The Romance of the Rutabaga

The children sit around an ancient, rickety table on matching, backless wooden benches waiting eagerly to fill the pits in their stomachs with something warm. They wear dirty, tattered clothing and expressions of eager anticipation. Mama ladles broth into bowls for each of them from the blackened pot hanging above a fire in the corner of their one-room home. The four walls barely insulate from the cold outside. The broth is made hearty by a softened, orange fleshed root vegetable; the rutabaga. This is the kind of imagery I get every time I see rutabagas at the grocery store. It’s a romantic notion of the past, and one that I experience when I cook them. Their stinky aroma, slightly bitter, earthy taste and odd texture add to the experience. I love rutabagas. Lol.