Inflation is loosely described as too much money chasing too few goods. If there’s not enough to go round, the price of the good goes up. And it keeps going up until the money stops chasing it. Hence the likes of our man Milton Friedman talking about the importance of the money supply. The money, though, chases everything: from pints of Tim Taylor, to Dior handbags, to the humble turnip: or the fabled brassica rapa, a classic root vegetable grown widely across temperate climates and used for centuries by caught-short cooks, to bulk up stews and trays of lightly seasoned roast vegetables.
In a world of geopolitical conflict, breathless TV reporters warning of imminent climate catastrophe and, indeed, a wider sense of moral malaise across much of a decadent Western society, it would be easy to give little thought to the common turnip. Why indeed? A largely white skinned vegetable, that is somewhat forgettable, but has filled many a hungry tummy in times of need, delivering much needed vitamins in the form of K, A and C. Boil the green leaves of the turnip and wolf them down over a TV dinner and you’ll also be getting a good dose of lutein, a well-known xanthophyll which is one of the many naturally occurring carotenoids. Carotenoids, apart from being crucial in photosynthesis, also provide photoprotection which is, as you might guess, a sort of sunscreen for plants, helping protect them from molecular damage caused by the sun. Lutein is apparently absorbed from the blood into the eyes although researchers don’t seem to know exactly what it does. A question that, perhaps, should not be too vexing for us pub goers. Not with Strictly Come Dancing entering week 5. Too cute. Think turnip leaves: good for the eyes and move on.
As you might imagine, turnips have been around for a long time, with records of turnips and other relatives such as mustards and radishes found over Western Europe as early as 2000 BC. Given their obdurate nature, being good in a harsh winter, they spread through Asia and have long formed part of a sturdy back four in many a well-stocked store cupboard. A sort of Steve Bould of the vegetable basket. Much like Steve Bould – one imagines – turnips like cool weather, nothing too much, lest the roots dry out. They are also good for a broth alongside, say, a thick cut of bacon. D-licious. Serve with crumbled corne pone a type of fried bread that is found across many Southern diners in the US of A. Perhaps even, a large Dr. Pepper on the side. When in Rome and all that.
Somewhat surprisingly, the turnip is also found as a charge in heraldry. A charge being, for those who are more into Strictly’s Week 5 line up, an emblem that will appear on part of the escuthcheo or shield. Indeed, none other than the affable Prince-Archbishop of Salzburg, one Leonhard von Keutschach, chose the turnip in his own shield, and where it remains to this day. Three golden turnips also make up the coat of arms of Kauvatsa, a municipality in some remote pine covered part of Finland, where the marketing men of Dr Pepper have yet to conquer.
For scholars of World War I though, the turnip has more sober connotations. As background, in the summer of 1914 Germany was at war on two fronts: Britain and France one side, the burly ever up-for-it Russians on the other. This caused the Generals no end of stress until one came up with the Schlieffen Plan. The plan was basically for German troops to have a run at France via Belgium, roll them over, set up camp, and then focus on the Russians. The thinking being that the French were, perhaps, as soft as a ripe old brie. It turns out, they had a bit more in them for once, and the advance was ‘arreted’ by a prop-like General Joseph Joffre at the River Marne. What followed was what historians call the Race to the Sea, a series of battles and skirmishes between the Franco-British forces and the marauding Germans, as they both attempted to envelop the northern flank of the opposing army rather than heading straight for the sea. There was, despite all the skirmishing, no winner.
From October through to late November the battle raged at Ypres in Flanders resulting in shocking losses for both sides and by the end of 1914 the fighting had become a draining pow-pow as both sides dug in. With stalemate entrenched, as means of grinding the Germans down, the Royal Navy decided to scoot round the top and blockade all supplies heading their way, thereby exposing one of the great weaknesses of the German effort. They might have had an industrial juggernaut able to produce all the kit needed to make war, but the country was woefully short of food. Food for both battle weary soldiers and wide-eyed civilians and by the winter of 1916-17 the situation was dire, ushering in a bleak period known as the Turnip Winter, a period that led to widespread social unrest and revolts across serving forces in protest at the inedible rations. One historian wrote that German soldiers, “increasingly relied, for sheer survival, on one of the least appealing vegetables known to man”. The black market for Maris Pipers thrived.
To end on a lighter note, the humble turnip has a prize named after it: The Turnip Prize, an award that comes with a large side serving of satire in response to the Tate Gallery’s Turner Prize which is a high profile, albeit often controversial, award given to a British visual artist. The prize is named after the far from bland English romantic painter William Turner, who is known for his expressive use of colour, detailed landscapes and often some quite full-on marine paintings. The Turnip Prize, though, started in 1999 and is awarded in recognition of really rubbish art. Art that demonstrates a clear ‘lack of effort’ and is basically ‘shit’. Entries that show ‘too much effort’, or are not ‘shit’ enough, generally get disqualified. The Prize was cooked up by the regular drinkers of the George Hotel in the bustling market town of Wedmore near the Somerset Levels, after Tracy Emin’s famous My Bed was shortlisted for the Turner Prize. My Bed for those more interested in Week 5, was basically Tracy’s bed in a ‘dishevelled’ state inspired by a sexual, yet depressive stage, in her life. It courted a fair amount of comment, but it fired up the regulars the The George to such an extent they set up their own prize that is still going. The current holder of the Turnip is an exhibit titled Cue Jumpers, which is a pool cue, with two small jumpers attached: narrowly seeing off Red Tape, a roll of red insulation tape.
So, there we go, the common, decidedly tasteless turnip. Who would have thought it possible to wring out 1000 words on the Steve Bould of root vegetables.
Time, perhaps, for a jammy dodger.
Hepburnsays 