips after they've pickled.)

Some non-traditional pickles fall into the category of "quick." These fresh chunks of pineapple are tossed with mint leaves, then submerged in a brine made with cider vinegar, brown sugar, cinnamon and fresh cranberries. They can be eaten almost immediately. Pack them into pint jars and stash in the fridge. They'd be a great condiment for the next pork roast, no?

To demonstrate the classic method of pickling with alcohol, I made these pears preserved in Calvados. I have fond memories of bicycling through Normandy (a lifetime ago, it seems) where everything is made of apples, from the crepes to the cider to the brandy. Calvados is highly refined. Another local branch water--chouchen--is sweet and extremely potent. I'll be saving these sultry looking pears for a special occasion, perhaps a holiday dessert buffet.

These are red onions drenched in a brine of vinegar, chipotle en adobo, garlic, orange zest and mescal. Very easily assembled, this condiment is ready to consume the next day but will keep indefinitely in the refrigerator. I see it in a taco stuffed with pork carnitas, or perhaps on the next barbecue sandwich.

These pickled mushrooms remind me of our wedding, back in the last century. My wife and I made most of the food ourselves--mostly pickles, cheeses and other preserved foods that we were able to start weeks ahead, then present on a grand buffet with a basket of assorted breads. It was just the thing for a backyard October feast.

When you are growing your own food--sometimes more than you can possibly consume--pickling presents itself as a vital option. We had four jalapeno plants that produced an abundance of peppers. I recently pulled the plants to create a new garlic bed and found myself looking at two pints worth of peppers. Preserved in a vinegar brine, they will make a nice condiment for spicy foods.

Finally, I am occasionally reminded that you can pickle almost anything, including meats and seafood. Pickled pig's feet, corned beef, pickled herring and of coarse gravlax, or pickled salmon.

The process in fact is extremely simple if you can get your hands on two or three pounds of salmon. Create a dry mix of coarse salt, sugar and cracked pepper and spread it thickly over a fillet of salmon, along with heaps of chopped dill. Make a sandwich with a second fillet, cover the whole thing with a sheet of aluminum foil and weight it down with a big can of hominy. Place in the refrigerator for three or four days, turning the salmon sandwich a couple of times daily. In the end, you will have delicious gravlax. Cut into thin slices and serve with black bread and your favorite, ice-cold vodka.

We are thinking we need to throw a pickle party. What do you think?

Kids Make German Meatballs

More than a month ago the kids in my "food appreciation" classes here in the District of Columbia peeled a bunch of turnips and turned them into sauerruben, basically the turnip equivalent of sauerkraut.

The turnips were mixed with sea salt and pressed into a heavy-duty plastic bucket, where they have remained in one of the colder back rooms of our house ever since, fermenting ever so peacefully.

Today, I decided, was time to unveil our sauerruben to the kids who made it. But I couldn't see just plopping a lump of fermented turnips in front of them. We needed something to create pizazz, some buzz. We needed a show-stopper food partner that would give these turnips the lift they deserved.

Why not...meat balls?

By way of the internet I was steered right back to The Joy of Cooking and a recipe for German meatballs that I've modified slightly. What could be better than German meatballs to go with sauerruben? That, in fact, is a very good question, since I completely struck out when I went searching for recipes that employ sauerruben in an actual meal--even in my small collection of German cookbooks (lots of sauerbraten, sauerkraut, sausages--no sauerruben).

There are plenty of reasons for caution when cooking meat and with children. Hygiene would be first and foremost. Keep the meat cold. Have the children wash hands frequently. Maintain immaculately clean work surfaces. Otherwise, they love the process of making meatballs--squishing all the ingredients together in their fingers, rolling the mix into balls.

They especially love eating meatballs. I served them with a coq au vin sauce I just happened to have in the fridge (we called it "gravy"). And they gobbled up the fermented turnips, this after all kinds of moaning and groaning and face-making when we passed the bucket around. They do give off quite a distinctive stench, these fermented turnips, but the taste is oh so nutty and sweet, with a horseradish-like bite.

For the meatballs: In a mixing bowl, place 1/2-pound each of ground beef, ground pork and ground veal (or turkey). Add two beaten eggs; 1/4-cup diced onion, sauteed until lightly browned; 3 tablespoons chopped parsley; 1 1/2-teaspoons salt; 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce; 1/2 teaspoons mild paprika; zest from one lemon, finely chopped; 1 teaspoon lemon juice; and one thick slice rustic bread, soaked thoroughly in milk.

