Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Beet it

I've had a severe love affair with one particular farmers market stand this summer - and it's all because of one dirty little root vegetable. THE BEET. As a kid I could down a jar of pickled beets like nobody's business (really anything pickled for that matter - carrots, onions, eggs...yah, I was born a salt addict). I loved the firm, smooth texture of the cooked beet and the crisp acidity of a raw beet. And above all I loved that it turned my lips and fingers a stubborn red.

Unfortunately the bf does not enjoy the beet. Initally this meant that I would cook only a small portion for myself but lately I've grown lazy. I throw the entire haul into a pot with plans of portioning them off for future lunches and dinners that week - this doesn't happen. Once dinner has ended and we've lounged around digesting for a bit I will end up back in the kitchen, hunched over the sink eating the rest of the beets directly from the pot. Sometimes I'll even take them out individually with my fingers, salting and buttering each cold piece before popping it in my mouth. Savage, I know. I can't help it.

A word of warning for the uninitiated - if you go out and buy beets this weekend don't be shocked when you poop beet for the next few days.

You're welcome.

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