25 Forgotten Vegetables Your Great-Grandparents Grew to Survive

Your great-grandparents fed a family of eight through winter on nothing but what they yanked from the dirt.

No meal kits. No Whole Foods run.

Just a backyard plot, a root cellar packed with taters and parsnips and kohlrabi, and the kind of stubborn vegetables that shrugged off drought during the worst economic collapse this country has ever seen.

Their entire survival diet was plant-based. Nobody bragged about it.

Nobody called it vegetarian. Nobody filmed a grocery haul.

They grew what worked, ate what lasted, and white-knuckled every harvest until spring thawed the ground again. Kids got oranges at Christmas as a gift because fruit was that exotic.

The rest of the year? Roots, greens, and beans from the backyard.

I don’t know about yours, but my grandparents didn’t have a glass cooktop, an espresso machine, a garbage disposal, Windex, athletic socks. That t-shirt with a hole under the arm got mended, not a trip to the rag bag.

They were built from different stuff, and they ate from a different garden.

Here are 25 forgotten vegetables your ancestors grew to stay alive, and every single one belongs on your plate in 2026.

1. Mangelwurzel

The name translates to “root of scarcity.”

These monster beets ballooned to twenty pounds and kept both the family and the livestock going through winter. Before pumpkins took over, rural British families hollowed out mangelwurzels and carved them into jack-o-lanterns for Halloween.

Good luck tracking one down at Kroger. You’ll need heritage seed catalogs like Baker Creek.

It’s startling how my taste buds have changed as I get older. In my late 40s I revisited veggies that I shunned as a child and young adult. Beets, carrots, spinach, and Brussels sprouts.

So trust me on this one: cube it, slow-roast with olive oil and sea salt, and the natural sugars caramelize into something that tastes like candy pulled from the earth. You can also grate any beet and eat some raw with your meal. It just tastes like carrots like that, with the addition of making you poop red for 3 days.

2. Rutabaga

They called it “Poor Man’s Gold.”

This bowling-ball-sized root thrived in soil so wrecked that potatoes would rot on contact. A single rutabaga carries more Vitamin C than a whole orange.

Peel it, dice it, boil it, mash it with butter and salt. Done.

I didn’t even know what to do with one until I picked up Six Seasons by Joshua McFadden and realized I’d been ignoring the best root vegetable in the store.

Your great-grandma didn’t need a recipe blog.

That generation did not mess around. Someone once told me about their grandmother, who would be 112 now, who cut her leg wide open with a glass jar. She told her daughter to run get the sugar.

They poured it all over the cut allowing it to clot so they could make the 40 mile trip to the town doctor. Saved her life.

If grandma served you rutabaga, you ate the rutabaga.

3. Salsify

They called it the “oyster plant” because this skinny root somehow mimics the ocean.

Families who couldn’t afford meat got a flash of luxury from something they dug out of frozen ground.

Peel it underwater (it oxidizes in seconds), parboil it, then pan-fry in butter until golden. Whole Foods and winter farmers markets stock it if you know where to look. Keep an eye out for black salsify too, quite uncommon, but eaten in winter all over Europe.

It’s one of those depression-era crops that has nearly vanished. Which is a shame, because it punches way above its weight.

4. Jerusalem Artichokes

Not from Jerusalem. Not an artichoke.

It’s a sunflower tuber that comes back every single year without replanting. Depression-era gardeners obsessed over them because they’re indestructible. Plant once, eat forever.

A prepper once walked me through his endgame theory: if the worst kind of things happen, any realistic amount of storage food will eventually run out, so have seeds or cuttings from plants such as sunchokes that provide plenty of calories, because we will have to go back to agriculture.

The man’s apocalypse plan is a tuber. I can’t argue with it.

Scrub them, slice into coins, toss with olive oil and rosemary, roast at 400. Trader Joe’s stocks them in fall and winter.

Fair warning though: go slow when you add these to your diet, or your gut will revolt.

5. Parsnips

Before potatoes crossed the Atlantic, this was Europe’s go-to starch.

Families left them buried in frozen ground all winter because the cold flips their starches into sugar. They come out tasting like apples.

My favorite vegetable that I eat at least once a week is parsnip. And people who try them for the first time talk about it like a spiritual experience, like the guy who swore his “taste buds had been asleep all these years and just woke up to the truth.”

Peel, slice into sticks, roast with a drizzle of honey. The sugars caramelize and even the pickiest eaters fold.

6. Turnips

Seed to table in six weeks flat.

Both the root and the greens are edible. Drought bounces right off them.

I know most people say turnips taste like punishment, but honestly I’ve had better luck mashing them 50/50 with potatoes. The sharp bite softens and you land on something earthy and layered that plain mashed potatoes can’t touch.

Don’t toss the tops. Beet roots usually include the greens in most groceries around where I live, but finding turnips with greens usually requires a trip to the farmers market. For what it’s worth, I’m the only person in my family who likes mixed greens stewed with hot peppers.

In the Midwest, winter vegetables meant carrots, beets, turnip, and onions. That was the whole rotation. Four items. All year.

7. Collard Greens

Heat won’t kill them.

