Mobile, Alabama: Rutabagas

 

 

An altar of rutabagas. Mobile, Alabama. November 2021.

When I was a teen, I enjoyed several weeks-long stays with my mother's mother, May. She liked to cook me lunch. May introduced me to two vegetables, boiled, that I'd never had at home.

A turnip. 

A rutabaga.

Each was a curiosity and mildly pleasing in an almost-sour sort of way. Alt-potatoes, you might say. 

May prepared the exotic-to-me vegetables one time only. Since those two experiences, decades ago, I may have experimented with a boiled turnip once, but otherwise, I never ate either again. 

But now I'm in Mobile, Alabama. And in the last two months, I estimate I've eaten a pound of rutabaga a day. 

This is because I have become accustomed to do my weekly produce shopping at the Mac's Produce Market over on Old Schell Road. There is a bin of rutabagas there. Fifty-nine cents a pound. 

I slice the wax-and-skin layer from this graceless, blobular root vegetable, chunk up the yellow flesh (which requires some muscle), boil it, then sear the chunks in my skillet to put on a little char and coax its inherent sweetness out some more. I season the rutabaga with salt, pepper, cinnamon, and some Splenda.

Because of the weekly pile o' rutabagas at Mac's, I thought there was a connection between Alabama and rutabagas, but I find no evidence of same. 

How long will my rutabaga run last? Dunno. Prolly til the local supply disappears or the price jacks up.

Sidebar: Note my little herb garden of rosemary and basil. 

Related posts

2019: Tucson, AZ: Food Rescue

2016: Antigua, Guatemala: Inside the Municipal Market

2016: El Paso: Back in the Kingdom of Ants

2013: Lafayette, Louisiana: Oil Center Farmer's Market in Winter

2012: Istanbul: Larceny and Spice (and leeches)

2011: Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia: At the "Big" Market

Tucson, AZ: Giant Squash

Big squash, Food City, Tucson, Arizona. November 2019.

I was on a jicama run at the Food City on Flowing Wells when my eyes grew wide, and maybe my mouth opened in awe. A large bin of big, big squash.

Big squash, Food City, Tucson, Arizona. November 2019.

GIANT squash.


For scale, I propped my Dollar Tree reading glasses on these big bodies.

Big squash, Food City, Tucson, Arizona. November 2019.

I thumped 'em, smoothed 'em, pushed one around a bit, just to get the feel of the massiveness. Considered buying one, then didn't. Maybe another time.

Instead I stocked up on some zucchini.



I  believe it's cushaw squash aka Mexican hard squash aka ha:l. Another person's experience here, along with recipes.

Tucson, AZ: Food Rescue

Food rescue, Tucson, Arizona. August 2019.

Soon after I landed in Tucson, I learned about the food rescue program, where one could pay $10 or $12 and receive up to 60 or 70 pounds in produce. This hit all of my buttons: Frugality! fruits and vegetables! doing a good deed!

One of my housemates in my temporary Tucson base was a devotee of Tucson food banks, and perhaps also the food rescue. He made several forays each week to his hunting grounds, bringing back massive quantities of food. Once he brought home grilled salmon!

The food banks, appropriately, have income ceilings, but the public food rescue programs are for anyone who plops down their 10 or 12 bucks.

One of my students from another country expressed some surprise at this, saying: "Shouldn't this be restricted to the poor"?

Well, no. Reasons why it's good to offer food rescue to the general public: 

1. Stigmas about food banks keep some eligible folks from using a food bank; by paying for the produce, there is no stigma
2. Furthermore, when you see consumers who appear to be of every socio-economic group at a food rescue station, it further validates that food rescue is for everyone to participate in, not just low-income folks
3. Besides: Why should low-income folks only get stuff that might otherwise be considered undesirable?
4. Because it is not uncommon for some of the produce to be, shall we say, "elderly," many members of the general public will self-select out of the food rescue stations, as they prefer to pay by the pound for fresh produce at their favorite grocery stores
5. Someone who pays something for food is more likely to find a way to consume it (or share it) rather than letting it go to waste because there was no cost
6. Less food goes to waste

Food rescue, Tucson, Arizona. August 2019.

The operation in Tucson I've become familiar with is Borderlands' Produce on Wheels. It operates in several Arizona cities, and in Tucson, at least in August, it has two stations that volunteers set up each week, which sometimes move from one location to another during the month.

