ISSUE 74, THE BOOK OF RARER VEGETABLES, Part 4: Rampion
Rampion
Perhaps you first encountered rampion the way I did—reading Grimm’s Fairy Tales. In the story of Rapunzel the various complications that lead to the young long-tressed lady being held captive by a witch in a tower were set into motion by Rapunzel’s mother having an immoderate appetite for Rampion. I did not know then that the name Rapunzel was the German rendering of what we in English call Rampion. [The biological name: Campanula rapunculus.] Since I had never eaten nor even heard of Rampion, I went to my trusty dictionary and learned that it was the name of a kind of primrose with long narrow leaves and a white fleshy root that had something of the texture of a turnip. Since the tale communicated the rather dire consequences of craving this vegetable, I decided to heed its warning and did not seek out Rampion root. Indeed it passed completely from my thoughts and desires until I began reading chef Jules Arthur Harder’s magisterial guide to American Vegetable Cookery, The Physiology of Taste (S.F. 1885). Then the chef of the Palace Hotel, Harder was a particular lover of rarer vegetables. Sure enough there it appeared on page 288 of his Cook Book:
The Rampion is a biennial plant, the wild variety being known as the Primrose. The leaves are long, narrow and pointed. The roots are white, of fusi-form, and flesh, somewhat resembling the turnip. Botht he leaves and roots have a pleasant nut-like flavor, and are generally eaten raw as a salad, when young.
Harder warned that there was another plant that Americans called Rampion—the Evening Primrose (Oenothera biennis)—that grew commonly on the side or roads and whose root tasted nowhere near so good, being pungent flavored rather than mild and hazelnutty. Nowadays the Evening Primrose, which is indigenous to North America, is popular for its oil which which is used in alternative medicine to treat dermatitis and other ailments. Wild food enthusiasts still harvest the tap roots, but instead of slicing them like radishes for the salad bowl, they boil them and serve them with butter, or olive oil. This diminishes the pungency to which Harder objected.
The leaves of the true Rampion are quite tasty and when harvested young are used like spinach. The roots should be harvested before the plants go to seed, lest they turn fibrous and tough. George Wythes in his Book of Rarer Vegetables recommends boiling the root before consuming it. Americans preferred the root raw.
There has never been a Rampion moment when chefs inspire the public—both gardeners and consumers— to embrace the vegetable. Now that I have finally tasted the vegetable, both leaves and roots, I can suppose why. The raw root is not that distinctive—with less personality than any 20th century Japanese turnip, or any classic radish. Indeed after eating my first Rampion I grew puzzled why Rapunzel’s mother developed such a zest for the root.