FOOD & DRINK FLASH IN THE PAN
Hakurei is łhe Caviar of Turnips BY ARI LEVAUX
Photo by Ari LeVaux.
T
he main purpose of a turnip is to feed hungry people, and the hakurei (pronounced like “samurai”) turnip is no exception. We aren’t talking about the kind of hunger when you wonder when dinner will be ready. To eat most turnips, you need more of a “Little House on the Prairie”-during-an-extra-longwinter of hunger, when the carrots and onions and flour are gone and there is nothing else to eat. Turnips are dense, nutritious, and can outlast almost any other type of fresh vegetable in a nonrefrigerated storage situation but aren’t usually the tastiest root in the cellar. Also known as the Tokyo Turnip, the hakurei was developed in the 1950s, when Japan was desperate to feed itself after being destroyed by World War II. The hakurei plant grows fast—about a month from sowing to harvest—and can handle a light frost and other forms of adversity. As a bonus, this bright white globe of a taproot has culinary properties that were previously unheard of among turnips, earning the hakurei the honorary title, “caviar of turnips.” But really, calling the hakurei a turnip is like calling the jalapeno a fruit. Technically true, and a cool party trick, but so what? We all still know a jalapeno isn’t really a fruit because it doesn’t taste like one. At the same time, many classic fruit characteristics, like sweetness and juiciness, are most present in the hakurei.
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ESTEEMED DINNER COMPANION Hakurei translates to “esteemed companion,” a name that, like “salad turnip” is entirely appropriate. The entire plant is edible, from green tip to root tip. You can do anything you want to a hakurei, including nothing. You don’t even need to peel its delicate skin. Each bite is a sip of sweet, buttery water, with a hint of horseradish. They are often called salad turnips — two words you rarely see in the same sentence — because while most turnips must be cooked into edibility, hakurei are completely delightful when they are completely raw. Just eat it like an extra-juicy apple with no core. They are great in salads for many reasons, including their crisp, juicy texture and the fact that they go very well with acid. Since they look like scallops, I like to feature hakurei turnips in a ceviche-like presentation, with a dressing and sliced onions and hot peppers, with or without actual fish. But you can definitely cook the hakurei. Some people add them to the jus in the final half hour of roasting a chicken. The hint of horseradish in its mild flavor makes it a great accompaniment to beef. Most of the recipes I’ve encountered for cooking these next-level turnips remind the cook to use the stems and leaves too. One involved blending cream cheese into a pot of gently boiled turnips