The first week, I received:

• Tomatoes
• Butternut squash
• Spaghetti squash
• Anaheim peppers
• Cucumbers
• Small watermelons

The second week:

• Tomatoes
• Red grapes
• Butternut squash
• Spaghetti squash
• Pumpkin
• Red peppers

The third week:

• Eggplant
• Green grapes
• Tomatillos
• Pumpkins
• Spaghetti squash
• Acorn squash
• Cucumbers
• Mangoes 
• Serrano peppers

Food rescue, Tucson, Arizona. August 2019.

 Here's a 2016 Borderlands video about its program:

Another advantage of food rescue is the introduction of unfamiliar vegetables and fruits to consumers. My daily diet is rich in fruits and vegetables, yet I'm naive about some items.

I experimented with the Anaheim peppers I received my first week. I roasted them in a skillet, then inserted them into a two-egg omelette. Holy moly, that was good. Like a chile relleno experience, only healthier. If any appear in a future rescue event, I will mentally clap my hands together like a little girl.

The serrano peppers I got in yesterday's harvest - tasty, but too much heat for me to enjoy in my everyday world.

I had never roasted a pumpkin until yesterday. Beautiful, luxurious orange flesh; roasted up just fine in the oven. Glad for the experience, but it was more liquidy than I like, thus squashes such as butternut, acorn, and spaghetti still have my heart.

Stuff: Lingerie Vegetaria

Peaches, pears, and jicama in lingerie. February 2019.

I bought a trio of reusable mesh bags for bagging produce at the grocery store.

Peaches, pears, and jicama in lingerie. February 2019.

Placed my peaches, pears, and jicama in the soft folds of the bags.

The round fruits and fresh-skinned jicama peeked like brides from their wedding veils.

Or cheekily from white-netted lingerie.

Peaches, pears, and jicama in lingerie. February 2019.

Peaches, pears, and jicama in lingerie. February 2019.

Being green can be sexy.

Antigua, Guatemala: The Artful Cafe

Cafe art, Antigua, Guatemala. April 2016.

Most mornings, I walked by this little cafe, Y Tu Piña Tambien, on my way to Spanish class.

It was always a bright spot. Someone in that cafe takes care in how they place things, how to create a spot of beauty to catch the eyes of passersby.

Cafe art, Antigua, Guatemala. April 2016.

It's a marvel how such small, simple acts can bring pleasure in the world.

Antigua, Guatemala: Inside the Municipal Market

Antigua's municipal market. April 2016.

Shortly after I arrived in Antigua, my multi-talented hostess (speaks 3+ languages, has a piercing sense of irreverent humor, is gracious, a determined survivor/thriver of what life throws at some of us, with a fascinating professional background) gave me a quick verbal list of various local places to get groceries.

First, a visit to the supermarket

La Bodegona was the supermarket that was closest to my home-school-home walking route, so I checked into that first.

Ohhhh. First impressions. I'm afraid it was so depressing. Poor lighting, the kind that you think about in an old-timey hardware store that has dusty shelves, creaky floors, and dark corners with stock items that have surely been there for decades, gathering an oily layer of residue from the particulate-filled air. OK, maybe I'm dramatizing a bit. But still, depressing. Produce looked tired. Limited selections of things. Seemed expensive.

I put some stuff in my basket, and then, incredibly, after walking around some more, put them back. I don't think I bought anything.

Antigua's municipal market. April 2016.

The municipal market

The same day, or maybe the day after, I went through a wide doorway of a building that was adjacent to an outdoor stall market, whose vendors sold ubiquitous Guatemalan souvenirs, rather expensive fruits and vegetables, plebian plastic ware and other humble housewares for buyers who live in Antigua.

Inside the building .... oh, this was the hidden magic kingdom of produce, cafes, seafood, breads, cheeses, grains, sausages, spices, herbs, flowers, and also the household stuff, along with clothing, music, et al.

Antigua's municipal market. Dried fish. April 2016.

It is like such markets the world over, which I've met in city-center markets in the USA, Caucasus Georgia, Ethiopia, Mexico, Dubai, and Istanbul.

Although actual "market days" fall on Monday, Thursdays, and Saturdays, the market is open every day. I'd say til 5 or 6 or so. I could get most of my stuff on any day, then, it's just that the vendor population, along with produce choices, swelled on the three market days. (But that bread I loved - likely only available on the market days when more vendors came in from the country.)

Antigua's municipal market. Chorizos. April 2016.

Some sights and sounds of the municipal market on a Saturday afternoon, part 1:

Mmmm, look at those carrots at 0:32!


Some dried fish, tortillas, spices and more in part 2:

I went to the municipal market a couple of times a week to stock up on vegetables, fruits, and cheese.

Antigua's municipal market. Shrimp. April 2016.