Apr 7 – First, Chop Up a Swede

Because I’ve learned that I’m in the land of Cornish pasties, I decided to try making some.  I started looking online for a basic, traditional recipe, and was stumped to see several of them starting off with:

“1 Swede, chopped”.

What could this possibly mean?

I’ve been soaking up Scandinavian history ever since I entered Minnesota (Norwegians), then a friend persuaded me to start taking Swedish language lessons online (Duolingo), and then I discovered Finns on the U.P.  I know that Norwegians & Finns were suffering economic hardships that pushed them to emigrate, and that they resented their more prosperous Swedish neighbors.  But nothing I ever read hinted at cannibalism there.  And these pasties are Cornish, after all.

After some research, I learned that a “swede” is a rutabaga, since it was originally a Swedish turnip.  In old Swedish it was a “rotabagge”, from rot (root) + bagge (short, stumpy object; probably related to bag).  When the root vegetable was introduced to the English, they refused to adopt its Swedish name, and instead called it a “Swedish turnip”, then shortened that to “swede”.  The Scots also shortened “turnip” to “neep”.  When Scandinavians immigrated to the Upper Midwest, however, they brought with them the older term, so that in North America this vegetable is called “rutabaga”. 

I’ve always been interested in root vegetables, but haven’t eaten them very much, so this would be a good chance to experiment.  The recipes called for only 1 rutabaga & 2 potatoes, so the flavor of the swede wasn’t likely to overwhelm the other ingredients.  I went to the local roadside produce market to find the perfect swede to chop up.

Two potatoes, a rutabaga, and an onion produced an enormous bowlful of chopped cubes!  Exhausted & panicky, I ran out to buy more meat & pie crust pastry.  I threw over any concerns about an authentic balance of meat & roots, since I wanted them to look like the restaurant-made specimens I had seen online.  So now my mixing bowl was overflowing with ingredients, and I started constructing pasties.

The recommended size I found for a circle of pasty pastry was “a dinner plate”.  This is roughly the same as a pie crust circle, but I thought that the half-circle pasty that it produced would be unwieldy for a handheld entrée.  I cut each pie crust in half, then rolled it into a slightly rounder shape and cut off the sharper points.  Spoon the filling onto half of it, brush the edges with egg, fold over.  The crimping/folding/rolling process felt very natural in my hands, and turned out well! 

homemade pasties

Pierce the tops with a fork, brush with egg, bake.  Beautiful!

After making 8 of these pasties (and one more scrappy one from the cut-off pointy bits of pastry) I still had more than enough filling for a 9-inch pie.  And not enough energy to do more pasty construction.  One more trip to the grocery store, fill the crust & cover, crimp & bake.  Definitely not enough energy left over for kitchen cleanup!

The pasties & the pie were delicious hot out of the oven.  Pasties are such fun to eat! 

Recommended: black pepper

I’m left wondering about seasonings.  All of the recipes said “salt & pepper to taste”.  I know that modern American tastes enjoy much more salt & pepper than was traditional.  (Some recipes said lightly peppered & some said highly peppered.)  I tried to season the pasties moderately.  Some recipes called for “a dash of nutmeg”.  Within this massive mound of filling, a ¼ teaspoon of nutmeg got lost. 

Lastly, for the whole pie I added some Worcestershire sauce.  (Hey, I was tired & it’s sort of British-y, right?)  It added salt, but not much else that I noticed.  I was left wanting more flavor.  I guess I’m ready to try a more Americanized version, and I’d like to cook in a shared kitchen to make this process into a cooperative experience.  I wonder what else I can do with a rutabaga?