I’ve lived a sheltered beetroot life. We didn’t eat it much at home when I was little; and my exposure was limited to a mild curiosity about the small pickled purple variety which I spotted in jars (next to the silverskins) in the supermarket aisles. They were as alien to me as a cornichon.
Then I discovered fresh beetroot. Vibrant; versatile; and packed with health benefits (apparently) this urbanite is ashamed to admit I first encountered them in my weekly veg box, awash with mud, leaves still in tact. Baked, steamed, grated or blended, I’ve come to love the bulb as an accompaniment to fish and meat; and learnt to avoid wearing white clothing as the stains are a menace—who knew borscht could create sartorial casualties.
Anyway, this time we made coleslaw with cabbage and carrots, but the colours dazzled me; no deep purple today, but bright pink and yellow—an antidote to grey skies and a winter’s morning.
Tags: Farmer's market