Adventures of the Palate

It has come to my attention lately that I am not an adventurous person.

I have friends reading this who might disagree. They would tell you that I have climbed mountains that require an ice axe and crampons. That I have moved to foreign countries where I do not speak the language. They would mention that I like to trek off into the wilderness with nothing more than a large backpack and my wits to sustain me; that I have ridden my bicycle over mountain passes still officially closed for the winter (not a great idea in the end, that one); traveled all over the world on my own; and even once taken the controls of a small airplane. But when it comes to food, I am realizing, I am a fairly conservative person.

This does not mean that I have not tasted some pretty unusual foodstuffs. When I am traveling I make it a point to try whatever is put before me, at least once. I’ve eaten raw horsemeat, boiled wasp larvae, and fried grasshopper. On the road I will try anything, but back in my familiar surroundings and culture I retreat to known favorites, taking comfort in the routine and repetition. I have been going to the same Mexican restaurant since I was a sophomore in high school and have only ever ordered the same thing (it’s darn good, I assure you). You may call this boring or unadventurous, I would say that I know what I like and I know what I do not like.

But do I really?

One of the great things about discovering food blogs is feeling like you have a wealth of friends in the kitchen, guides into the world of stove and stomach. And most of them are pretty compelling characters with a tale or two to tell, and I am a sucker for a good story.

So when I read Molly’s winsome words about a Chard, Onion, and Gruyère Panade, I was tempted. This is odd because I hate chard—I always have and I expected that I always would. But her description of a “mosaic of day-old bread, coarsely grated gruyère, wilted chard, and caramelized onions, doused in chicken broth and baked until swollen and silky,” was so compelling I had to give it a go. Before I knew it I was chopping chard and adding it to the pot. And the result—ah, the result—was so delicious I had to make it again, and again. I wanted to feed it to everyone I know. One lucky friend who did get to taste it sent a thank you email the next day that verges on fan mail.



Hmmm, perhaps I do like chard after all. And after trying Tamarind Soup with Chickpeas and Chard, and Braised Winter Greens with Chickpeas (all from Molly, she is a superstar), I knew for sure—I love chard. A recent foray into Chard Tzatziki (which I made twice in one week) and Sautéed Swiss Chard Ribs with Cream and Pasta from Elise just sweetened the deal. I’m so in love with chard that I am planting some in my garden this summer. I love chard.

Who would have thunk it?



My chard experience has caused me to rethink a lot of my childhood dislikes—do I really hate these things, or did I just hate them when I was young? My mother is not the most nuanced cook. Perhaps I only think I hate these things because I’ve not had them prepared in a way that I like. My mother’s ultra-healthy stir-frys and steamed vegetables were served without even the benefit of salt. Perhaps if they were finessed a bit more, we might get along better. I did, years ago, experience an eggplant conversion, so I know that is it possible. Perhaps these long disliked vegetables might also become friends.

The evidence is mounting in this department: cabbage, turns out if it’s braised I like it; collard greens, better than I ever imagined; kale is a little harder, but if stewed for a long time I can even get on the bandwagon there. It’s nothing short of miraculous, all these vegetables for which I had long ago given up hope.

But beets were going to be the real test, my Everest.

The only thing I ever liked about the steamed beets my mother served was the fact that when I was a little girl I could use them to stain my lips red. Everything else about them was repugnant to me—especially the flavor, which tasted like dirt or even blood. Once I was living on my own I swore to never eat beets ever again.

But then I fell under the word spell of another food blogger, Shuna. Her post on beets had me tempted—with stunning words and gorgeous photographs. Could I actually learn to like beets, my nemesis low these many years? I know of another food blogger who had a beet conversion this past year, would it work for me? We’re talking beets here, the worst of the worst.

So thoroughly did Shuna’s words mesmerize me, the next time I was in the grocery store I bought beets—three different kinds of them (I am a sucker for pretty colors). I prepared them as per Shuna’s instructions, scattered a few sprigs of thyme over the top, and popped them in the oven. Soon I was pulling out an entire baking dish of beets. Beets!



After letting them cool and rubbing off the skins, I cut them up and put them in a bowl with Meyer lemon juice squeezed over them (I think I might like anything as long as it has Meyer lemon juice squeezed over).



I tasted them gingerly—not much of the dirty flavor I remember from my youth, quite a bit of sweetness. In the end, not bad. Not bad at all. And how can you not like the color—what other vegetable looks like a tequila sunrise?



So I’ve been eating beets, stepping up to the plate whenever they are served, challenging myself to like them. At writing group I had beets with vinaigrette, then I took the plunge on a little bit of grated beets at the Whole Foods salad bar. Beets are pretty okay, and I love the color, but there was something not quite right. Beets are so often served with sour—vinaigrette dressing or pickled—and it seems an off match to my palate. Perhaps it is because I’ve never liked the sweet and sour much (hot and sour, yes, but not sweet and sour). My sweet beets clamored for a partner that might match them as an equal (my beets are quite picky and are not going to be satisfied until they find an egalitarian relationship, I support them in this wholeheartedly).

Then it hit me, orange. Yes, that’s what my beets need. A few experimentations with an orange dressing and my beets were singing. They are very happy now. I am happy now too. I can’t believe it, I like beets—but only if they’re roasted the way Shuna does them and topped with orange juice vinaigrette. You should try it. You never know, you might like beets too.

Come on, it'll be an adventure.

ORANGE JUICE VINAIGRETTE

1/4 cup freshly squeezed orange juice (I like to get some of the orange chunks in here)
grated zest of one orange
2 tbs. sherry vinegar (use red wine vinegar if you don't have sherry, but stay away from balsamic, the flavor will overwhelm the orange juice completely)
olive oil to taste
pinch salt
fresh thyme (about 1 tsp)

Whisk the orange juice, zest, and vinegar together. Begin adding olive oil in a slow drizzle, whisking until the mixture emulsifies and begins to hold together. Wisk in salt and thyme. Serve over oven roasted beets.



I like beets prepared this way so much that last week I ate an entire bunch of beets from my CSA in one sitting—an entire bunch! That was my dinner: beets.

Somewhere, somehow, hell must be freezing over.