(Oh, all right, all RIGHT! The picture is of a TURNIP, not a Swede. Swedes are bigger. And darker. I know, I know. But could YOU pass up such a cool blog post title? I THOUGHT not.)

T’s sister asked her for a recipe using butternut and acorn squashes, because she’s being overrun. She then read to us what came in John Muir’s CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) box this week, and we were hit with pangs of longing. Butternut and Acorn squash, apples, pears, pomegranates, fingerling potatoes, tomatoes, peppers…And then we took a peek at what we would have been receiving from our CSA, if we were still in the U.S. — heirloom tomatoes. Honeydew. Eggplant. Peppers. “New world” foods. Oh, the longing. Oh, the sighs. (Sigh.)
PLEASE do not misunderstand: all of these lovely and beautiful vegetables and more are available to us in abundance here in the United Kingdoms of Great Britain. Some are even organically grown. Most of them are not locally grown, however. And that’s a difference we’re trying to live. Last year the paper printed a piece on “The Oil in Your Oatmeal,” which talked about the globalization of food, and the impact that has on the environment in the number of miles your organic, hand-picked, shade grown frou-frou arugula travels to get to your artisan-made hand-planed table. (Okay, we’re exaggerating wildly, but we’re from California — we know us.) Basically we were reminded that there’s not much profit in crowing that your oatmeal is organic if it’s flown five thousand miles from Ireland in time for breakfast. So, that led us to rethink what we ate, take the ‘Locavore Challenge’ and become even more annoyingly Californian while interacting with small farm growers and feeling the earth wherein our beets were grown, blah, blah, blah. Okay. Point: we try to eat within a 100 mile radius of where we are, no matter where we are. When we moved, we thought it would be even easier to do the same thing.
As mentioned, we found the gorgeous produce here, and were unsurprised that what the major grocery chains had was from far, far away — our oranges, for instance, came not from Spain but from South Africa. But even going to green grocers in the neighborhood we found green beens from Egypt, snow peas from Zambia, chives and rosemary from Israeland squash from Zimbabwe. We found an agricultural cooperative, and requested a UK produce box. What we have in the kitchen now is what is here and what is seasonally grown in the United Kingdoms. We have gorgeous curly red kale. We have potatoes and windfall apples. We have the largest head of cabbage this side of the sea, and massive, filthy dark orange carrots. And we also have — swedes! (Oh, okay, turnips. We just like the word ‘Swede’ better, because it gives us a giggle.) And we have less than no idea what to do with them.
Our friend, a Mrs. Fleckenstein-Busich is the only person we know in the United States who eats turnips. (No, wait. We are informed those were parsnips. Our friend is from a Midwestern State, though, and people eat completely different things there.) Anyway, she made them up with cheese and it looked like potatoes and cheese until we tasted it. And then it was like… cauliflower? With anise. It might have been nicer if it wasn’t a thorough surprise. (No. Again, We are informed, they would have been foul in any event.) Part of the regional haggis meal is “tatties and neeps,” which translates loosely to potatoes and turnips. (Turnips were originally called “neeps,” from the Latin word for turnip, napus, which also gave rise to the French word navet. The prefix ‘turn’ refers to their spherical shape.) We’re not sure still how neeps and tatties are ingested. Goethe said that turnips were good mixed with chestnuts… so you’ll have to watch and see what we do with these things. We don’t have any real ideas yet, but we’ll tell you: we’re going to LOVE THEM. We just ARE. Because we said so. (If you love them, we’re open to suggestions on how to love them as well…)
The unpacking goes apace! Since, as friend Canadian Jackie wisely pointed out, it didn’t take us a single day to pack it, we have to be patient with the process of unpacking things. Mainly we’re fine with the slight …er, disarray in the household. The largest issue is what to leave packed. Deadlines are coming up and D. is applying for fellowships. And yes — the sad news. We are going to move again. We didn’t really realize that coming in, but he’s hoping to specialize narrowly in a particular area of philosophy, so will need to be at a school which is more tailored to his specialty… which means that it’s just as well that our lease here is only for six months. We will be vacating by summertime, hopefully (prayerfully!) further north to St. Andrews. Our main concern before then is to get the house in company order to return the favor for the many meals we’ve shared with the denizens of Lauchope Lodge. The Moffat-eers have been very gracious, and we’re hoping to at least be able to offer them a meal if they’re in the city for shopping or business. Now that we’ve found our knives that looks like more of a possibility. (Nope, Laura, no Scrabble yet – we know where the box is, but it’s still half full… Bet on it – when we unearth it, we’ll send up a flare!)
Some of you have wondered about the weather. We’ve had some gorgeous gilded days and clear, crispy cold nights. This past week we’ve had a cold mist rising during the day, and it finally started raining again, an endless cold drizzle that leaves the streets mostly deserted. As it has gotten colder, the biggest question has been whether or not to leave the comforters packed — so far, so good. It is so wet that we find ourselves overheating when we try and bundle up, so we’re even saving our knitwear until it gets really cold — after all, it’s ONLY October. There is more yet to come. Still, there’s something to be said for the added exertion of walking — we may be wet, but we’re warm.
Yours in constant adventure,
– D & T