Last weekend, I purchased $1 worth of kohlrabi from our local farmer’s market. Kohlrabi is all the rage at CSAs and farmer’s markets across America. Every time I turn around, somebody is saying the word “kohlrabi.” The entire population of North Dakota cannot be wrong. I must try this exotic Asian vegetable.
It turns out that kohlrabi is neither exotic nor Asian. (Can something be exotic and, say, Midwestern?) It’s German, and it’s like brussel sprouts. Or it’s like cabbage. It’s got a punch like an onion. It’s textured like a turnip. Nobody can quite agree what kohlrabi is like and have settled on this: kohlrabi is like kohlrabi. (This is one of the universe’s profundities.)
We tried our one-dollar (is this a good price? was I ripped off? did I score a great deal?) kohlrabi on Sunday.
Meh. It tasted like kohlrabi. But man, oh man, it SMELLED like kohlrabi. The whole house smelled like kohlrabi. (I have also discovered that kohlrabi odor is NOT my aromatherapy solution.)
Erma, who won’t eat blueberries or carrots or pizza, snacked on kohlrabi all evening and into the night. She loves kohlrabi.
Cinnamon Dog, who will eat rotten eggs, popsicle sticks, and cantaloupe rinds, deemed the kohlrabi inedible.
So what do YOU do with YOUR kohlrabi?