This opens a whole Pandora's box of questions, not the least of which is "Which vegetable is most dignified?". And is this ranking invariant, or does it change with the times? Vegetable popularity does - witness the recent Irish infatuation with mangetout, which duly ran its course, only to be replaced by rocket lettuce, aka arugula.
I think the sporting adage "form is temporary, class is permanent" applies. If we're going to speak of dignified vegetables then the dignity must be enduring, not merely a passing fad or foible.
Although I don't especially like the taste of them, I do find artichokes especially dignified. They have such stability, and also a sort of primness about them, like a maiden aunt in a great skirt (although like all vegetables, they yield readily to a salacious reading).
Surely this is a typo for 'heatshed cuke'; though where I live we call heatsheds 'greenhouses'.
If beets are so goddamned dignified, why do they blush constantly like giggling hormonal teenagers? Plus, have you ever read "The Beet Queen"? A book chocked to its little bookish gills with lascivious behavior.
My money is on the kohlrabi, because men of the Torah are always dignified, even those who work in kohlmines.
Kohlrabi and baby okra may indeed be teh alsome, but they aren't dignified!
Beets are a contender I suppose, as would be most of the sturdier roots, but if it's a combination of brilliance and rotundity you're after then you're going to be running up hard against the majestic pumpkin.
From pickle switches to cornballs to cucumber in condoms, there seems to be an over-representation of vegetables on the 'most-commented' list. It's a veritable cornucopia of veggie goodness, I tell you.
I'll have to remember to brandish a cucumber at my next public speech. people tend to take you more seriously when you're waving a large cucumber and if they disagree you just point it at them and give them a hex.
For me, the most dignified of the common vegetables is the onion, whether enclosed within itself in its multiple thin layers and fragile elegant outer skin, yellow, white, red, or purple, or presented in its "young" or "spring" version, as a small compact white ball that explodes upwards in crisp dark green shoots.
Following very close after is the leek (so similar in appearance to the "spring onion", only larger), which must be one of the few vegetables to be chosen as the emblem of an entire nation (and a nation of poets, to boot).
As for the onion, I believe I'm on record as saying it's my favourite vegetable, and I will champion it in any debate touching on the vegetable universe. And it certainly conveys its dignity (rotundity and hue, remember?) until you cut (or bite) into it, and it assails you with that sweet, stinging prickly perfume and bleeds its pungent juices all over your hard-bitten fingertips... I love it and it may look dignified, but inside it's a punk.