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Swede

Swede is an unattractive vegetable. Lumpish, large and arrayed in dull colours, it does little to endear itself to a potential buyer. Beauty, we are told, lies beneath the skin and somewhat reluctantly I have now come to the conclusion that there is a dash of truth to this here. In the case of swede, it is not a startling beauty, but rather a quiet comforting comeliness.

It took a minor spot of focus-grouping amongst friends (thank you, Jess, Jennine et al) to draw me to this conclusion, having successfully ignored the swede for several decades. Now, I realise that, if it is cooked congenially and adequately buttered up (literally), lowly swede is actually rather good. And cheap. Not a bad thing, either. As a new convert, I even found myself defending it when a young friend of my son described it as the vegetable from hell. Which it can be when tarnished with age and presented watery and dull. Such is the stuff of criminal cooking, probably institutional.

Swede-novice that I am, the recipes I’ve chosen for this section are basic and straightforward. I’ve not yet got to the stage where I get inventive with swede, and besides I’m not entirely sure that it would be a good idea. There’s an underlying whiff of sulphur even in the freshest cannonball swede and it needs to be handled cautiously. Instead of treading roads previously unexplored, I’m playing safe, looking north to Scotland, where swedes are known as turnips or ‘neeps’, and south to Cornwall. And should you ever come across references to ‘rutabaga’ in American cookbooks, I hope you won’t be too disappointed to be told that this, too, is swede.

Practicalities

BUYING

Swede keeps very well without rotting, but I would suggest that you do not attempt to mature your swedes for any length of time. Age brings out the sulphur bitterness, which stops being pleasant the second it is clearly detectable. So, pick out healthy-looking, firm and smooth-skinned spheres and cook them within a week at most.

The ideal storage place, as for most vegetables, is a cool, dry, airy spot, but failing that, the fridge will do nicely. A half-used swede should be covered in clingfilm before returning to the fridge and then used up within a day or two, before it starts tainting milk and butter.

COOKING

Boiling and mashing tend to be the preferred methods of cooking swede. Together they work fine, but if there’s one thing to be avoided it is serving great big lumps of watery swede all on their own. The only times whole chunks of simmered swede are even remotely acceptable are when they’ve been cooked in a flavourful broth (as in Scotch broth) or beef stew. Swede is too doughty for more delicate chicken stews. Friends recommend roasting wedges of swede, or braising wedges in olive oil (as for Phil Vickery’s salsify on page 83), but these are cooking methods for the swede aficionado, not for nervous beginners like me.

Peppery mashed swede and carrot

This is the dish that my guides Jess and Jennine insisted that I should include. They were not in total agreement as to the details, but the main theme was much the same. It is good, I have to admit, as long as there is plenty of butter mashed roughly into the swede, along with terrific quantities of freshly ground black pepper.

Although it goes against my every instinct, I followed Jess’s instructions to cook swede and carrot for an extraordinary 40–60 minutes. It turns out that she is right, as it gives a rough mash that is tender but still not totally devoid of texture. The ratio of carrot to swede is another personal foible. You might like to increase the carrot to 50 per cent of the total.

Incidentally, if you replace the carrot with potato (roughly equal quantities with the swede) and add a quartered onion to the pan too, what you end up with is Orkney clapshot.

Serves 6

1 swede, weighing about 675 g (11/2 lb), peeled and cut into 2 cm cubes

about 250g (8 oz) carrots, thickly sliced

60 g (2 oz) butter

salt and ginormous amounts of freshly ground black pepper

Bring a pan of unsalted water to the boil and add the swede and carrots. Turn down the heat to give a pleasantly slow simmer, then walk away and forget about the vegetables for at least 40 minutes, and up to an hour. Actually, don’t ignore them totally – you’ll need to check every now and then that the water level hasn’t dropped down too low. If it is disarmingly low, top up with more boiling water.

When both vegetables are terrifically soft, drain them well and return to the pan along with the butter, salt and lots and lots and lots of freshly ground black pepper. Mash the whole lot together, taste and adjust seasoning, and serve swiftly

Bashed neeps

Bashed neeps is a variable dish. On an average day it is just mashed ‘neeps’ with butter and pepper, and is what posher people might once have called ‘turnip purry’. On high days and holidays, however, cream comes into play along with a generous slug of whisky for those who fancy it.

Serves 6–8

2 swedes, peeled, cubed and boiled until tender

30g (1 oz) butter

80 ml (3 floz) double cream

2 tablespoons whisky

3 tablespoons chopped chives

salt and pepper

Drain the swedes thoroughly, then return to the pan with the butter, cream and generous quantities of seasoning. Mash together roughly over a gentle heat until piping hot. Stir in the whisky and most of the chives. Taste and adjust seasoning, then serve with the remaining chives sprinkled over the top.

Cornish pasties

From the south of the country comes one of the finest of recipes embracing swede. I’m not for one moment saying that this is a definitive recipe for a Cornish pasty, but it is something close, with fine steak baked slowly on top of a thin layer of swede and potato. This vegetable layer is essential to soak up the juices from the meat, keeping the pastry crisp on the bottom.

Makes 4

Pastry

500g (1 lb 2oz) plain flour

a pinch of salt

160 g (51/2 oz) butter

60g (2oz) lard

icy water

1 egg yolk, beaten, to glaze

Filling

500g (1 lb 2oz) rump steak, cut into small cubes

1 onion, chopped

1 large potato, peeled and very thinly sliced

1 small swede, peeled and very thinly sliced

salt and pepper

To make the pastry, mix the flour with the salt. Rub in the butter and lard, then add just enough water to mix to a soft but not sticky dough. Wrap in foil or clingfilm and chill for at least half an hour. Bring back to just under room temperature before rolling out.

Mix the steak with the onion and plenty of seasoning. Line a baking sheet with non-stick baking parchment. Divide the pastry into four, and roll out each piece large enough to cut out a 20cm (8in) circle (use a side plate as a template).

Arrange one-quarter of the potato in the centre of each pastry circle in an oval shape and season. Lay one-quarter of the swede over that, then mound a quarter of the steak mixture over that, moulding it to cover the potato. Dampen the edges around one half of each pastry circle with a little of the egg glaze, then bring both sides up over the filling, crimping the edges firmly together to form the characteristic pasty shape. Rest in the fridge for half an hour.

Preheat the oven to 220°C/425°F/Gas 7. Brush the pasties with egg glaze, then bake for 15 minutes. Reduce the heat to a lowly 170°C/325°F/Gas 3 and leave the pasties to bake for a further hour. Check regularly and cover with foil if the pastry is browning too rapidly. Serve hot, warm or cold.