Horseradish with turnip is no sweeter. A familiar phrase? It's often said when there's no choice: both options are bad, there's no difference. But where did this strange comparison come from? Why have root vegetables become symbols of hopelessness? And what story lies behind this garden metaphor? Let's dig into it like professional etymologists.

Botany of the dispute: why horseradish and turnip in particular

At first glance, horseradish and turnip are relatives. Both from the cabbage family, both spicy, root vegetables, both winter, pungent. Not sugar, for sure. But that's the catch: a Russian peasant in the 19th century knew the difference well. Horseradish is so spicy it makes you cry, turnip is bitter and pungent. They were added to different dishes: horseradish to meat, aspic, turnip to okroshka and salads. Imagine: you're offered a choice between rye bread with horseradish or rye bread with turnip. Both are sharp. Both go up the nose. That's the saying: horseradish and turnip are equally bad when the soul craves something sweet.

First meaning: neither this nor that, both are bad

The classic meaning of the phrase is a choice between two undesirable things. Example: "Will you go on a business trip to Vorkuta or Norilsk?" - "Horse radish with turnip, both are a sentence." Or in a debate about candidates: "Ivanov is a thief, Petrov is a bribe-taker." - "Horse radish with turnip, no one to vote for." But there's a nuance: sometimes this phrase is said not about bad, but about indistinguishable. As in the joke: "What's the difference between horseradish and turnip?" - "If you don't know, there's no difference."

Second meaning: confusion and nonsense

Another layer of meaning is the mixing of the unmixable. "Mixed horseradish with turnip" means chaos, mixing concepts, facts, things. For example, a teacher says: "You mixed Dostoevsky with a detective novel and quotes from advertising in your essay. It turned out to be horseradish with turnip." Or in a conversation: "He told me such a story - horse radish with turnip, neither true nor false, some kind of okroshka." This meaning is almost like "stew," but with a touch of irritation: stew is edible, while horseradish with turnip is not.

Where do the roots of the phrase come from: the garden or the tavern?

There is a version that the saying came from tavern culture. In old drinking establishments, they served appetizers: horseradish with vinegar and turnip with kvass. If a guest ordered "something to eat" and there was no food available, they were offered that very pair. From here, the irony was born: a choice like horseradish and turnip. But linguists doubt it: there is no such phrase in written sources from the 18th century. However, it is already in Dal's dictionary (1860s). Dal quotes: "Horseradish is no sweeter than turnip, and the devil is no easier." That is, by then the saying had already become a classic.

Live examples from literature and cinema

In Chekhov's story "Sorrow," the hansom driver Ion says: "Horseradish with turnip - all the same." He's talking about his sorrow, about his son, about the indifference of the passengers. In Ilyf and Petrov's "The Golden Calf," characters complain about apartment choices: "Horseradish with turnip, both are hovels." And in the Soviet film "Love and Pigeons," the grandmother sighs: "Marry Vasiliy or Peter? Horseradish with turnip - both drink." The phrase is enduring. It has survived tsarism, the Soviet era, and the nineties. Because the situation of an impossible choice has not disappeared.

Comparison with other languages

The English will say: "Six of one, half a dozen of the other." Germans: "Das ist gehüpft wie gesprungen" (this is like jumping or hopping). French: "Bonnet blanc et blanc bonnet" (white hat and white hat). No one has this garden aggression. And the Russians do. Horseradish and turnip are not just neutral objects. They have a character: sharp, pungent, they can make you cry accidentally. So the phrase carries not only the meaning of "nothing good," but also a light irritation: "Again you put me in front of this stupid choice."

How not to confuse with similar sayings

There is "horseradish with turnip is no sweeter" - it's the same phrase, just rearranged. There is "a pinch in the air" - about ease. "Fig with it" - about disregard. And "horseradish with turnip" - specifically about comparing two evils. Don't confuse it with "the devil is no scarier than he is depicted." There's another: apparent danger and real. Ours are both really bad. A domestic example: you need to go to the dacha through a traffic jam on the MKAD or through a broken bridge. Horse radish with turnip. Three hours in a traffic jam, two hours on the bridge with the risk of getting stuck. Choose any.

Why the phrase doesn't die

Ask yourself: when was the last time you heard "horseradish with turnip"? Maybe yesterday. The phrase is enduring because it has energy. It's rough (thank you for the word "horseradish," which is always on the verge of a curse). It's specific (the image of two root vegetables is etched in memory). It's emotional (a light fury from hopelessness). And it's our own, familiar, kitchen, not like the English "half a dozen." As long as Russian people stand before a choice between two bad options, "horseradish with turnip" will be with us.

As you have understood, the phrase is not about vegetables. It's about life. When at work they give you two dismissals to choose from. When in love - two betrayers. When in elections - two populists. Horse radish with turnip, my dear. Choose what's sharper, or what's hotter? Ah, yes - equally. That's all the saying. But we said it, and it felt a little better. Because our language found words for hopelessness, and from that hopelessness became almost familiar.

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