Cerfeuil tubereux - a vegetable wonder!

In our last trip to France we had a number of little excursions, and true to form I sought out and explored the local and covered markets that exist in most French towns. The main difference between global and national supermarket chains and the local markets is that you stand some chance of discovering local foods, traditions preserved, and presented for sale by indigenous bakers, butchers and farmers.

Visiting Dole was an interesting experience and I was not sure what I would find there. Situated on the border of Franche Comte and the Burgoyne, I was expecting a strange mix of the regions - a crossroads perhaps. The butchers had a strong Burgundian influence selling stuffed snails, andouillettes, boudin noir, and poultry from Bresse, but they also sold the smoked ham and saucise de Morteau from Franche Comte.

Just when I thought I had brushed the dirt off most of the tubers and edible roots known to mankind, I was pleasantly surprised to find a few baskets of cerfeuil tubereux, sorted into batches of small, medium, and large sizes. The largest of the cerfeuil tubereux were about 4 inches long and perhaps 1.5 inches wide. Obviously the imperial system of measurement and weight should be applied to when referring to tubers.

Corrine engaged the lady at the stall in conversation, as she was keen to try a number of the Jerusalem artichokes and other tubers to taste to compare them. Having demonstrated genuine interest, the lady mentioned that she was one of the only producers of cerfeuil tubereux left in France, and that the cerfeuil tubereux were not grown outside the region around Dole. Her enterprise was not a large scale affair, however she was obviously proud of her humble stall and produce.

The cerfeuil tubereux is a very ordinary looking small root vegetable, and you would pass it by without a second glance or thought; it looks like a dirty little parsnip and is not readily presentable. Even carrots can be arranged in attractive bunches, but the cerfeuil tubereux are not big and are at their best just thrown together in a wicker basket. Corrine bought a bag, which managed to carry about 16 ounces of cerfeuil tubereux. In presenting the paper bag and wishing us all the very best, the lady suggested we might boil them for a few minutes and they should be fine.

Upon our return home I lazily scrubbed the cerfeuil tubereux and plunged them into a pot of boiling water, cooking them for about five minutes. I was not fussy about the time, and having drained them I decided to put them into the oven with a small libation of olive oil and a little salt. Don't ask me why I did this, but it just seemed like the right thing to do as I was cooking a few varieties of Jerusalem artichokes in a similar manner.

Once taken from the oven and plated we gazed at them for a moment before tucking in. Breaking through the skin you are faced with a flesh that is not dissimilar to that of a parsnip, but once you taste this little root you are overcome with a sweet nourishing flavour comparable to sweet chestnuts. They were devoured with great relish without any accompaniment. I was immediately struck by how these little gems could have failed to crawl their way onto the foodie radar. In the early grips of an addiction we acquired another little bag of them and had them served with roasted shoulder of wild boar, roasted garlic and haricots; a rich, robust and luxurious combination of flavours.

It is good to be surprised once in a while in this manner; finding something unusual in a market in its raw and dirty form, taking it home and cooking it. The moment of discovery and experience bears no comparison to picking an unknown dish from a menu in a restaurant. I honestly hope we can buy cerfeuil tubereux in Dublin some time in the future at a reasonable price, but given its lack of beauty and a name that reminds one of a non-fatal, but lingering, thyroid condition that may not be likely in the near future!