I was less than impressed to open my Abel & Cole veg box this morning to find this (see above). Carrots, parsnips, potatoes, leeks, so far so boring, but useful at least. But there on top of them all was one of those roundy planet-shaped things with alien antennae.
It is a kohlrabi. I had my suspicions but I had to check. This is what happens when you say you don't want something in the ready-picked box, as you can online each week. The catch being you can't choose the replacement - it's a bit of a Deal Or No Deal lottery.
Inevitably the veg folk fob you off with the boring or odd stuff no one else wants. Their defence? They are celebrating the diversity of British veg and supporting renegade farmers who grow stuff no one really wants to eat.
The veg box packers know exactly which stuff we hate, they've told me as much, but they have to offload it somehow.
I don't have too much of a problem with this. Hurray for odd veggies and their champions. And bollocks to market forces
The kohlrabi's arrival at least gave me the opportunity for a nose through the Riverford Farm Cook Book, which doubles as a sort of glossary for lesser known and liked fruit and veg: Jerusalem artichokes, chard, escarole, farro...
Riverford admits kohlrabi are weird-looking and resemble Teletubbies and Mr Men, but claim that "customers who had previously shown some resistance were intrigued by their culinary possibilities and, for the most part, converted."
The last time I got one I assumed I could leave it to hang around for ages like the other root veg and it would still be ok, but when I came to use it (can't be sure of how long I left it exactly, more than a week, less than two) it was spongy like a squash ball and looked quite ill. So I binned it. And I hate wasting stuff.
Apparently you should think of the flavour as like "mild turnip", which doesn't fill me with excitement, nor does the story of the German who once worked at Riverford and "ate them like apples".
There are two recipes. Kohlrabi, Apple and Walnut Salad, which I'm not going to insult your intelligence by repeating in great detail: peel and chop three kohlrabis, mix with lettuce, apple, watercress, toasted walnuts and lemon juice and dress with a walnut oil and Dijon dressing.
Kohlrabi and Peanut Stir-fry sounds more promising. Although I've given up peanuts for Lent, or for good, whichever lasts longer, due to an incident with some peanut butter.
This recipe is promisingly introduced with the words "Kohlrabi is a worthwhile vegetable but needs lots of help. The Asian seasonings give it a real boost."
They better had. It's certainly a one-pot-single-girl-needs-dinner-ready-in-five-minutes-so-she-can-dash-out-again-or-slouch-in-front-of-tv wonder.
Basically, stir fry crushed garlic, ginger, carrot, kohlrabi and chilli for a few mins, whack in cooked noodles, sugarsnaps, green beans and spring onions, then at the last minute stir through three tbsps hoisin sauce, two tbsps soy sauce, two tbsps water, one tsp peanut butter (PEOPLE: GET THE FRESH PEANUT-ONLY STUFF FROM WHOLEFOODS OR MAKE YOUR OWN IN A FOOD PROCESSOR. The nasty whipped stuff is for smearing on toast for midnight feasts or hungover mornings only), and two tbsps crushed and toasted peanuts.
One teaspoon seems a bit stingy to me. I'd whack in four or five. But then I am in peanut rehab.
Make sure it's hot, and serve.
All in all, this book is quite a winner. Take the celeriac entry for example. No one likes getting those in their veg deliveries, but there are recipes for the classic French holiday Celeriac Remoulade as well as some clever-looking spicy celeriac chips (Spiced Celeriac with Lemon). Plus there is a good mix of comfort, cosmopolitanism and innovation in the spread of recipes: Chocolate Beetroot Brownies, Bubble & Squeak Soup, Apple and Amaretti Tart, Black Rice with Black Kale and Truffle Oil, and Ceviche. I rest my case.
In fact, I'm going to switch my Abel & Cole box for a Riverford one for a few weeks to show my appreciation. There are some inspiring stories in the book from founder Guy Watson too, who pretty much pioneered organic veg deliveries.
Nigel Slater's veg book Tender (volume one), out late last year, is wonderful on the veg front. It's the maestro's ode to veg, and makes for very satisfying reading. Unfortunately I sacrificed mine to my mother, owing to my having been sent it for inclusion in The Independent's 50 Best Winter Reads (I'll let you skip straight to entry no.10. Flicking through 50 pages is really annoying), and her showing up in London before I'd had chance to buy her a birthday present.
I also sacrificed an entire box of Pierre Hermé macaroons, freshly queued up for in Paris the day before. God how I regret that. But thank everything and everyone they are now available in Selfridges and a London shop is soon to open. I amsaving myself for a gluttonous visit, will keep you posted...
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