An Open Letter on Produce
Dear Fellow Americans, and in particular, grocery store cashiers and produce stockpeople:
With the holiday this week, it is time to talk about our food. Specifically I want to discuss food that does not come in a wrapper. We're starting to forget what those foods are and what they look like, and I'm concerned that we're actually afraid of food that doesn't come in a box, can, or plastic shrink wrap.
A few weeks ago I bought a butternut squash. This, below, is a butternut squash. I bake them filled with sausage and apples, or with butter, brown sugar, or maple syrup. My friend Liberty calls them 'nature's candy' and it's an apt name. However, when checking out, my friendly cashier held up said butternut squash and said "This is a yam, right?"
Um, wrong. This is a yam. Completely different. It's a tuber, so it grows underground and is what my brother calls one of the 'humble vegetables'. It figures prominently in your Thanksgiving meals as one of the mooshy side dishes that The Professor has vilified so roundly. Often confused with a sweet potato -- but with a butternut squash? Not so much.
With the holiday this week, it is time to talk about our food. Specifically I want to discuss food that does not come in a wrapper. We're starting to forget what those foods are and what they look like, and I'm concerned that we're actually afraid of food that doesn't come in a box, can, or plastic shrink wrap.
A few weeks ago I bought a butternut squash. This, below, is a butternut squash. I bake them filled with sausage and apples, or with butter, brown sugar, or maple syrup. My friend Liberty calls them 'nature's candy' and it's an apt name. However, when checking out, my friendly cashier held up said butternut squash and said "This is a yam, right?"
Um, wrong. This is a yam. Completely different. It's a tuber, so it grows underground and is what my brother calls one of the 'humble vegetables'. It figures prominently in your Thanksgiving meals as one of the mooshy side dishes that The Professor has vilified so roundly. Often confused with a sweet potato -- but with a butternut squash? Not so much.
Today I had to go to my second grocery store for the Thanksgiving dinner, to get more exotic produce to keep The Professor happy with crunchy and bouncy side dishes. The persimmons were pathetic, but at least present. They were trying to pass sweet potatoes off as yams. There were brussel sprouts that looked good, which weren't on my turkey day menu. I can almost never find brussel sprouts here, so I decided we were having some tonight and I bought a pound.
Cheerful checkout chick rang them up as tomatillos. I ask you, do you see the difference here? I will grant that they are both green and round . . .
but that is where the similarities end. The former is related to cabbage and your cruciferous veggies. The latter is used for salsa verde.
It is time to meet our produce! Take a stand and learn to recognize the difference between chard and kale, scallions and shallots, and napa cabbage vs. bok choy! You'll be so happy when you don't confuse cilantro with flat leaf parsley. Especially when you are working in the produce section. My friend Linda was visiting Texas and when she picked up some ginger root, the produce guy asked her what she used it for. AUGH! Ginger root is essential! Let's start with Indian food and your curries, and then move on to Thai, Vietnamese, Laotian, and that peanut butter/lime dip that gets kids to eat their crudites.
It's making me worry, people. I can't sleep because of the vegetable ignorance in this town. But I feel much better having gotten this off my chest.
-Yours, MA
Comments
I like butternut squash best cubed or mashed with salt, pepper, and butter. Mmmmm. Apples and sausages surely sounds worth a try, too, though.
It smacks of a hidden agenda to rid the world of the wonderful foods created and marketed with tremendous ingenuity and gargantuan advertising budgets, made of only sawdust and a few food-related substances wrapped in plastic that have been the main engine driving our economy for lo these last 50 years.
In aggravation,
Mr. Twinkie