Murder, Macbeth and Borscht.

Salads are only for murderers,

Coleslaw's a fascist regime.

Don't think that they don't have feelings,

Just cause a radish can't scream.

From "Carrot Juice is Murder" by the Arrogant Worms.

This song runs through my head every time I cook beets.  It seemed particularly appropriate last night, as I prepared borscht for our dinner. The red juices dripping from my knife, across the cutting board and onto the floor. The stained hands. It's like a scene from Macbeth. 

Fortunately, the washing up was quite fun. Look, pink foam! 

No roaming the house in the middle of the night wringing stained hands.  And the recipe made enough borscht for tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.