Old Vs Young Gingers: The Two Faces Of The Same Root

Soft or spicy? Fresh or fiery? There’s an ongoing debate rooted between old and young ginger, and we’re about to peel back their differences.

On the topic of age, it’s a constant debate: who does it better, young or old? But to a gnarled gold like ginger, there needs no comparison. Echoing the years ticking past, this fingerroot burgeons to a change. The way that ginger sees it, it’s not really a competition that has to do with age or seasonal wisdom of heat. Yet, it’s un-ginge-niable that both old and young gingers pack their own zing and sting. So, let’s dig into what the two faces of this one root pull up.

Simply rooted, ginger evolves over time, visibly so, too. The young root whose mellow personality eases your body is the same morose root who incites spirits, stemmed in intent. Inviting time into the mix, and you’ll notice the unseen clock-master of spice—shaping the roots until one sings, the other stings.  

Young Gingers

This tender, sometimes pink-tipped, knobbly thing can come across a little pale, a little light-handed at heart—tender enough to wash by touch alone. There’s a convention that gingers are temperamental roots, still, this young one bears a beauty that soothes more than it stings. For the inside brims brightly crisp—barely springy, when sliced, similar to bamboo shoot or radish. What tickles your nose next is not a strike but a sigh instead. Gentle, a citrusy trace, and slightly grassy.

Young ginger is sprightly, before undergoing a period of beauty sleep that’ll toughen it up in character, one that’ll last between four and five months. How can you tell when a ginger is young still? It’s in the shine—full, moist, and far from woody wisdom.

Old Gingers

Onto a chapter further, we come to old ginger, where age lends it a thicker skin. It’s a dry unmasking as you pry open this weathered root with a steel peeler. Fibrous, tough, and firm is old ginger. But within it sits a knowing heat, buried in its roots that only time can teach. Often, you will notice strands pulling as you cut it open. It can sometimes be a bit of a surprise to find how sharp a slap an elderly ginger elder can sometimes pack. But by all accounts, there’s a charm to its musk—the kind which only time dares to wear so well.

In eight to ten months’ time, as the plant starts wearing its years in yellow, you’ll be greeted then by a mature soul of the soil.

Where function meets flavour: the dual nature of ginger

For the young ones, their spice is as delicate as their spirit. Freshly gathered young gingers—before the fibres thread in, emit a slightly floral flavour. Bracing a heat that feels more like a spark than a sear, expect a scent that tilts towards gentle grass, sometimes a little sweet. Their bright makeup carves out a clean and crisp aftertaste that isn’t afraid to take its leave.

The elder ones, on the other hand, are a tough nut to crack—harbouring a completely different energy. Hardened underground, bold in build, these gingers are not to be messed with. For this herb is as thick-skinned as it is torrid a character to take in hand. Picture a scent so aromatic that it beats the first sizzle, reaching you before the wok even warms. Indeed, this is the root that gives backbone to your dish—the foundation rather than the flourish.