A man, dressed head to toe in brown hunting gear, moves quietly through the woods. In his hands he carries a rifle — one hand on the barrel, the other near the trigger. He spots tracks on the forest floor. He’s close now. Turning to his audience, he raises a finger to his lips: shhh.
The tracks lead him to a large hole in the ground. He grins, crouches, and positions his rifle toward the opening. “I’ve got you now! Come out you wabbit!” he hollers. A pair of long, gray ears slowly rise from the hole. The rabbit looks up, calm, almost amused. Then, with a smirk, he pulls out an orange carrot, takes a bite, and says, “What’s up, doc?”
That single line — one of the most famous in American cartoon history — cemented Bugs Bunny as an icon. And with him, the carrot became one of the most recognizable vegetables in the world. After all, rabbits love carrots… right? Actually, no. It’s all a lie.
If real rabbits ate as many carrots as Bugs Bunny, they’d have terrible stomach aches. In truth, rabbits prefer leafy greens — dandelion leaves, clover, grasses — not sugary roots. So, where did the link between rabbits and carrots come from if not from nature? Hollywood.
Bugs Bunny’s carrot habit (or perhaps, addiction) was inspired by a scene from the 1934 hit film It Happened One Night, where actor Clark Gable casually munches on a carrot while talking. The animators borrowed the gesture, and the rest is cartoon history.
But the real story of the carrot stretches back not to the 20th century but over 10,000 years, across continents and civilizations.
From Medicine to Meal
The wild carrot, Daucus carota, originated in Europe and Asia, a scraggly, pale root that bore little resemblance to the plump orange vegetables of today. These early carrots were thin, bitter, and white rather than orange.
Early humans likely ignored the root altogether and instead harvested its seeds, which were prized for their medicinal properties. By around 3000 BCE, however, in the region that is now Afghanistan, humans began to domesticate the carrot for both color and flavor. These early domesticated varieties were purple and yellow — ancestors of the rainbow of carrots we know today.
As the carrot spread outward from Central Asia, it crossbred with wild varieties in Persia and Anatolia (modern-day Turkey). There, it developed a second center of diversity and gained improved sweetness, color, and storability. By the time it reached the Mediterranean world, carrots were both food and medicine.
The Greeks and Romans, however, still preferred wild carrots for their supposed medical powers, especially of the romantic kind. The Greek physician Pedanius Dioscorides, writing in the first century CE, claimed that carrot seeds could stimulate menstruation and “wake up the genital virtue.”
Roman writers echoed these claims, and none took them more seriously than the infamous Emperor Caligula. It’s said he once summoned the entire Roman Senate to a feast of nothing but carrot dishes, convinced that the vegetable’s supposed powers would inspire an orgy. The plan, predictably, failed. Still, domesticated carrots slowly gained favor, eaten both raw and cooked.
From Confusion to Clarity
In these early centuries, wild and cultivated carrots were often confused with their close relative, the parsnip. Both were pale and sweet when cooked, both grew underground, and both appeared in ancient and medieval writings almost interchangeably.
It wasn’t until the 8th century that the carrot began to assert its own identity. In Charlemagne’s Capitulare de villis, a kind of imperial gardening guide, the carrot — “carvitas” — was listed separately from the parsnip, confirming its status as a distinct and valued crop.
By the 9th and 10th centuries, carrots had spread through the Islamic world, appearing in the vibrant culinary traditions of Baghdad. Recipes from the Abbasid Caliphate describe red, yellow, and white carrots, each with its own texture and flavor profile. Red carrots were prized for their juiciness and sweetness, yellow carrots for their density, and white carrots for their aromatic sharpness. These innovations set the stage for the carrot’s march westward through Spain, Italy, and eventually northern Europe.
Still, the familiar orange carrot was nowhere to be seen — until the Dutch arrived on the scene.
The Dutch Revolution
In the late 16th century, Dutch farmers began selectively breeding deep yellow carrots to create a stable, sweeter, more uniform orange variety. Legend has it they did so to honor the Royal Family, the House of Orange. Yet, this is unlikely, as orange carrots were already being grown in smaller quantities, as evidenced in earlier Dutch and Spanish paintings. That said, it makes for a patriotic story — so much so that to this day, the orange carrot is the national vegetable of the Netherlands.
By the early 17th century, Dutch refugees of the Eighty Years’ War had brought the carrot to England, where it caught the eye of Queen Elizabeth I. Someone presented her with a tub of butter and a wreath of carrots studded with diamonds. The Queen took the diamonds and sent the carrots to the kitchen to be buttered and served for dinner. Thus, buttered carrots were born and with royal endorsement, nonetheless. The carrot’s future was bright indeed.
Across the Atlantic
By the 1700s, the Dutch were effectively the world leaders in carrot breeding. They had now developed four main orange varieties: the Early Half Long, Late Half Long, Scarlet Horn, and the Long Orange. All modern hybrids are descended from these four. But it wasn’t just the Dutch, or English, enjoying these impressive new carrots. Across the ocean, in America, the carrot was also winning fans.
Carried over with the Pilgrims in 1609, the carrot was not just cultivated by European settlers but also Native American tribes that had gained access to the root. But perhaps America’s most famous carrot enthusiast was Thomas Jefferson. The carrot was a constant feature of Jefferson’s table — served with butter sauce, added to soups and beef dishes, and even starring in a Jefferson family recipe for “Chartreuse.”
Outside the kitchen, during the Napoleonic Wars, chemists experimented with carrots as a sugar substitute after British blockades cut off supplies from the West Indies. The beet eventually won that race, but carrots would have their day soon enough.
