Beet It!

Here are two truths and a lie about me: a) I’m bad at math b) I do not have an inordinate amount of clocks and c) I really like to cook. Can you guess which one is the lie? And all three tie into a crazy dream I had last week where I started doing math, looked at the clock, saw that I’d been trying to solve a stupid math problem for over 10 minutes, gave up and made Cornish hens in red wine sauce instead. It was bizarre, but it reinforced one important thing–I love cooking. Some people don’t get this, mostly the people who don’t love cooking, but to me, there’s nothing more relaxing than picking out a recipe, getting the ingredients, and spending a couple of hours making something delicious. When Ken and I were first married, my culinary range consisted of Pillsbury frozen mini-pizzas, scrambled eggs, mashed potatoes, and ground beef with prepackaged noodles and sauce. Since then, I’ve had many adventures and misadventures (baking SODA rather than baking powder in the raspberry pie I made for the first time I hosted a family Thanksgiving is the most memorable, and probably the most disgusting), but I’ve steadily improved my abilities over the last 25 years.

Although Ken and I have different tastes (and taste buds, apparently), he loves food and he’s usually pretty good about eating whatever I make—mostly because if he complains, he knows the response will be “Fine. Make your own damn dinner then.” And Ken is one of those people who DOESN’T like cooking, so even though he’s really super-picky, he will tolerate whatever is on his plate and just eat around the stuff he doesn’t like, kind of like a toddler. Or, like a toddler, he gets a little whiny. Case in point—last summer, I was doing home-made corn tortilla fajitas with the awesome tortilla press that I bought online. But Ken was all like, “I don’t want corn tortillas! I want regular wheat tortillas! Just because you and Kate can’t eat gluten doesn’t mean the rest of us should suffer! Wah wah!” and he was adamant enough that he actually went out and bought some wheat tortilla shells right before dinner so he could have things his own way. I mocked him a little, of course, but then later I felt bad about it, because if he wants gluey, ‘stick to your intestines’ wheatiness, then who am I to judge? So the next night, I promised him I would cook him beets. While this may not sound like a big deal, the thing you need to know is that Ken LOVES beets. He’s always mooning about how amazing beets are, and threatening to buy some so he can “boil them, slice them, and eat them with salt and butter.” Even saying it makes me feel slightly nauseated. But I had found a recipe for “roasted root vegetables” and figured that if I put the beets in with enough carrots and potatoes, it just might be edible.

So on the way home from the antique market, we stopped at a Mennonite fruit and vegetable stand (Mennonites are the Canadian equivalent of the Amish, if you don’t know). There was no one around for a couple of minutes and we were just about to give up, when a little girl about six years old flew out of the farmhouse about 300 feet away and came running down the lane in her bare feet. We told her what we wanted to buy—3 cobs of corn, a pint of raspberries and a bunch of beets—and asked how much we owed her. She just stared at us with big eyes. She was adorable but apparently, she didn’t speak English, and couldn’t do math, which made her the perfect salesperson for a small business in Mennonite World. But I shouldn’t be critical. I was as flummoxed by the math as she was, having bought 3 cobs of corn at the price of $4 for a dozen. Luckily, Ken is a whiz at math, and he figured out the total cost with some complex algorithm involving fractions and long division and we were on our way. But I was concerned about the whole strange situation:

Me: What was she, like 6? Is that even safe?
Ken: What do you mean? God, these raspberries are amazing. Can you make cheesecake for dessert?
Me: Well, what if we were in a van? Would they have still sent her out? We could have been kidnappers.
Ken: I’m sure someone was watching from the window. Oh my god, these raspberries! Do you have the stuff you need to make cheesecake?
Me: How could they see from over 300 feet away? By the time someone noticed that she was being snatched, they would be gone! Maybe they have different aged children they send out depending on the vehicle. If it’s a single guy in a van, they send out the 15-year-old with the huge muscles from working in the fields. We’re a couple in a small car, so we get the adorable 6 year old?
Ken: These raspberries will be awesome on cheesecake! I can’t wait!
Me: Sigh. If you keep eating them, there won’t be any LEFT for cheesecake. That’s it. Two more raspberries then the bag goes away. I mean it.
Ken: Aw….

That afternoon, I started getting everything ready—husking the corn, making the cheesecake, marinating the steak—until finally, it was time to tackle the beets. I peeled and chopped the potatoes and carrots first, avoiding the inevitable. Then I pulled the beets out of the bag. They smelled disgusting, like an open grave. I washed and peeled them, and it didn’t help. Kate was sitting at the counter, and I said, “God, these things smell and taste like dirt!” She said that was because they came from the ground. I reminded her that the same was true of carrots and potatoes but they smelled like they were meant to be eaten, not buried in a tomb. Then I held a peeled beet up to her nose, and she was like “God, they DO smell like dirt! I’m not eating any of that!” At this point, I realized that my hands were now dyed an alarming shade of pink, as was my cutting board, and as I mixed the chopped beets into the roasting pan, the carrots and potatoes started to turn pink as well. “Holy sh*t, the beets are spreading their poison to the rest of the food!” I exclaimed. “What if this is how the zombie apocalypse starts?!”

