Grow les légumes oubliés

04/07/2004
Grow les légumes oubliés

French gardeners harbor a tender nostalgia for what they call les légumes oubliés--"the forgotten vegetables." That's the French equivalent of what we call "heirloom vegetables"--that is, old (or in the French case, ancient) vegetable varieties which are open-pollinated and often difficult to find in commerce.







In France, les légumes oubliés include also vegetable oddballs or foreign rarities, as well as "weeds" that used to be wild-gathered for salads and as pot herbs (such as the minutina, right, and red and green orach, left) , and vegetables that have for some reason or other fallen from culinary favor (such as the parsnip).








Growing les légumes oubliés on either side of the Atlantic is one of the most satisfying adventures you can embark on, full of old-fashioned flavors, beautiful colors and forms, and a sense of history. Perhaps best of all, growing these forgotten plants will expand your culinary repertoire in new (old) and exciting ways.

Back in the States, I had been a grower of les légumes oubliés for decades. In the late seventies, I discovered Nichols Garden Seeds in Oregon, who were one of the first purveyors of old and European vegetable varieties. Much later, I was of course delighted to see American seedhouses such as Shepherds and Johnny's take up the cause. The forgotten veggies have always made up the bulk of my over-extensive vegetable garden.



Old varieties of familiar vegetables often have interesting forms, such as the pointed heads of 'Coeur de Boeuf Gros' (Big Beef Heart) cabbage (next to crinkled Vert de Milan savoy cabbage) at an organic market in Toulouse, right). And because vegetables were cultivated by hand and sold locally, flavor--not firmness for ease of shipping or simultaneous ripening for mechanized harvest--dictated the selection of varieties. This means that the old varieties are often the best for home gardeners who prize their vegetables for superlative taste in the kitchen and on the table.




Les légumes oubliés include lots of roots. Why? Well, because before the days of refrigeration, root crops were an essential part of winter diets as they could be stored throughout the cold season in root cellars. Perhaps the fact that a big pan of roasted carrots, parsnips, turnips, and salsify tastes extra good on a cold winter's day is because somewhere in our brains we harbor a collective ancestral memory of these wintertime foods.




In our conscious memory, most of us have forgotten how to cook with anything as arcane as salsify (photo above left) or tuberous parsley or chervil (photo right). Rediscovering these truly forgotten vegetables expands our culinary repertoire in exciting ways. In Paris, a good selection of les légumes oubliés on the menu is a sure indication that you are in a creative and high-priced restaurant.

Since moving to France, I have discovered many old French vegetable varieties which I never heard of in the States. The beautiful pumpkin 'Brodée Galeuse d'Eysines', with its classic flattened French shape, a beautiful cantaloupe-colored skin, and the most interesting warts, which, curiously, continue to grow and increase during storage, is one example. There's the ancient carrot variety 'St. Valéry', still in commerce, which I like to think originated around the town of St.-Valéry-en-Caux, a five-minute drive from our Normandie house. There's the succulent bean 'Nun's Navel' ('Nombril de Bonne Soeur'), which as delicious eaten as a young pod as it is shelled out dry. Or the gnarly, ugly, but incredibly sweet and flavorful beet, 'Rouge Crapaudine'--which translates as 'Red Toad-like One.'

It is perhaps safe to say that the French are the most impassioned vegetable growers of the western world. Maraîchage, or commercial vegetable growing, has evolved to a high art in France. This country is home to the most incredible assortment of Rube Goldberg growing equipment especially developed for vegetable growing, as I've seen while wandering an enormous expo hall at an agricultural/horticultural trade show. And France's protectionist agricultural policies have preserved small growers and a diversity of crops. Of course, many ancient French vegetable varieties have been morphed into mainstream varieties available almost everywhere. The carrot 'Nantes' is a good example.



Of course, fruits can be forgotten too. Among the forgotten fruits I've discovered since living here is the 'Capron Blanc Framboise, a sort of wild strawberry with fierce runners, and small fruits that are white blushed rose when ripe, incredibly soft and fragile, and of a perfume and flavor that are nothing short of ambrosial.

I've even discovered some entirely new vegetables since living here. One of the most interesting is Ficoïde glaciale (photo below right), a salad plant with fleshy leaves, a mild, refreshing flavor, and a crisp-juicy texture in the mouth. Its leaves are covered with tiny glands that give it the appearance of being coated with tiny frost crystals. When I see this in a salad while dining out, I know I'm in a really good restaurant.



During my first fall in Paris, at a wonderful specialty greengrocer who now has unfortunately closed, I saw a basket of small, twirly tubers which were entirely unfamilar to me. I was informed that these were the Crosne de Japon and that they were delicious. I took them home, boiled them until tender, dressed them simply with a bit of butter, salt and pepper, and popped one excitedly into my mouth. Artichoke heart, said my tongue. This curious little tuber of Stachys affinis, a hardy perennial, tastes exactly like artichoke hearts. Unfortunately, I can't offer it for sale as it is propagated from tubers and not from seed, but I encourage you to look for it in the States. If you find it, plant the tuber in spring or early fall, and give it plenty of room to grow. It is a spreading plant about 5 feet tall.



The Crosne du Japon is native to Japan and China, but gained its curious French name because it was first introduced in France by a Monsieur Pailleux in the village of Crosnes (Essonne), in 1882.

For me, the profound intellectual pleasure in growing les légumes oubliés lies in their diversity. You could say that encouraging greater diversity is one of the guiding principles of my life, and even one of the reasons I moved to France, where diversity is stubbornly protected, often at great public fiduciary expense. I absolutely revel in the range of flavors, colors, forms, and even the diverse genomes of the forgotten vegetables. I know--down to the very roots of my soul--that diversity is a necessary and positive thing. But whatever your reason, don't miss out on the treasure trove of les légumes oubliés.

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Products of Interest:
Pumpkin 'Brodé Galeux d'Eysines'
Ficoide glaciale
Bean, shell 'Nombril de bonne-soeur'
Beet 'Rouge Crapaudine'