Her face is whiter than the inside of a turnip. (Lebanese saying)
For the past two weeks, I’ve watched as list after list after list of all of the “best of 2012” movies, cookbooks, books, gadgets, tv shows, etc. have come out. There’s a part of me that loves this kind of listing; I relish the urgency that comes with it, as well as the fact that the entire practice hinges on the need to whittle down thousands of things to a bare bones list of ten (give or take a few). The very task seems impossible; in the world of cookbooks, how do you really compare a compendium on root vegetables with a collection of vintage cakes? Or books by bloggers vs. books by chefs? In a way, it’s a fool’s errand, one that strives to be objective, yet clearly has all the markings of strong subjective preference. But even though I realize the shortcomings that these lists contain, I always feel that they inevitably introduce me to things I otherwise never would have heard of (and I love them for that very reason), and also bolster my convictions about certain things; after reading these lists and finding something I’ve perused in bookstores, I’ll mutter to myself, “I knew that was a great cookbook” and feel 100% committed to buying it. I’ve decided that, as humans, we like to be told what to do, but only in subtle and and unobtrusive ways. And even more, we like to be told that we were right about something.
This is how I felt when I saw Diana Henry’s Salt Sugar Smoke in the New York Times‘ list of best cookbooks of the year. I had first flipped through this beauty one night when, while waiting for a deep-dish pizza, two friends and I (naturally) found ourselves in a bookstore. I was immediately attracted to its pictures and recipes, as well as its premise. I was even more hooked when I saw that there was a section devoted to Greek Spoon Sweets and Russian zakuski (pickled vegetables/appetizers; really, they’re what you eat when drinking vodka). But, even though you rarely find spoon sweets and zakuski side by side, not to mention that both preserving and pickling have fascinated me since I attended a pickling/jam making class almost two years ago, I resisted the urge to purchase (yes, even though a rarity, I do practice restraint occasionally).
During last week’s student-inflicted depression, however, I found myself again in a bookstore with this book in my hands. For the sake of rewarding myself for completing a semester full of office hours, complaints and grey hair-inducing meetings, this time I decided to go for it. My reasoning was simple: what, if not gravlax, chutneys and pickles, can bring a girl out of her funk?
Preserving, I’ve decided, makes you feel not only practical, but ready for anything. There’s something really virtuous about the whole process. If you take the time to chop and boil fruits and vegetables or simply to chop and layer the ingredients carefully in jars, in a matter of weeks or a month–sometimes even mere hours–you can reap the benefits of a few hours’ worth of labor. It’s also a way of safeguarding future meals; if something turns out bland, condiments are there to save the day. This is part of the reason I’ve always loved them. When faced with a bad sandwich or an unfortunate selection of sushi, a quality pickle or a nose-tingling gob of wasabi can elevate the meal. Maybe neither will end up being all that memorable, but, frankly speaking, both could have been a lot worse.
With this philosophy in mind, I busied myself on Sunday morning, chopping turnips, cleaning celery leaves and cloves of garlic and cutting a small chunk of fresh beet into purply-magenta slivers to try my hand at Middle Eastern Pickled Turnips. Since we leave tomorrow for Pennsylvania and won’t be back until after the new year, it seemed a good idea to begin to empty out the fridge, as well as to think of ways to make sure that I’m ready for any challenges the new year might bring. And, as far as I can tell, there will be challenges galore. But I really am ready to face them; I’ve had two positive dissertation meetings in the last week. The general consensus seems to be that I’m ready to finish and that, although I may have to be creative about the how, I can finish in the next six months. Even better, I’ve also been encouraged to consider (re)entering the real world, to go beyond the walls of the Ivory Tower in which I’ve spent the past twenty three and a half years of my life (yes, I’m counting K-12). Strangely, given everything my adviser was telling me, I had a brief moment when I wanted to ask if she had somehow found my blog and was speaking to me armed with the knowledge that she had discovered here. But since I know that this really can’t be the case (or can it?), I realize the conversation must have simply been the product of two practical minds that perhaps spend too much time thinking about the strangeness of academia.
You could say that I started the week off as pale as the brine in the first photo (or as a turnip), but, when I say that my mood is now as rosy as the final (and most recent) picture of my two triumphant and vibrant jars of pickled turnips (watching them transform has been like watching a dreary world become bright), believe that I speak the truth.
P.S. Once I return from break and open a jar of these pickles, I’ll update this post with a description of their taste. I have the feeling that they’ll be crunchy and sweet, but, thanks to the garlic and celery leaves, with an earthy kick.
