Few other foodstuffs wreak the digestive havoc that these benign wee tubers do
I have a fantasy dinner party. It doesn't involve Elvis or John Lennon; Ghandi isn't there and Nelson Mandela is very much NFI. Instead, I invite the ten most buttoned-up singletons I know, feed them a banquet of violently flatulent delights, and watch them squirm. Great lobes of foie gras follow cider cocktails, while pork pies sit beside pickled cabbage. My guests begin to shift in their seats. A steaming cauldron of cassoulet appears, its depth of bean and sausage belying the inevitable midnight fanfare. Lentils are there somewhere. Puerile, certainly, but what are fantasies for if not indulging one’s childish whims?
The evening would be rounded off with fine crystal glasses of chilled Rössler, a spirit made from the root of the Jerusalem artichoke. For few other foodstuffs wreak the sort of digestive havoc that these benign wee tubers do. They may appear petite and unassuming, tasting sweet and nutty and mild, but their ability to turn even the primmest of debutantes into a human trombone is unparalleled. The seventeenth century planter John Goodyer complained that "which way soever they be dressed and eaten, they stir and cause a filthy loathsome stinking wind within the body, thereby causing the belly to be pained and tormented, and are a meat more fit for swine than men."
It is the polymer inulin – not insulin, mind – that provides Jerusalem artichokes with their gusty vengeance. Like some edible ninja, inulin skips unnoticed through most of your body, until it reaches the digestive outpost that is the colon. It’s here that bacteria metabolise the inulin, releasing some pretty severe quantities of carbon dioxide, hydrogen, and methane. And that, dear reader, is why after a meal of Jerusalem artichokes you have the potential to fell a man at fifty paces with a well-aimed air biscuit.
There are means of thwarting the guffsome machinations of this knobbly root. Certain spices have a natural capacity to counteract any unwanted gurgles – cumin, coriander, and caraway all take the edge off farty foods. Asafoetida is particularly good, which is surprising considering it is also known as ‘devil’s dung’ and smells – at least in its raw form – like wet underpants. Probiotics are also supposed to help, live yoghurts and fermented dairy products like kefir restoring balance to the gut with their calming lactic bacteria.
But for many, try as they might, Jerusalem artichokes remain a bastion of regret and discomfort, their vocal protests in the middle of the night a scorching reminder of a dish that was perhaps best left uneaten. It’s a shame. They are a delicious ingredient, and a versatile, novel alternative to the potato. Simmered in good chicken stock and blended with cream and roasted garlic they make a stunning soup, while simply roasted with thyme and olive oil they sit particularly well alongside roast beef.
One day scientists may discover a foolproof antidote to these socially hazardous vegetables, and we can eat them without fear of having to mince and twitch from the table as if holding a pinecone between our buttocks. But until then the Jerusalem artichoke will continue to wield its awesome, gut-twisting powers on dinner tables across the country, rendering our alarm clocks redundant with their insistent, bassy refrain.
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Heart of the Artichoke and Other Kitchen Journeys