The Carrot Goes to War
When the First World War erupted in 1914, the British once again turned to one of their most reliable military tactics: the naval blockade. This time, however, it was not France but Germany that would bear the brunt of Britain’s maritime might. At the time, Germany relied heavily on imports for much of its food supply — especially wheat, coffee, and other staples of daily life. When British ships cut off these vital trade routes, the effects on German kitchens were immediate and devastating.
In their scramble to adapt, German bakers began producing Kriegsbrot, or “war bread,” a dense loaf made not from pure wheat but from a mixture of potato and carrot flour. It was far from luxurious, but it kept hunger at bay.
Coffee drinkers suffered an even stranger fate. In the absence of imported beans, Germany turned to Ersatz Karotte Kaffee — a coffee substitute made by drying, roasting, and grinding carrots and yellow turnips. The result was a beverage that looked like coffee but reportedly tasted like burnt vegetables and regret.
Two decades later, war returned to Europe, and once again, the humble carrot was called into service. During the Second World War, the British Ministry of Food launched an ambitious propaganda campaign to encourage citizens to eat more homegrown produce. With food shortages and rationing in full effect, Britain needed a morale boost and a practical solution to its dietary challenges. The carrot, with its bright color, nutritional value, and abundant supply, became the unlikely hero.
Alongside “Potato Pete,” the Ministry introduced “Doctor Carrot” — a cartoon mascot complete with spectacles, top hat, and a reassuring smile. Posters and pamphlets praised the carrot’s virtues and promoted new carrot-based recipes. Among these was the notoriously unpleasant “Carrolade,” a drink made by grating carrots and swedes, juicing them, and straining the result through muslin.
The campaign worked. Farmers, driven by patriotic duty and government pressure, increased production to historic levels. By January 1942, Britain had more than 100,000 tons of surplus carrots. To make use of the excess, the Ministry of Food got creative again. A new propaganda story emerged: British Royal Air Force pilots, it was said, could see exceptionally well in the dark thanks to their steady diet of carrots, which were rich in beta-carotene. It was a clever deception — one that helped conceal Britain’s real technological advantage: airborne radar. The myth spread quickly, and the public eagerly followed suit. Across blackout-shrouded Britain, families ate carrots believing they, too, might improve their night vision.
But carrots’ wartime adventures didn’t end in Britain. Across the Atlantic, the U.S. Office of Strategic Services (the precursor to the CIA) allegedly devised a covert plan to weaken Adolf Hitler — not through assassination, but through biology. The scheme called for bribing Hitler’s personal gardener to inject the Führer’s carrots with tasteless estrogen. The idea was that the hormone would bypass his food tasters and, over time, subtly alter his mood and appearance.
Historians remain divided on whether the plan was ever attempted, but nothing appears to have come of it. Either the gardener lost his nerve, the carrots were deemed suspicious, or the plan simply failed. Still, it stands as one of the most peculiar examples of psychological warfare ever imagined — proof that in wartime, even a carrot could be considered a weapon.
From Farm to Factory
As the smoke of war cleared and nations began rebuilding, a quieter revolution was taking place in civilian life: the supermarket. This new model of shopping — rows of shelves, centralized supply chains, and self-service aisles — revolutionized how people purchased food. For farmers and distributors, however, it presented new challenges. Produce had to travel farther, last longer, and still look appealing under fluorescent lights.
Carrots, once prized for flavor, suddenly faced a new test: durability. Growers began selecting varieties that could withstand weeks in storage and long-distance shipping without becoming limp or blemished. In a rather brutal process, sacks of carrots were literally dropped onto warehouse floors to see which roots survived the impact. The survivors were deemed suitable for mass production; the rest, often the sweetest and most tender varieties, were left behind. The age of “survival of the sturdiest” had begun.
Still, innovation would eventually breathe new life — and new shape — into the carrot. In the late 1980s, a California farmer named Mike Yurosek grew frustrated with supermarkets refusing to buy his misshapen carrots. Rather than let them go to waste, he devised a clever solution. Using an industrial green bean cutter and an industrial potato peeler, Yurosek transformed the imperfect carrots into small, uniform pieces. He packaged them in plastic bags and sold them as a convenient snack food.
The “baby carrot” was born.
Consumers adored them. Within a year of their introduction, carrot consumption in the United States soared by nearly 30%. Today, more than 70% of all carrots sold in the U.S. are baby carrots — a testament to the power of ingenuity and the modern consumer’s appetite for convenience.
The Modern Carrot
Today, the carrot’s legacy extends far beyond the produce aisle. What was once a humble root has become a versatile material in science, technology, and industry. Carrot fibers, when combined with resins, are being used to create lightweight, eco-friendly composites for car steering wheels and fishing rods. Carrot seed oil, rich in antioxidants, is now a staple in cosmetics and even serves as a biodegradable lubricant in machinery. Researchers are studying compounds such as luteolin, found in carrots, for their potential to reduce age-related inflammation in the brain.
And as the world searches for sustainable energy alternatives, even the carrot is being tested as a potential biofuel. From the farm field to the laboratory, its adaptability seems endless.
Bugs Bunny may have started a lie about rabbits and carrots, but if that lie helped the world appreciate this extraordinary root, maybe we can forgive him.
- John Paap is the Sustainability and Brand Marketing Manager at Jac. Vandenberg, Inc. and co-host of the “History of Fresh Produce” series on The Produce Industry Podcast.