This photo shows a fresh bunch of small turnips. Turnips (the bulb), even if small are not popular to eat in Italy, but the leaves are eaten.
You can see that the ones I buy are a sold with their leaves – green, fresh and tasty. They are excellent to eat either wilted in salted water and dressed with oil and lemon, or braised with garlic and chilli. Turnips are members of the brassica family and these greens are related and taste very similar to cime di rape (see ONE OF MY FAVOURITE VEGETABLES Cime di Rape ).
Tim, Kieran and Chris (at a stall in the Queen Victoria Market) know that I always like to buy my turnips, beetroot and celeriac with their green leaves attached – they should never be wasted.
Iota is a stew-like soup of borlotti beans, potatoes and smoked pork meats. It is a specialty of Trieste and environs and in Trieste is traditionally made with saurkraut, however in a couple of places close to Trieste the saurkraut, is replaced with turnips.
IOTA FROM TRIESTE, Italy made with smoked pork, sauerkraut, borlotti beans:
Kale is not an Italian vegetable, I could not even find the name of it in my very large Italian dictionary.
I can remember telling Carmel, Gus’ wife, about having to cook the kale the day that I buy it because I cannot fit the plant in my fridge. She told me about a Northern European customer who told her that in her country this winter plant is usually covered by snow and that she keeps her kale in the freezer (cut it up into separate branches). Apparently this softens the plant making it easier to cook. Fascinating!!
I clean and braise kale the same way as I cook cavolo nero – it is similar in taste and has almost the same texture but I usually cook it for longer. I also cook it the same way as I sometimes cook brussel sprouts.
In the photo below coloured kale is in the vase and black kale( also called cavolo nero and Tuscan cabbage) is in the vase.
Any left over cooked kale makes a wonderful addition to a quinoa or a lentil salad ( for example to the grain or pulse I may add: chopped tomatoes, spring onion, pepitas, sliced celery, roasted pumpkin, braised carrots or braised cooked zucchini (if I have some leftovers in the fridge). The dressing could be a simple Italian: extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper and lemon juice. Or it may be a Moroccan type dressing: pomegranate molasses, extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper, cumin and lemon juice.
As you can see from the photo, one plant can be very large in size. There are bronze ans silver coloured kale plants as well (see photo below) but the green type is the first kale to became available. The green plant laying horizontally is a cavolo nero.
Sedano rapa is celeriac, and whenever I buy one at Melbourne’s Queen Victoria Market, someone invariably asks me: “What do you do with it?”
The same thing happens when I buy cavolo nero, cime di rapa, artichokes and, occasionally, fennel, lthough fennel has now become familiar enough in Australia to attract fewer puzzled looks.
Celeriac is certainly not a beautiful vegetable at first sight. Knobbly, rough-skinned and often trailing roots, it looks rather unpromising. But underneath that rugged exterior is dense, creamy-white flesh with a fresh celery fragrance and a flavour that is earthy, slightly nutty and much more delicate than its appearance suggests.
It is also remarkably versatile. Celeriac can be eaten raw or cooked, boiled, mashed, roasted or turned into soup. In Italy, sedano rapa is particularly associated with the north, although, as I discovered through my own family, it was certainly not unknown in Sicily.
Sedano rapa, or celeriac, may look rather unattractive before peeling, but beneath the knobbly exterior is firm, fragrant white flesh. As you can see, the leaves are like celery.
When Is Celeriac in Season?
Celeriac is a cool-weather vegetable. In Australia it is generally at its best from late autumn through winter, with good supplies during July and August, but I have also found it to be available well into October. In Italy and elsewhere in the Northern Hemisphere, its season extends broadly from autumn into early spring.
Whenever possible, I buy celeriac with its leaves still attached. Fresh, green leaves are a useful indication of freshness, but there is another reason: I use them.
The stronger outer leaves can flavour soups and stocks, while the small, tender leaves from the centre can be added to salads.
We Italians, or at least this Italian, do not like throwing useful food away.
How to Prepare Celeriac
The first task is to deal with that intimidating exterior.
I always buy my celeriac with leaves, this is an indication of how fresh the bulb is. Cut away the root end and peel the celeriac generously with a sharp knife, removing the rough skin, knobs and crevices. Once the rough exterior is removed, celeriac is dense, smooth and creamy-white, with a distinctive fresh celery taste and aroma.
Celeriac discolours quite quickly when exposed to air, much as an apple does. If I am serving it raw, I therefore prepare it last and dress it immediately with lemon juice or another acidic dressing.
Celeriac the Triestine Way
In Trieste, we used to eat sedano rapa bollito e in insalata – boiled celeriac dressed simply as a salad.
