Out, damn’d spot! out, I say!—One; two: why, then ’tis time to do’t.—Hell is murky.

I committed a murder in the kitchen today.

I’m dangerous. Don’t be fooled by my “state champs” t-shirt. Anyone who ever knew me could tell you I was never a state champ at anything. Maybe a state champ neurotic, but sadly they don’t actually give out trophies for that. Yeah… I wore it just to fool you. I’m sly and mysterious like that.

Actually, I’m a murderer of vegetables. Catch me if you can.

I love cooking with beets. Drew isn’t really a fan so I don’t get to too often. But they’re so beautiful and grisly. They stain their killers with their own life blood. Even if you don’t like the flavor of beets, you have to at least admire their passion. It actually reminds me of one of my very favorite books written by one of my very favorite authors. I’ve quoted this several times on many different mediums, but I love it so much, I’ll post it again. It’s from “Jitterbug Perfume” by the master, Tom Robbins himself:

“The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The radish, admittedly, is more feverish, but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the fire of discontent not of passion. Tomatoes are lusty enough, yet there runs through tomatoes an undercurrent of frivolity. Beets are deadly serious.

Slavic peoples get their physical characteristics from potatoes, their smoldering inquietude from radishes, their seriousness from beets.

The beet is the melancholy vegetable, the one most willing to suffer. You can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip…

The beet is the murderer returned to the scene of the crime. The beet is what happens when the cherry finishes with the carrot. The beet is the ancient ancestor of the autumn moon, bearded, buried, all but fossilized; the dark green sails of the grounded moon-boat stitched with veins of primordial plasma; the kite string that once connected the moon to the Earth now a muddy whisker drilling desperately for rubies.

The beet was Rasputin’s favorite vegetable. You could see it in his eyes.”

Kind of brings you to your knees, doesn’t it? Ah… to ever be able to write like that. But until I sell my soul to old el diablo, at least I can appreciate the genius of the beet…

I made this really amazing beet slaw, by the way. I know this isn’t a cooking blog (there are so many wonderful ones out there, and to tell you the truth, I really haven’t figured out exactly what kind of blog mine is yet anyway…) but it’s so delicious and different, I wanted to share the recipe. (I don’t know much about copyright, but if it saves my ass, this is from foodnetwork.com and reinterpreted by moi):

salad:
3 raw beets, peeled and grated
3 medium carrots, peeled and grated
1/4 c flat leaf parsley, chopped

dressing:
2 T Dijon mustard
4 T red wine vinegar
1 tsp celery seed
1/2 tsp sugar
1/2 tsp salt
2 T olive oil
cracked black pepper

mix all ingredients for dressing thoroughly. Toss with salad. Let chill for about 30 minutes.

Seriously. Try it. SO good. It makes Scarlett happy.

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One thought on “Out, damn’d spot! out, I say!—One; two: why, then ’tis time to do’t.—Hell is murky.

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