Kohlrabi

Living in Iceland, I bought my vegetables from supermarkets. More often than not, they had been shipped over from another country, and weren't the freshest. However, when I left C.C.P. and went to work for another company, I ended up working with a woman named Disa. Disa had a family farm or something, and they grew their own vegetables there. She brought in to work a variety of strange vegetables that do not appear on the shelves of most stores in New Zealand. Kohlrabi was one of these.

Back in New Zealand, I had pretty much forgotten about kohlrabi. But most of my fruit and vegetable shopping is done in an asian supermarket, as they tend to have prices that are significantly lower than those at a mainstream supermarket like Foodtown. In the asian supermarket, there are a lot of vegetables that are simply labeled with signs in Chinese and a price. Mostly I ignore these, on the assumption they are likely imported from the polluted parts of China I am always reading about. In this case, I caught a glimpse of, and recognised kohlrabi. Now I always try and buy a few when I am in there, as a snack. On this shopping trip, the price was $1.49 NZD each.

An uncut kohlrabi with a mug to give an idea of its size.



The cut and sliced kohlrabi, accompanied by my sword which I have aptly named "Fingerslicer." My father who used to be a butcher always says, "don't cut on plates, it is the quickest way to make a knife blunt." I make a point of cutting things on ceramic plates with Fingerslicer, in the hope that one day it will stop.. slicing into my fingers. I tell myself it is easier than learning how to use a knife properly.



They taste like a combination of turnip and radish. Where a turnip tastes like it needs to be cooked before it should be eaten, the kohlrabi does not. Where a radish is often too hot or sharp in the same way as horseradish, kohlrabi is not. They make a satisfying snack, cool and refreshing. In some ways it reminds me of eating apple, but without the sticky juices and cloying sweetness (or acidity and sourness in the case of a granny smith).

Actually now that I think about it, when I went visiting organic markets with Liza in Atlanta, on one occasion I also stumbled across kohlrabi there. And coincidentally, the girl selling the produce mentioned that she had recently travelled over to New Zealand and worked growing them among other things.