I have a confession to make. Until a couple of weeks ago, I didn't know what a parsnip looked like.
I have had parsnip puree in restaurants, but that was the extent of my interaction with this vegetable. I may have been biased against certain root vegetables. My father has had a life long hatred of turnips, which were not allowed to cross our threshold when I was growing up. My mother feels the same way about parsnips. And truthfully, anything that seems like the mainstay of a Russian winter may just be best left uneaten (but then, that would negate beets, which I love).
The other day, I decided to buy some parsnips and roast them, just to experiment a little (how wild and crazy is that?) I accidentally bought rutabagas instead, which I guess should lead to my second confession; I also am pretty slim on rutabaga knowledge. The two were sharing a bin in my supermarket, and one type of vegetable was gone, so I bought the one that was left. I roasted the rutabagas, not knowing they weren't parsnips. I hated them.
A week or so later, I was back in the store, and passing by the same bin, noticed bags of long, carrot shaped, cream colored vegetables that were clearly labeled parsnips. My mistake apparent, I decided to buy a bag and try again.
This starchy root vegetable ended up making an appearance on my Thanksgiving table. Usually I am a plan ahead kind of cook when it comes to a major holiday feast. But this year I wasn't. I bought all the mainstays and figured I would work it out at the last minute. Thumbing through an old Gourmet magazine the day before Thanksgiving, I saw a mashed potato recipe with roasted garlic and parsnips. Bingo. A way to use the bag I bought.
The verdict is that parsnips are wonderful. Raw, they aren't something I would want to toss back by the handful, but they aren't bad. Kind of a carrot/radish cross when eaten raw. But roasted, they are sweet, creamy and a bit nutty in flavor.
The botanical name of the parsnip, pastinaca sativum, comes from the Latin and shares its root with several like sounding words which refer to a particular kind of trench used by field laborers, the laborers themselves, or the act of trenching fields or vineyards. Parsnips are native to Europe and Asia, were popular going back to Roman times, and apparently traveled to the United States along with the early colonists.
Perhaps they failed to compete favorably against the indigenous potato and never really took hold in a big way here. Or maybe they just fell out of favor; I don't know.
Not surprisingly, they are related to carrots, but also to chervil, fennel, celery and parsley root. Most American parsnips (if a parsnip can really be an American) are grown in California or Michigan. I am going to guess the better ones come from Michigan, since a frost helps to convert the starches to sugar. Mine were from Michigan.
For my potato dish, I don't think a detailed recipe is needed. I roasted my foil wrapped potatoes. Alongside my potatoes, in a separate dish, I roasted peeled parsnips tossed in olive oil (cut into small dice or half circles about a quarter inch thick), as well as a bulb of garlic (cut the across the top to slightly expose the tips of the cloves and wrap in foil with some olive oil). The potatoes should take about an hour at 400 degrees and the parsnips and garlic can be put in the oven for the last half hour or so. Once cooked, put the potatoes through a food mill (which I happen to have, but if you don't, just mash by hand with a standard masher), and add warm whole milk till you have a texture you like. Mix together with a fork and then mix in the diced roasted parsnips and the peeled roasted garlic cloves (you can just squeeze the roasted garlic in to the potato mix). Season with salt and pepper
Postscript: After I wrote this but just before I posted it today, I got my December issue of Fine Cooking and lo and behold.....a feature on parsnips. Check if out if you are now inspired to try parsnips yourself. Behold, the new era of the parsnip may be at hand.
