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Of all the reasons I didn't join a CSA sooner, The Weird Vegetable Problem was not among them. Serious doubts about making the Saturday morning pick-up each week? Check. A chronic inability to anticipate July's bounty in frigid February, when sign-ups happen? Double check. But being on the receiving end of strange roots and unidentified green objects, a concern I've heard cited by more than a few folks? No worries. In fact, it was not fear but love of eccentric produce that kept me on the CSA sidelines, until now.
It was only a matter of time, of course. I believe in everything Community Supported Agriculture stands for. I've bought the bulk of my family's produce at farmers markets for years. The microeconomics of CSA membership make all kinds of sense: pay the farmer literal 'seed money' in advance of planting, for a full season's share of the farm's yield (for better or worse). And the macroeconomics aren't too shabby, either: keep those food dollars entirely local, a rare circumstance in our supermarket era. Really, it was only my free spirit that kept me from committing. I've long loved the ritual of browsing the week's bounty, choosing this farmer's okra and that farmer's eggplant and all manner of greens the names of which I can't recall. But when we moved to Ohio in 2009, I came to appreciate another CSA benefit: the intimate look it affords into an area's ecosystem.
The Pacific Northwest, my old home, has a wildly different growing season, a fact that first struck me when I saw local June tomatoes. We're lucky, where I come from, to harvest Sungolds mid-August. Follow one farmer's crops, I figured, and I'd gain textbooks' worth of knowledge. So throughout our first summer, I shopped around at North Market, noting the farmers whose food I most enjoyed, and which among those offered memberships in their farms. There were many good options; I'm not sure I could have gone wrong. In the end, we went with Elizabeth Telling, whose eggs, greens and eveything we'd adored all last year. This year's the same, with one glaring exception: No more "No, I'm so sorry, those are for CSA members only." Pinning down the prime produce: yet another fringe benefit.
 While we're guaranteed our share of the hit parade, the red ripe strawberries and gold-yolked eggs, I'm just asthrilled over the less glamorous choices, like yellow ball turnips complete with their tops. Sometimes I wonder, though, if these are the culprits, the unloved odd ducks that keep people away.
I hope not, because turnips are outrageously good, and when sold with their greens, all that much better. The early small balls are sparkling with flavor, earthy, like all roots, but with sweet-spicy spunk. Like potatoes, with personality. Peeled and diced and slowly caramelized in olive oil, they go nutty and sweet and completely addictive. Follow them up in the pan with their greens, cut into ribbons and braised in garlicky oil, and you have one of early summer's finest of feasts. We served ours up on a slump of polenta, and topped it all with a fried farm egg. Problem solved, save the fact that one bunch won't yield seconds. Which might be why I've taken to supplementing my share.
Caramelized Turnips & Their Greens
1 large bunch turnips and their greens
4 Tbs. extra virgin olive oil
2 plump cloves of garlic, slivered
Salt
For Turnips:
Peel turnips. I do this with a small paring knife, shaving a small slice off both ends to stabilize, then taking off a
thin slice of peel, top to bottom, along the contour of the root. Cut into 1/2" dice.
Heat 2 Tablespoons olive oil in a heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Place diced turnips in hot oil, toss
to coat, season with salt, then let sit, 3-5 minutes, until turnips are golden and fragrant. Toss to re-distribute, and
continue cooking another 3-5 minutes, browning new surfaces. Continue another 3-5 minutes, until many surfaces are carmelized, and turnips pierce easily with tip of a knife. Remove to a plate. Wipe out skillet.
 For Greens: Wash greens, and let residual water cling to the leaves. Unlike tougher greens (kale, collards), most turnip
greens I've eaten have been tender, stem and all. If your stems snap crisply, include them. If they're older and tough, quickly strip leaves by holding stem upside down, and running thumb and index finger along either side.
Stack greens 10-12 leaves high, then slice into 1/4" slivers. Repeat, slicing all.
Place 2 Tablespoons olive oil and slivered garlic in same skillet over medium heat, and warm until garlic becomes fragrant and begins to sizzle. Immediately add slivered greens and 1/2 tsp. salt, and toss with garlicky oil to coat. Cover skillet, and sweat greens for 5 minutes. Remove lid, toss greens again, turn heat to medium, and cover another 5 minutes. Remove lid, toss, and allow to braise another 5-10 minutes, until liquid is mostly (but not entirely) absorbed and greens are tender to the tooth. Sample, adjust seasoning to taste, and serve with caramelized turnips on top. ~Molly Hays
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