SWEDE DREAMS

Why the swede and carrot mash-up is a thing of beauty.

This is your new go-to recipe when you don’t want mashed potato but you still have all the feels that made you want mashed potato in the first place.

Something full of soft, buttery comfort. Something that sticks your peas to your fork. Something you don’t have to think about because you want to think about something more interesting. That sort of thing.

This is swede and carrot mash.

It’s like a Venn diagram, in which one circle is funny old swede – rough-skinned, unattractive, slightly bitter, and deserving of the quizzical name rutabaga – and the other circle is lovely, sweet, nutty carrot.

The point at which the two circles overlap and intersect creates a wonderful commonality known as swede and carrot mash. (This may be the first time anyone has attempted to link a Venn diagram to a recipe, and now I can see why).

WHY DOES IT WORK?

The swede makes it complex, the carrot makes it simple, the butter makes it delicious, and the chives – it has to have the freshness of chives, or spring onions, or something allium-ish – give it zing. Plus, gorgeous colours. Plus, 20 minutes.

WHERE DOES IT COME FROM?

If you know Irish colcannon, you’ll know how mashed potato is improved by being combined with dark leafy greens, shredded cabbage or spring onions, and loads of butter. This has a similar vibe, and has been a favourite strategy in swede-friendly countries such as Finland, Russia (and yes, Sweden), and later, France, Scotland (where a swede is a neep) and England, where they are very fond of swede and carrot mash.

Here’s what swedes look like. Enticing.

My recipe comes from Andy Bunn, who was founding chef of the McDonald family’s Sopra restaurant in Sydney’s Waterloo, back in the day. Such a thunderously brilliant concept that was, with its fruit and veg greengrocer below, and buzzy, light-filled warehouse trattoria above (hence ‘sopra’), helmed by a chef who wrote the menu by seeing what fruit and veg were coming in downstairs.

I’ve changed the recipe a little over the years, because I like to keep both carrot and swede roughly chopped then lightly mashed, enough to break up the actual pieces, but not squished to a puree. I reckon you should still see the swede amongst the carrot.

It definitely needs sea salt, and loves cracked black pepper. Add nutmeg or cumin for their warming qualities. Yes, you’re right, curry powder would also be interesting. A squeeze of lemon juice would help define the sweetness. As for what to have with it, we’re talking roasts, grills, fish. A crisp-skinned sausage or lamb chop. Mmm, black pudding. Or Sausage Balls! (Ridiculous name. See below).

SWEDE AND CARROT MASH-UP

• 500 g carrots

• 500 g swedes

• 2 tbsp butter

• 2 tbsp snipped chives

• Sea salt and cracked black pepper

Peel the carrot and swede and roughly chop.

Cook in simmering, salted water for 20 minutes or until tender to the fork.

Drain (keep the cooking water for your next veggie soup or gravy), then return to the pan and toss over medium heat for a minute or two to dry off any excess moisture.

Add 1 tbsp butter, season generously, and roughly mash as the butter melts.

Serve hot, top with remaining butter, and shower with chives. Serves 4 as a side.

Oh, these little things?

I just ripped the skin off a big fat Italian pork sausage, divvied it into four, rolled each quarter into a ball, wrapped it in streaky bacon, and pan-fried it on all sides.  I have no idea what to call them. Sausage Balls? Seriously? That sounds weird.

If you make them, be sure to fry them first on the side where the bacon ends to help set the tail end in place, before you turn them over.

Chunky, but not too chunky, okay?

Thanks for dropping by! And as always, thanks for your comments and thoughts. Special thanks to Terry, who has added Sausage Balls to his growing list entitled 101 Things To Do With A Sausage. Got best-selling cook book written all over it.

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I would also like to acknowledge the traditional owners of the lands and waters upon which I work, live, cook and play; the Gadigal people of the Eora Nation. I fully support the Uluru Statement from the Heart, and for an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander voice to be enshrined in Australia’s Constitution. It’s only fair, folks.