Frost makes them sweeter. You can strip the leaves over and over from the same plant all season long.

The fact that the side of my family that enjoys collard greens, carrots, and broccoli is healthier than the other side who eats cucumber and corn doesn’t seem like luck anymore.

These greens demand patience. Remove the stems, chop the leaves, and simmer low and slow for two hours in broth.

Patience > shortcuts with this one.

8. Swiss Chard

Cut the leaves. They grow back.

Cut them again. Same thing.

While every other green wilts and bolts in summer heat, chard just keeps cranking. Sauté the stems first (five minutes in olive oil), then throw in the leaves and steam with a splash of water.

One note: if you’re looking for leafy greens low in oxalates, arugula is the better option compared to spinach, kale, and Swiss chard.

The rainbow-colored stems look like a farmer’s market mood board. Which is probably why every wellness influencer on earth has claimed them this year.

9. Danish Ballhead Cabbage

This cabbage sat in a root cellar for six to eight months without rotting. No fridge, no plastic wrap, no vacuum seal.

Someone once told me about his mom, who grew up during the Blitz in WWII London. She’d fry up this thing out of leftovers she called Bubble and Squeak, crispy cabbage-and-potato patties the kids would dip in ketchup, and she’d put baked beans on buttered toast and they’d scarf that stuff down and lick the plate.

Surprising how damn tasty some of those ration-era recipes are. Cabbage earned its keep in worse kitchens than ours.

Full disclosure: I want to love cabbage. It is good for gut health, but it causes bloating for me. I keep coming back anyway.

Slice it thin, massage it with salt until it weeps its own brine, pack it in a jar. You just made sauerkraut the exact same way your great-great-grandmother did.

And if someone calls cabbage boring? The old slang for it was “ghetto lettuce” because it was the cheapest green that stretched the furthest. Boring feeds families.

10. Dandelion Greens

Before the lawn care industry convinced America that dandelions were the enemy, families ate every part of them. Root to flower.

During the Depression, people foraged dandelions for free salads because the alternative was going hungry.

I still do it. I often simply go out into my yard and pluck common “weeds” to make soups, salads and cooked greens. Dandelion, plantain, wild garlic, clover, cat’s ear, chickory, purslane, lamb’s quarters. All of which are quite common, easy to identify, typically abundant and best of all free.

The greens are bitter. That’s the whole point.

Blanch them for two minutes, then hit them hard with garlic and crushed red pepper in a hot pan. You can grab them at Whole Foods or just step outside if your yard is chemical-free.

11. Purslane

This succulent weed shows up uninvited in garden beds and most people rip it out.

Your great-grandparents ate it because it thrived during droughts when everything else turned to dust.

Purslane carries the highest omega-3 levels of any leafy green on the planet. No cooking needed. Wash it, toss it in a salad with cucumbers and tomatoes.

Mexican grocers sell it as verdolagas.

12. Sorrel

Before families could get their hands on lemons, sorrel was how they cut through heavy winter food.

The leaves taste sharp and tangy, like backyard citrus. Don’t cook it long. Chop it fine and stir it into a finished soup right before you serve it.

13. Kohlrabi

It looks like a pale green artifact from another planet.

Grows above the soil line with leaves shooting from its sides like antennae.

The name apparently translates from German to stem cabbage or cabbage turnip. As the name suggests it’s a mixture between a cabbage (taste-wise) and a turnip (texture-wise). You can eat it raw, put it in the oven, cook it with some white sauce. It’s amazing.

Peel the tough outer skin and slice the crisp inside into matchsticks with a mustard vinaigrette for a slaw that crunches louder than any chip you’ve ever eaten. And if you somehow don’t like it, give it to your rabbits. Just make sure the kohlrabi is plump.

I could be wrong here, but I think kohlrabi is the most slept-on raw vegetable in any grocery store.

14. Burdock Root

Most homeowners see it as a weed.

Japanese cooks see it as non-negotiable. They call it gobo and have been cooking with it for centuries.

Hit up H-Mart or any Asian market. Julienne it into matchsticks, soak for a few minutes, then stir-fry with soy sauce, sugar, and sesame oil.

Earthy, a little bitter, and loaded with iron and prebiotic fiber.

15. Celeriac

The ugliest vegetable on earth.

A knobby root that tastes like concentrated celery with the heft of a potato.

Use a chef’s knife (not a peeler) to hack off the exterior. Cube and roast it, or shred it raw with mayo, lemon, and Dijon for a classic French remoulade. Fine-dining chefs salt-bake the whole root and carve it tableside as a meatless “steak.”

16. Winter Radishes

Forget those tiny pink coins in your salad.

Heritage winter radishes grew as big as turnips and stayed crisp in cold storage for months. The old-timers’ insurance policy went with them: keep garden seeds in supply, always, especially the fast-growing foods like radishes, turnips, and leaf vegetables.

Raw, they’ll torch your mouth. Roasted, they go mild and potato-like.

Pickled, they become the sharp, tangy condiment that slices through anything rich. Look for the black Spanish variety at Asian markets or specialty grocers.

