Baby Got Beet

Beet on Steroids?

With all due apologies and respect to Sir-Mix-A-Lot, "Oh my God Becky, look at her BEET. It is SO big!"

That is, indeed, one very big beet. And since it was grown personally by the wife that is Venus -- I do feel safe in saying "Baby Got Beet."

When Venus pulled this out of one of our raised beds a couple of nights ago and literally needed the services of a wheelbarrow to get this monster inside -- my original thought was the following: "she planted beet seeds far too close to one another and they sort of all glaumed (is that a word?) on together."

Not an invader from another world: Just a beet

Hey, if "glaumed" is good enough for the incomparable Henry Wadsworth Longfellow -- it's good enough for the blog that is Sacramento Vegetable Gardening. But, I digress.

This much is true: The wife does have a well documented green thumb. This much is also true: She doesn't pull basketball sized beets from the garden every other day of the week. Yes, we do get the occasional baseball sized radish. But that's kind of rare.

As is this monster of a beet.

Speaking of which -- what does one do with a beet the size of a basketball? Set up a hoop and net? Use it as a bowling ball? Welcome to the Bird House! Coffee? Tea? A gallon of Borscht?

Bigger than your ordinary water bottle

That was -- after all -- the second question to Venus. This is after I came home and nearly tripped over the thing. At that point came the second question, which went sort of like this in a calm and relaxed way: "HOLY COW!!! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH THIS???"

I suddenly had visions of going on a diet consisting solely of beets. Not that beets are bad, mind you. Bill Bird loves beets in a salad or other setting with other vegetables. But Bill Bird does not bathe with beets. Bill Bird does not dream of bathing with beets.

Side note? Beets have been around for a very long time. The earliest recorded history has them popping up in Babylonia in the 8th Century BC. Although ancient Romans considered beets to be an aphrodisiac, that really isn't such a big deal since Romans considered just about everything to be an aphrodisiac.

Creature from the Black Magoon

So what does one do with a monster like this? One can't just cannot tear into a beet freshly harvested from a raised backyard bed. It's not like a peach that is freshly harvested from a backyard tree. These things need processing. More precisely, they need to be boiled for a good hour or three before they are tender enough to slice and serve as -- well -- beets.

Have you ever tried boiling a bowling ball? I haven't either. But I can tell you this much. It ain't all that easy. But the wife would not be deterred. If she grew a beet the size of Third World Country, she was going to make sure that ever last bit of said Third World Country didn't go to waste.

Monster Beet After Processing

Grabbing the largest pot in the pantry -- a pot normally reserved for processing other crops like tomatoes and turning them into pints of good things like sauce and salsa -- Venus dropped in the beet monster -- filled it with water and started the process of turning bowling ball into something consumable.

Darn if that lady didn't know what she was doing!

A myriad of thoughts ran through my mind during this process. Would said monster ever get soft enough to process? Would it have the fine taste of "wood grain" after processing? Beets don't often get this large, and these were safe questions to ask.

Hey! That Doesn't Look Half Bad!

But something rather amazing happened when Venus removed her prize beet from the Bird processing pot after three hours of boiling. It sliced open. Not only that -- it sliced open easily. Inside? A deep and pretty shade of mahogany revealed itself. There was no wood here. It sliced the way a beet should slice.

But how would it taste? I was still rather skeptical! Would this be a woody waste of time? Imagine my surprise at the first bite. A blast of sugary sweetness greeted Bill Bird's taste buds. This wasn't just any ordinary beet! It's the best beet that Bill Bird has ever tasted!

My mind immediately turned to the empty pint jars in the pantry. We have processed beets before -- on many occasions. There's nothing more enjoyable than tearing into a jar of sliced beets that you processed the summer before on a cold, dark winter eve. Home processed beets are not as sweet as the commercial counterparts sold in grocery stores. They are also far more tasty.

