Tickled Pink

"Tickled pink" is an expression I associate with my Dad. When he heard good news, he declared himself to be tickled pink. If a favorite person was coming to visit, again, he'd be tickled pink. Or perhaps it was a particularly welcome Christmas present - he'd look me in the eye and say, "Honey, thank you! I'm tickled pink!" and, indeed, he was a little flushed with pleasure.

I don't associate beets with my father at all. I'm pretty sure he didn't like beets, as we rarely had them growing up. If he had an aversion to a particular food but Mom liked it, she would save it to serve to us when he was out at sea. She spoiled him, and he loved it. I learned a lot about the care and feeding of husbands from her.

I've always rather liked beets. I like them sweet or pickled and the color always amazes me - talk about your vegetable dyes! If I'm not careful, I get indelible hot pink stains down the front of my clothes. I'm sure beet juice would make a knockout ink.

I had some nice, round dark purple beets that I had roasted in foil, so decided to try making a sort of scallop with potatoes and onions and, for that slightly pickled taste, plain yogurt. I sliced them all thinly (except the yogurt, of course) and layered potatoes, then onions, then beets, then a slather of yogurt into a shallow dish. When I was finished layering, it didn't seem quite moist enough, so I dotted some butter on the top and sneaked a little half-and-half down the side to bubble in the oven. The cream immediately turned bright pink.

I baked the dish for about two hours (scalloped things take a surprisingly long time) at about 350 degrees F. The top was browned a dark chocolate color but the layers inside were brightly pink. It looked kinda cool on the plate. The taste was slightly sour along with creamy, but I have to admit it wasn't the kind of dish that makes you pound the table and nod with delight. It's a quieter pleasure than that.

All in all, it was good, but I wasn't tickled pink.