While dinner was cooking, Ken came down and was using my laptop to research more beet recipes.

Ken: Hey, check this out. This website says that people “are very passionate about beets. They either love them or hate them”…
Me: Accurate assessment.
Ken: “A lot of people think they taste like dirt”!
Me: That’s because they do. I told you that about half an hour ago.
Ken: You already read this website! You’re plagiarizing Martha Stewart!
Me: I’m NOT plagiarizing Martha Stewart. Do you think she’s the only one who knows that beets taste like death? EVERYONE knows it. Martha Stewart is plagiarizing ME.

Then I served dinner, making sure that Ken got pretty well ALL of the beets. I had about three chunks, which only served to confirm that I am definitely one of the people who hates beets. But Ken was beside himself with joy, and I felt like I had made up a little for mocking him about the tortillas, especially because the cheesecake and fresh raspberries (what was left of them) were pretty amazing. Then the next day, I was in the bathroom, and I came out and said to Ken, “I think I need to call the doctor. The water in the toilet—“
“That’s just the beets,” he laughed. “Nothing to worry about.”
And I’m not worried about it, because I’m never touching one of those zombie death-bombs ever again.

38 thoughts on “Beet It!”

  1. Since I don’t believe you have an inordinate number of clocks I thought, wait, do you really hate to cook? Well, you do hate to cook beets. I’m with Ken when it comes to the beets, and also the raspberry cheesecake, but between those two things I started wondering, does Ken have an obsession with red vegetables? Is he some kind of vegetarian vampire?

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  2. barbaramullenix's avatar barbaramullenix says:

    I do like beets too. As long as someone else is making them. Many years ago I was slicing some up and the knife slipped and almost cut off a finger and the palm of my hand. That was it for me. That and the fact that I could NEVER get the dye off my cutting board completely and my hands looked like I worked in a slaughterhouse for a few days. And by the way, I don’t think 63 clocks is excessive. No matter where you are in your home, just a quick look will tell you the time.

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      • barbaramullenix's avatar barbaramullenix says:

        I use the same rationale with my reading glasses. There’s a pair on every flat surface in my place, so that no matter where I’m standing, there’s a pair within reach so I can read whatever it is I’m holding, rather have having to move 1 inch farther that I have to. But I have to force myself to put them back down in the very same spot or else I’ll have 2 pair in one location and then have to walk around aimlessly trying to find the one spot without any glasses.

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  3. I can’t believe you don’t like beets! I mean, they are so freaking delicious! Yes, I’m one of those people who LOVES beets, so I guess I’m team Ken on this post. I suppose there are people that love cilantro and I’m not one of them. To you beets taste like dirt, to me beets taste sweet, and also cilantro taste like soap to me. It’s totally disgusting and it’s the devils herb. But you love wine, and that’s even more important than not likening beets, 😝.

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  6. I love the part about beets smelling like an open grave! I like beets. I used to be married to a Russian so I made borscht a lot. My kitchen always looked like the scene of a mass murder afterwards–all those beets!

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  10. I thought I was the only one who thought beets taste like dirt! Apparently not! I’m glad you didn’t kidnap the little farmer and glad you gave Ken most of the beets. Ick. Now the cheesecake with fresh raspberries, that’s another story.

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  11. Funny how food preferences are so unique and weirdly invite judging 😝 have you read wheat belly book? It’s by a cardiologist and gives a lot of info that resonates with what I’ve learned

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  13. I love beets, but I’m the only one in my immediate family that does like them. I like them with butter or I even like the pickled beets. We had a huge vegetable garden growing up and it was one of the staples. However, I would have loved to had a piece of that cheesecake with fresh raspberries. Are used to love to cook and I even had a catering business for a while but the last 10 years plus I’ve been in a wheelchair and even though my apartment is supposed to be handicap nothing is low enough on the shelves or the stove or whatever to do much cooking.

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  14. I hate beets too. Beets, pickled onions, chiko rolls, and vegemite are four Australian cultural icons I’d happily bury in a six foot grave. Yuck. I applaud your courage, and compassion in cooking the horrible things…

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  16. I’m practically drooling over my keyboard, thinking of fresh beets with butter. I didn’t realize they were a love-of-hate kind of vegetable. But they are a pain to make, e.g. the peeling of them is always a struggle, plus the pinkness gets everywhere, like you said. However, I have a yen to take in Beetfest at Pineridge Hollow in Manitoba, makers of Beet Chips. They sell Beet Chip merch!

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  17. kunstkitchen's avatar kunstkitchen says:

    Ah hahahahahahahahah! Beets are great. I have a jar of pickled beets that I made in my refrigerator. With the pickling spices added and vinegar they are the best. Borscht is also an easy soup to make with beets. And is delicious.

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