Sliced Beets for the Masses

But the wife had other plans. Process her prized beet? Away with you husband! One doesn't process a golden garden surprise like this. It is to be consumed over the process of several meals. Try as you might, the taste of fresh garden beets is hard to duplicate. As a matter of fact, I still have the taste of this special beet in my mouth, even though said beet is long gone at this point.

It's the kind of taste that makes you wish you had just a little bit more. Baby Got Beet? Sir-Mix-A-Lot would most definitely approve of this message.

Gardening Round II -- The Brats Take Over

Kids...

Can't live without them. Can't shoot them.

My apologies. It appears that line is reserved for wives.

Now that the parents of six year old Marquitos and three year old Celina are no longer concerned that I'm going to brainwash those young minds with bad Republican ideas (Hey Kids! Offshore oil drilling is good for the environment!) -- we're getting a healthy dose of the niece and nephew this year.

We could take the kids on a series of fun adventures like the zoo and outdoor play areas -- but who are you kidding? Kids are free labor man. Give a six year old boy the option of going to the zoo or "hey, look at that dirt pile," guess which option wins?

The kids are gardeners by default. No shame here whatsoever.

Actually -- to be honest? It's the three year old girl that was more interested in the big pile of planter mix dirt than the six year old boy. Oh -- sure - he loved playing "King of the Mountain" from time to time. But after getting his first taste of planting seeds last summer -- Marquitos was back for more in a big way this year.

Actually? For his age? He's quite advanced. I couldn't be more proud. There's a strange sense of accomplishment here that I cannot explain to you. It does bring tears to my eyes though. That much is true. I don't have children. But I'm actually teaching him something useful -- other than the "perfect pour" from the kegerator.

Of course -- he's getting pretty good at that I must say -- but I'll save that for the "Beer Blog."

I didn't know first grade graduates could be so advanced. Marquitos can read a package of seeds and understand where and when to plant. He can also plant in some mighty straight rows -- as evidenced by the rows of radishes, carrots, green onions, red leaf lettuce, beets and other vegetables that are coming up in straight lines.

They're teaching reading skills to first graders now? Really? I suppose I was a late bloomer for not learning this valued skill until college -- but that's another story for another day.

Despite his expertise in the garden -- Venus kept a close eye on him -- that much is sure. But it's almost as if she didn't really need to be there. And that's the wonderful thing. He almost didn't need us. We supplied the tools -- the seeds -- the dirt in the raised beds and that little boy went right to work. This is his second effort at planting following hit and miss training efforts last year (Why Kitty Hide?). The lessons appear to have paid off ten-fold. Marquitos is a natural. The lessons have sunk in. The kid is going to be working the dirt for a long time.

As for his sister? Not as much interest this year - although she did enjoy handing seed packets to her brother. She wasn't at all interested in planting -- preferring instead to charge up that mountain of leftover planter mix in the center of the backyard.

I was going to spread it out around the yard anyway. Why not let her take a crack at it?

I actually missed having her take part in the planting party. There's nothing quite like watching a bush bean seed emerge in the bed set aside for corn and wonder, "how did that get there?" I would later learn that she loved planting bush bean seeds so much -- she planted them in every corner of the yard.

At first -- I was a tad annoyed. I'll admit it. I'm Mr. "this goes there" and "that goes here." But there's something precious about a child's first planting efforts. Who knows? Maybe she got away with something when my back was turned at the kegerator.

Off on the kegerator tangent again? My apologies.

As for Marquitos? Well -- he just couldn't get enough of the gardening effort -- despite two solid days in the backyard. Who can waste time when there's radish seeds to plant? Oh -- and what about those watermelon seeds? Do those tomato starter plants need planting somewhere?

Marquitos is a Champion Seed Planter at a very young age. It appears that Venus and I have won half the battle. The kid understands what a radish is. He understands how to plant it. He understands where to plant it. He even knows when to plant.

Getting him to actually eat the garden wonders that he is responsible for?

That -- my friends -- is another battle for another day.

One victory at a time.