A vegetable freak’s story, continued. If you’ve missed part 1, here it is. Enjoy!
My studies completed, I moved to Scandinavia and my lettuce addiction unexpectedly jumped up at me. Lettuce was so obvious that I didn’t even need it on my shopping list. My very diet-conscious parents have always kept my plate green, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. So, I am one these annoying persons who can’t imagine pizza without lettuce. Or bread and cheese without lettuce. Or a sandwich without lettuce.
No, I am not ashamed to admit that I am a lettuce freak. Do you hear me, waiter? Don’t ever take my plate away before I have delightedly munched the ornamental lettuce leave. I HAVE NOT FINISHED!
Yes. That’s how bad it is. But I digress.
In my local scandinavian supermarket, lettuce came heavily wrapped in plastic. Option one: tiny lettuce hearts, ridiculously expensive. Option two: somewhat cheaper iceberg lettuce, local in the summer, otherwise from Spain. With the shameful purpose of getting my money’s worth of the vital greenness, I usually went for the later. Admittedly, overlooking two more layers of plastic, I spiced it up with a bit of arugula.
All this plastic gave me a guilty conscience. I loved it up north, but oh, how I missed that Breton farmer’s market! I subscribed to a vegetable delivery system whose website advertised beautiful, fresh, organic vegetables in returnable wooden boxes. It turned out that as far as the absence of plastic was concerned, the photos were, er, non-contractual. But that’s another story.
Half of the year, pretty much every week, there was a head of cabbage in the delivery. We were only halfway through last week’s, and the next one was already there. Cabbage was piling up in the fridge. My partner and I looked at each other in distress. Throwing food away was out of the question, but how on earth were we gonna get done with all this cabbage? It took us a few months to stop buying lettuce and start making coleslaw.
I realize now that for us who grew up in lands where lettuce can grow pretty much all year long, but also in a system where tomatoes can be found in the stores even when it’s snowing outside, winter vegetables were not much more than a necessary evil. Something you had instead. Something you ate because it was healthy, not tasty. That’s how my friend felt about broccoli. In our habits, in our culture, broccoli, like beetroot, had to be boiled. Cabbage had to be simmered for hours until all crispness was thoroughly destroyed. Crispness was to be found in lettuce – period.
Last saturday, we drove the 10 kilometers to the nearest grocery store, and came back happily with a huge head of local, organic cabbage. We feasted on a pile of roasted beetroot with goat’s cheese and rosemary. I suddenly realized that living here up north, and living frugally, I have trained my taste buds a little more. I don’t even look at this watery, tasteless iceberg lettuce in the store anymore. I rush straight at fresh, crispy local cabbage and juicy carrots. It is cripsness I want, not lettuce.
There is still – and always will be – a bottle of olive oil on the countertop. There is a slightly exaggerated supply of canned tomatoes in the cupboards. There are regular care packages with rosemary and thyme from my parents Provençal garden. You cannot just ditch your roots, can you? But as far as root vegetables are concerned, they should be roasted, damn it, not over boiled.
Over a delicious plate of roast beetroot, listening to the snow storm outside, I thought: there is no instead anymore.
PS: Photo of this fall’s farmer’s market goodness stolen, again, from a certain brother of mine.