The beet was Rasputin's favorite vegetable. Grace Slick scarcely could have known it, but that toadstool that Alice nibbled in Wonderland was. The beet is the ancient ancestor of the autumn moon, bearded, buried, all but fossilized the dark green sails of the grounded moon-boat stitched with veins of primordial plasma the kite string that once connected the moon to the Earth now a muddy whisker drilling desperately for rubies. This week, we’re bringing you an article by Tom Robbins, published in the December, 1976 issue. The beet is what happens when the cherry finishes with the carrot. The beet is the murderer returned to the scene of the crime. The beet is the melancholy vegetable, the one most willing to suffer. Slavic peoples get their physical characteristics from potatoes, their smoldering inquietude from radishes, their seriousness from beets. Tomatoes are lusty enough, yet there runs through tomatoes an undercurrent of frivolity. The radish, admittedly, is more feverish, but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the fire of discontent not of passion. “The beet is the most intense of vegetables.
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