Middle Eastern Pickled Turnips (Torshi left)
Slightly adapted from Salt Sugar Smoke
Yields 1 small 10-ounce jar and 1 large (1 pint-sized) Mason jar
The original recipe calls for 2 1/4 pounds small turnips, but I had only two large ones (1.3 pounds), which I chopped into 1 – 2-inch sized pieces. If you use really small turnips, after washing and peeling them, there’s no need to cut them into halves or quarters.
Also, even though I had less turnips than called for, since I ended up dividing my vegetables into two jars, I used more than the suggested 1 small wedge of raw beet-1 for the smaller jar and 3 for the larger one. I similarly changed the 4 suggested cloves of garlic into 3–1 for the smaller jar and 2 for the larger.
I also decided, based on previous pickling experience, to replace pickling salt with kosher salt. Because both are free of iodine and are similar in weight, this is a good substitution.
About 1 1/2 pounds white turnips, washed, peeled and cut into 1 – 2-inch sized pieces
handful of celery leaves
3 garlic cloves, peeled
1 small wedge raw beet, peeled and cut into 3-4 slivers
3/4 cup white wine vinegar
3 tablespoons kosher salt
2 1/4 cups water
-Once sterilized, remove your jars from the oven and begin filling them with the chopped turnips, celery leaves, garlic and beet slivers. I arranged mine in layers (not that it matters, since the next step will erase any attempts at artistic arrangement).
-In a small bowl, stir together the vinegar and salt until the salt has dissolved. Add the water to the vinegar mixture and pour over the turnips.
-If you’re uncertain about whether your jars have vinegar-proof lids, place plastic wrap over the top of the jar to prevent rusting. Then, seal with the lid.
-Store jars in a warm place (preferably by a window) and leave for 10 days before refrigerating. The pickles should last for six weeks.
Dining with Dostoevsky 
Love the tulips. Love the turnips. But mostly love you.
Enjoy your holiday:)!!!
Even the word zakuski is magical — I love a good old fashioned Russian kitchen dinner. Enjoy your holiday — you've earned it!
Ah, this is so beautiful! Your pictures are killing me, but your writing is just as gorgeous! And I am so happy to hear about you taking good care of yourself–you, my friend, are an inspiration! I hope you have a wonderful trip! Lots of Christmas cheer from down South! 🙂
Thank you, and the love, via turnips and tulips, is coming right back at you.
Thank you; I will! I'm currently still grading and plotting dissertation moves, but I already feel infinitely more relaxed. It must be the southwestern PA air. 🙂
Russian is kind of a magical language, Ann; zakuski definitely deserve all the love they can get.
And, thank you, I definitely will! I'm dreaming of Beurre and Sel jammers! And maybe making my own preserves to fill them…?
Thank you! I'm glad you liked the photos because once I put the plastic wrap (even if holiday-themed) on the jars to protect the lids, I was worried it had ruined it (clearly, practicality trumped aesthetics since I didn't want rusty pickles). Alas, I worry too much about silly things; perhaps there's a new year's resolution in the making…?
Lots of Christmas cheer to you, too! Hope your holiday prep is going well and that there's lots of Charlie Brown carols to make it endlessly merry! x
I really enjoyed this post. Do you have any suggestions for dining in Albuquerque? I would really appreciate some help. Thanks.
Beautiful, Katy! Your description of the fallacious top-10 lists is spot on. And I love the color of your jars at the end (leave it to gorgeous beets!). I've always been afraid to try canning for fear that the result not be very crunchy, which is a necessary quality of pickled things in my opinion. Maybe this lovely book you've introduced me to would help!
Hi Dexter, thanks for stopping by and also for your comment! Unfortunately, I don't have any suggestions for dining in Albuquerque. I've long wanted to travel to New Mexico, but I haven't quite made it there yet. But I do think that if you do a general Google search for Albuquerque, you might find some good suggestions; I usually trust magazines like “Food & Wine,” “Saveur” and “Bon Appetit,” as well as other food blogs that have a travel component. I hope you have a nice trip and if you find any restaurants/cafes/bars you really like, I'd love to hear about them for future travel!
Hello, Moriah! Thank you; the top-10 lists are one of those things that I both love and hate. It's kind of a hypocritical stance since I read each list I encounter, but what are you going to do?
And I definitely recommend this book; it's a lovely tome just to page through. It makes me want to turn every fruit and vegetable I buy into some kind of preserved good…Perhaps we should have a canning party?! 🙂