The celeriac was peeled, cut into large pieces and boiled in salted water until tender but not falling apart. Once drained and cooled slightly, it was dressed with extra virgin olive oil, lemon juice or vinegar, salt and pepper.
There is nothing elaborate about it, but this kind of simple preparation is typical of so much Italian home cooking: good produce, cooked appropriately and dressed without disguising its flavour.
It can be served warm or at room temperature and makes an excellent accompaniment to meat.
Celeriac in Northern Italian Cooking
Celeriac is much more familiar in the cooking of northern Italy than it is in many southern regions, and traditional preparations vary considerably.
In Verona, for example, celeriac is made into substantial soups with borlotti beans, onion and carrot, enriched with meat stock and fresh pork sausage. This is the sort of hearty, sustaining food that makes sense in the colder climate of northern Italy.
In Piedmont, celeriac also appears in lighter soups made with broth and served with good bread and grated cheese. The way they present it is very much like a French onion soup.
And then there is one of Piedmont’s most distinctive dishes—bagna cauda.
Raw Celeriac with Bagna Cauda
I particularly like celeriac raw, and its crisp texture makes it an excellent vegetable to serve with bagna cauda.
Bagna cauda, literally “hot bath”is the famous Piedmontese warm sauce traditionally made with anchovies, garlic and olive oil, with butter appearing in many versions. Raw and lightly cooked vegetables are dipped into it at the table.
Celeriac is ideal for this dish as its fresh, strong flavour complements the salty richness of anchovy, butter and garlic. It is also crisp and aromatic, making it perfect for dipping into warm Piedmontese bagna cauda. Cut it into batons, rub it with a little lemon juice to keep it white.
Celeriac and Apple Salad
My preferred method of consuming celeriac is raw in a salad. This is not a traditional Italian recipe but one I personally enjoy.
I julienne the peeled celeriac and combine it with apple, then dress everything immediately with extra virgin olive oil, lemon juice, salt and freshly ground black pepper. The lemon adds freshness and helps prevent both the apple and celeriac from turning brown.
From there, the salad can take several directions.
Red Radicchio
Radicchio adds colour and pleasant bitterness. Watercress is another favourite addition, and rocket works well too. A little egg mayonnaise can make the salad richer and turn it into something more substantial.
The contrast is what makes it so appealing: crisp celeriac, sweet-tart apple, bitter leaves and a sharp lemon dressing.
A fresh celeriac and apple salad with radicchio – the lemon dressing adds zing while helping to keep the celeriac and apple pale.
Other Ways I Cook Celeriac
Celeriac also responds beautifully to cooking.
I make it into soup, sometimes on its own and sometimes combined with potato. I also mash celeriac with potato, adding butter and cream for richness, or extra virgin olive oil and lemon juice for a lighter, more Mediterranean version.
It can also be roasted. Cut into chunks or wedges and tossed with olive oil, it develops a sweeter, nuttier flavour and crisp golden edges while remaining soft inside.
And boiled celeriac, simply dressed with good olive oil and lemon or vinegar, remains one of the easiest and most satisfying ways to eat it.
A Sicilian Connection
Although sedano rapa is much more closely associated with northern Italian cooking, it also has a place in my family’s Sicilian memories.
My father spent his youth in Ragusa before moving to Trieste. He remembered his mother boiling celeriac and dressing it simply with olive oil. Apparently, my grandparents also grew it at their mulino, a water mill near Ragusa Ibla.
The countryside surrounding Ragusa once housed numerous water mills, constructed along waterways to facilitate the movement of water for wheat grinding. These places were part of the agricultural life of the region.
My grandparents’ mill was also a place where they kept their dogs and cultivated a few vegetables.
When I visited Sicily as a child, we went to the mulino often. During the hot summers, it was somewhere to walk to and escape for a while from their apartment in the city.
That old mulino became part of my memories of Ragusa.
Years later, while watching an episode of Inspector Montalbano, I saw Montalbano going to a restaurant in an old mill. For a moment I was convinced I recognised my grandparents’ mulino. My relatives in Ragusa soon disappointed me: it was not theirs.
So much for my moment of television fame by association.
The Mulini of Ragusa
On a later visit to Sicily, I visited another old water mill that had been restored and brought back into use. Once again, grain was being stone-ground there, this time producing high-quality flour from organically grown wheat.
There was something satisfying about seeing an old agricultural structure working again for the purpose for which it had originally been built.
And perhaps that is why a celeriac can lead me so far from the vegetable itself.
I may begin with a knobbly sedano rapa at the Queen Victoria Market and a stranger asking, “What do you do with it?” But food has a habit of carrying memories with it—from a simple salad in Trieste to my grandmother’s kitchen in Ragusa and an old water mill in the Sicilian countryside.
