If you looked up the word “lowly” in the dictionary, you might find a picture of a turnip. It is the petite syrah of root vegetables, garnering little, if any, respect. Indeed, when turnips are invoked, it is usually something along the lines of “sleazy white trash with the IQs of turnips” (from a movie review of Natural Born Killers) or, from this one website, “Clients will not return to someone who may exhibit great skills as an Esthetician but has the personality of a turnip!” No one ever called a turnip noble, or inspiring, or penned a poem about one. True, the poet Sappho reportedly called one of her lovers “Gongýla” - ancient Greek for turnip - and Tolstoy did write a short story called “The Enormous Turnip,” but it involved peasants. To make matters worse, what my Irish-Swedish family calls turnips are actually not turnips at all, but rutabagas, which many people also refer to as yellow turnips (or swedes) and which some people use in the thrilling sport of rutabaga curling. (I am not making this up: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xRekz-4Tso). We prefer to eat them rather than fling them, although after enough pinot grigio my family can be persuaded to do most anything, including welcoming this version of Nana's Rotmos instead of the cheese-laced, heavy cream-soused, cinnamon-sprinkled version we grew up with.

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