Me and the Beet

Beets taste like dirt. I tried hard. I really did.

My mother insisted on serving sliced, canned beets for every holiday dinner. I looked forward to most holidays because that was the only time I got to see my aunts and uncles and cousins, and occasionally we’d have distant relatives who smelled of moth balls fly in from Florida. They always brought me a gift. But knowing the vast dining room table would be filled with many dishes, I knew that there was always the lurking red horror. My mom served pickled beets from a can.

That holiday table seemed so much larger in my mind. But in this photo, I kid you not, beets will be forthcoming.

These red beauties looked so good, but I believe I was scarred in more ways than one when I was forced to choke down the vile discs of canned hell. The holiday cheer swiftly left when even my faithful rescuer, our Dalmatian, wouldn’t take beets when passed to him under the table. Beets. Man, I hate them.

When the Go Go’s had their only one-and-done hit song in the 80’s, all I could think about was a root crop that tasted like compost. When I thumbed through my favorite seed catalog, I saw that some beets are only used as cattle feed. My opinion of the root went even lower. In some places, entire railroad empires thrived on delivering sugar beets to refineries for processing into sugar. My view of the beet had become one of disdain. Why eat a filthy root crop that must be refined and is planted solely for the sustaining of bovines?

But then all the people kept talking about beets. Beets this and beets that. It got ranked as a super food by all the bark-eating health nuts. My health-crazy co-workers began smelling up the break room with wilted beet greens in garlic and olive oil. I was befuddled. People actually like to eat dense tubers of soil? Its like kale. I mean, come on, no one really likes kale, its a faddish food that isn’t much more than a lawn weed sold for its trendy nutrients. Right?

Well, OK, I do like kale. So if I like kale, I figured maybe I just have never had a proper beet. My mother’s canned monstrosities were surely the lowest rung of food, sort of like a canned cranberry sauce served as a ribbed cylinder on a plate. I had to give the beet a second chance. After all, as a gardener, a top-shaped root crop is a beautiful thing; pulling a lovingly grown root-food from carefully tended soil satisfies the gloomiest soul. Its like therapy.

So I grew some beets.

I chose some red beets. I don’t know why, those were the kinds in my nightmares. I grew them, and they liked my soil. I can grow stuff pretty well. The big day came to slice into one and sample the root of my labor. It was a home-grown, organic, and heirloom – that should make it better, right? What could possibly go wrong?

I sliced the greens off, beheld the lovely rich red flesh, and then got a whiff of the dirt. Ugh. I was transported right back to 1978 at mom’s dining room table on Sageplum Street. See, it scarred me. The nose has the longest memory.

I used my red beets as compost.

Fast forward a few years, the trauma of red beets had faded. I saw some lovely golden beets in the store and thought, I should do this again. With this kind, it might be different. I came from the grocery with a bundle, they really are impressive plants: golden-orange bulbs, lush dark green foliage, nice ribs in the leaves, beautiful!

I roasted the cubed golden beets with a light coat of olive oil and a gentle sprinkle of salt. And the greens – they were begging to be eaten – I wilted in a pot with a little hot olive oil, a bit of minced garlic, and some crushed red pepper (which is a combo that works for any kind of green). Now, I have to be honest, the golden beets were edible, but just so. There was that loamy-earthy dirt flavor that was present, just not as much as the red ones. The greens, however, were quite good. I ate them all. But every once in a while that waft of dirt would come though. Visions of mom and her canned pickled beets came and went. But I tried it. I gave beets more than a chance.

I really want to like beets because I like to grow root crops. I see those golden beets in the grocer every time I go and they are still tempting beauties. Maybe in another ten years I’ll repeat this whole painful exercise.