Using both hands, squish all of the ingredients together until well mixed. Form into 2-inch balls and brown in a skillet with butter or extra-virgin olive oil. Pour 5 cups beef broth into the skillet. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat, cover and simmer until meatballs are cooked through, about 12 minutes.

Use the broth to make a gravy. Serve the meatballs warm, with a spoonful of gravy over each and tangy, fermented sauerruben au naturel on the side.

Dark Days: Coq au Vin

Throughout the winter CSA season, our farmer friend Brett will occasionally include a chicken with our weekly produce delivery.

This is one of his laying hens. People sometimes tell Brett the chicken is tough. Brett says, cook the chicken longer. By that he does not mean an hour or two. He means three or four hours.

This particular chicken, cooked with red wine, bacon, garlic and beef broth, braised four hours in the pot. Still, it was on the chewy side. But oh, the flavor. Dark and gamey, that's how I like it.

I had also been watching carefully the progress of the turnips in my garden. I had a hard time getting the turnips to germinate this summer. Rutabagas, too. Was it too hot? Did I not water the seeds enough? I don't know the answer. I planted seeds twice and still did not get a full crop. But the turnips that did finally take hold are beauties. I can see their white flesh rising out of the ground all the way from the front stoop.

The two I pulled yesterday were baseball size, perfectly round with rich soil clinging to the roots. These are not the turnips I would normally plant for greens. But I tasted the leaves anyway and they were delicious--sweet. I decided to include them in a braise with the other greens from our weekly package.

So there you have our totally local meal for the week: coq au vin, turnips mashed with blue cheese and braised greens seasoned with apple cider. Homely, yes, but very satisfying. Just the thing for a winter's night.

The turnips came out so well--sweet, with just a hint of horseradish--that I am convinced to plant more and pay better attention to them in the coming year.

Dark Days: Making Sauerruben

You're probably wondering, What the heck is sauerruben?

You've heard me describe plenty of times making sauerkraut. Sauerkraut, as everyone knows, is fermented cabbage. Sauerruben is the same thing only made with grated turnips.

This week I had to shorten the "food appreciation" classes I teach at a private elementary school here in the District of Columbia because a client insisted I cater a cocktail reception. In fact, we've been pretty busy with holiday parties around here. I wasn't able to pull together the Dark Days meal I had planned either.

So I'm cheating a little and using fermented turnips to fulfill my commitments to both "food appreciation" and the Dark Days Eat Local Challenge this week.

The formula for making fermented turnips is the same as for making fermented cabbage, and you can use sauerruben pretty much the same way you use sauerkraut. Peel and grate enough turnips and/or rutabagas from the local farmers market or your garden to get five pounds. Toss the grated turnips with 3 tablespoons pickling or sea salt. Pack the seasoned turnip tightly into a crock or a heavy-duty plastic bucket. Cover with a ceramic plate and weight it down with a heavy glass jar or a plastic container fills with water. Cover everything with a tea towel.

Put the bucket in a cool, dark place. In my experience, the bacteria that perform the fermenting like a temperature around 68 degrees. The higher the temperature, the faster the bacteria will work. Lower temperatures slow but do not stop the process. It should take several weeks. Check the bucket occasionally and wipe away any mold that accumulates.

I was thoroughly impressed with the way the kids in my classes stuck to the chore of peeling and grating the vegetables. I used a 50/50 mix of turnips and rutabagas. The larger rutabagas were a challenge for the kids to peel. We had lots of vegetable peelers, but only three graters, and two of them were the small, one-piece kind rather than the big box grater. You really had to grate with some precision and persistence to get the job done on those small graters. The kids put their heads down and got the job done.

One of the great pleasures in life is getting a full blast of the aroma that comes off a freshly peeled turnip. It smells more like horseradish than you might expect.

For two batches of turnips--or 10 pounds total--I used one of the heavy-grade, 2 1/2-gallon plastic buckets from the local paint store. The only thing that's ever been in that bucket before was sauerkraut, so I am confident it's safe. Ten pounds will fill the bucket about half-way. Press the turnips down as firmly as possible with your balled-up fist. The salt will already be drawing the liquid out of the turnips. The liquid should come up over the top of the turnips. Press the ceramic plate (you can also use a round piece of non-resinous wood, such as oak or ash) so that the brine come up over the edges of the plate. The turnips must be completely submerged during the fermentation process to avoid spoilage.

At this point, I have no idea how we are going to use our sauerruben. But I guarantee the kids in my classes will be asking for it.