By Lady Emily of Salle
Heigh-ho, by some miraculous Fortune thou hast obtained a goodly mass of turnips. Mayhaps thou planted the remains of a half-eaten bulb thou discover’d near thy Lord’s Pigsty. And mayhaps, in the Throes of Famine, thou hast sold thy last remaining teeth to the village apothecary and proffered the coin thus procured to purchase more turnips. Now thou hast found thyself with prodigious turnips, but alas, no means of masticating them.
Fear not! I present thee with several recipes for Mashèd Turnips that require minimal mastication, or none at all.
Mashèd Turnips with Well Water
Draw a cauldron of water from the nearest well. Boil thy Turnips for a goodly length until well softened, using any available implement, such as a rock or a stick of considerable girth, to mash the turnips until gruellish in consistency. Serve one portion of Mashèd Turnips on a plank of wood and congratulate thyself—surely living without teeth shall not be so bad.
Day-Olde Mashèd Turnips
The day after thou hast prepared Mashèd Turnips with well water, scrape the remaining mash from thy plank of wood and form into an orb. Should desiccation have occurred during the night, and thy toothless gums lack the vigor to penetrate the orb, leave to boil again as thou toil’st in the field, and later in the eventide, whilst slurping thy resulting mash, reflect that mayhaps it might have been wise to keep just two or three teeth.
Fermented Mashèd Turnips
‘Tis true, thou hast procured enough turnips to keep Famine at bay, though thou dost often ponder that nothing would serve as a better accompaniment to thy turnips than a nice crust of stale bread. Alas, thy toothless affliction means thou shalt never masticate bread again. But a fortnight has pass’d since thou boiled thy Mashèd Turnips with well water, and as thou wakest at dawn on thy pallet of dry straw, a rich yeasty odor wafts to thy nosethrils from the cauldron. Thy turnips have now fermented. Eat, eat until thou feel’st a sensation of giddy oblivion. Now thou may’st not care that thy teeth are forever Lost. Thou may’st even proffer the fermented turnips in trade to other toothless peasants in return for gruel to eat at Candlemas. ‘Tis entirely thy call.