17. Hamburg Rooted Parsley

Two harvests from one plant.

Parsley leaves all summer, a thick edible root in the fall. Depression-era efficiency at its finest.

Simmer the root in broth until tender, then blend into a silky puree. It’s the secret weapon in authentic Eastern European borscht and most Americans have zero clue it exists.

18. Rhubarb (the Savory Version)

Everyone knows rhubarb pie.

Almost nobody knows that rhubarb started life as a vegetable, not a dessert. Families leaned on its intense tartness as a dirt-cheap substitute for citrus.

When I was a kid, I’d sneak into the neighbor’s yard and pull rhubarb straight out of the ground. Pretty sure they thought they had a gopher problem.

Chop the pink stalks and toss them into a braising pot with bean stews. They melt into a tangy sauce you can’t fake with anything else.

(Leaves are toxic though. Bin those.)

19. Good King Henry

Named to set it apart from a poisonous lookalike called “Bad Henry.”

That’s not a joke.

The tender spring shoots taste like asparagus and push through the second snow melts. Steam for four minutes, hit with lemon and butter. Perennial, so it returns on its own every year.

You won’t spot this in any store. Seeds from niche retailers like Strictly Medicinal Seeds or nothing.

20. Orach

Spinach bolts in summer heat.

Orach couldn’t care less. This plant climbs six feet tall and throws out vibrant magenta leaves that’ll stain your entire risotto pink.

Swap it in anywhere you’d use spinach. Less oxalic acid, more calcium, and it won’t quit on you when the thermometer spikes. Seeds through Hudson Valley Seed Company.

21. Hubbard Squash

Twenty pounds. Skin like body armor.

Six months of storage without a hint of rot. One squash kept a family going for a week.

The traditional way to crack it open? Drop it on a concrete floor.

Not a joke. Scoop the seeds, roast the chunks skin-side down, mash the sweet orange flesh. I love a good butternut squash, cooked or in a soup, and Hubbard is the same idea wearing armor.

Squash also pulled garden duty back then. As one of the “three sisters” of Native American agriculture, corn acted as poles for the beans and squash worked as a ground cover keeping soil moisture at proper levels. The beans have a reputation for fixing nitrogen and improving soil for other crops. Always keep something growing in your soil to maintain soil life.

Find them at fall farmers markets parked next to the decorative pumpkins nobody eats.

22. Ground Cherries

A tiny orange fruit wrapped in a paper husk, like a tomatillo’s sweeter, wilder cousin.

They tumble to the ground when ripe and taste tropical, which feels impossible for something that grew in a Depression-era backyard.

Peel the husk, rinse off the sticky film, eat them raw. Or simmer with sugar for a jam that tastes like nothing else on the shelf. Late-summer farmers markets are your best bet.

23. Cardoon

Thomas Jefferson grew rows of them at Monticello.

It’s an artichoke’s giant, thistle-covered cousin that fell out of rotation because it takes real effort to prep.

Trim the prickly edges, peel the fibrous strings, boil in lemon water until tender, then bake in a cream and parmesan gratin. Worth every single minute.

24. Skirret

The Roman Emperor Tiberius wanted this so bad he demanded it as tribute from the Germans.

It’s a perennial root so sweet they tagged it “sugar root” in the original German. Sweeter than a modern carrot.

Parboil for three minutes, then pan-fry in butter until the skins crisp and the inside goes gooey. You’ll have to grow it from seed because commercial farming walked away from it decades ago.

25. Crosnes

They look like pale grubs.

They taste like water chestnuts and cost a small fortune at specialty markets.

Scrub them (never peel), parboil for two minutes, then pan-fry in garlic butter until they pop. These might be the trickiest item on this list to track down. Try upscale Asian grocers or just grow them yourself in sandy soil.

The Real Punchline

People talk about plant-based eating like somebody invented it in a Brooklyn co-op in 2019.

Your great-grandparents were doing it out of raw necessity, pulling 90% of their calories from dirt, roots, and leaves. They didn’t have a label for it.

They called it Tuesday.

And their other trick still works. Home canning allowed my family to calmly weather the COVID kerfuffle, when everyone was panic-buying groceries, and it has been a godsend during the occasional financial difficulty. It allows you to get food when it’s cheap (on sale in stores, harvest season) and keep it until needed later.

It enabled my family to weather out of work from injuries and other causes too. Home canned fruit by the quart, green beans, carrots.

A gardener friend of mine puts it less diplomatically: I eat beets, carrots, broccoli, cabbage, onions, garlic, and sweet potatoes, and if you eat something else then you’re wrong.

Forget trendy pantry lists. These vegetables outlasted the Depression, two world wars, and decades of being ghosted by industrial agriculture.

My grandparents fed themselves almost entirely off a garden like this. Yours probably did too.

If this list made you want to actually cook some of these, Six Seasons by Joshua McFadden is the best vegetable cookbook I’ve come across for making produce the star of the plate. The Victory Garden Cookbook by Morash has always been my other go-to Bible for vegetable cooking. The lemon-butter sauce is amazing on broccoli and cauliflower.

The plants don’t need you. But your kitchen might need them.