Roots of Good Cooking 

Say the words "root vegetables for dinner" at my house and, until recently, you would see my husband race to the telephone to order a pizza or take-away meal. To him, these carbohydrate-rich roots were the scourge of the supper table. Tapered or bulbous, creamy or white, they caused him unwarranted fright.

At the age of 38 he unwittingly took his first bite of a parsnip and turnip. Much to his surprise, he discovered that the sweet and nutty parsnip and mildly tangy turnip not only enhanced my tried and true potato casserole but also made it a palate-pleasing delight.

Although it took my husband almost four decades to appreciate these frost-hardy plants, much of the Western world has consumed them since ancient times. One of the earliest cultivated vegetables, the white, top-shaped turnip has been grown in northern Europe since 2000 B.C. The pale, carrot-like parsnip, which grows wild throughout Europe and western Asia, was first farmed during Roman times. Both prosper in cooler climates and sandy or impoverished soils, making them an ideal peasant food.

Parsnips in particular served a vital role in medieval European cuisine. At a time when sugar was a rare luxury, these honeyed veggies acted as the sweetener in pies, pastries and even fermented drinks. In Northern Ireland they formed the basis for beer, while the rest of Great Britain used them in wine. High in starch as well as potassium, this relative of the carrot also provided nourishing, filling meals.

With the arrival of sugar and potatoes, parsnips gradually fell out of favor. Today, though, they remain an essential part of English Christmas dinners and also of the traditional Sunday roast.

Simple to grow and equally easy to prepare, they can be baked, stewed, steamed or pureed alone or with other root vegetables. Often they are boiled, then mashed with butter, just like their usurper, the potato. I prefer to cut them into chunks and bake them with fresh rosemary, a sprinkle of salt and olive oil, or turn them into a creamy, rich soup.

When feeling indulgent, I will boil a handful of parsnips until just tender, slice and then fry them in hot oil. After draining them on some paper towels, I sprinkle some sea salt over them and munch away.

As a lower-fat alternative, I sometimes skip frying and instead toss the slices with olive oil and salt, spread them across a cookie sheet and bake them in a 375 degree F oven until slightly caramelized, about 10 to 15 minutes. Without question, parsnip chips are my ultimate salty-sweet snack.

While I am inclined to cook parsnips and turnips independently, Peg Botto, chef-owner of Cosmic Catering in Philadelphia pairs the two in her seasonal offerings.

"I intertwine them with my cooking and always add them to vegetable soups and stews, as they bring body to the dishes," she says.

An advocate of local, fresh ingredients, Chef Botto likes to keep her preparations simple, adding a tad of olive oil and fresh herbs to her 'nips. She notes, however, that many cooks will opt for mixtures of brown sugar, molasses, honey and cinnamon to spice up these two veggies.

No matter the method of serving, parsnips do benefit from some form of cooking. Eaten raw, they seem too fibrous to me.

Turnips, however, work well both cooked and uncooked. Sharp and refreshing, raw turnips call to mind cabbages and radishes, which, like the turnip, are members of the cruciferous family. Cooked, they take on a sugary flavor.

Unlike parsnips, turnips can be eaten in their entirety. Fresh, brightly colored turnip tops, or greens, can be boiled, sauteed, stir-fried or stewed with meats such as pork. The white roots with their purplish crowns can also be stir-fried, as well as boiled, then mashed, pureed or grated raw into salads.

As with parsnips, turnips reigned supreme until the appearance of the potato. The spud's introduction to Europe and North America likewise brought an end to the turnip's widespread use. However, Japanese cooks still pickle turnips, while the Chinese roast or sun-dry them in strips and then preserve them in soy sauce. The French braise, fry or glaze the roots, while Italians saute the greens with olive oil and garlic.

Faced with a crop of turnips, I follow the Chinese method of cooking and roast them alongside some onions, potatoes and garlic in a 400 degree F oven. Sliced paper thin, sprinkled with Gruyere or Parmesan cheese, and baked at 450 degrees F, they make a delicious gratin. Roasting in high heat causes the turnip's starch to convert into sugar, resulting in sweet yet savory meals.

Since turnips partner well with such foods as chicken, onions, potatoes, thyme and cream, I give them the starring vegetable role in my chicken stews and potpies. With such classic flavor affinities in their favor, I periodically feature them in a delectable turnip and potato soup.

When selecting turnips, I look for small to medium-sized roots with a firm, smooth texture. I skip the ones with shriveled skin or those any larger than three inches in diameter. Bigger turnips tend to be sinewy.

The same holds true for parsnips. I choose small to medium-sized ones with smooth, creamy skin and firm, straight flesh. I avoid the long, large and gangly roots, as they will be woody in texture and taste.

Versatile and flavorful, these two offer an interesting alternative to the mainstay starches at our dinner table. Pick up a few turnips and parsnips at your local farm stand or supermarket and find out how rousing these root vegetables can be.

PARSNIP AND FENNEL SOUP
Serves 4 to 6

1 pound of parsnips, peeled and diced

About 1 pound of fennel bulb, diced (save tops for garnish if you want); adjust accordingly, as not everyone enjoys the taste of fennel

1 medium onion, chopped

4-6 tablespoons unsalted butter

1/4 cup all-purpose flour

5 cups chicken or vegetable broth

1 cup heavy cream

1/8-1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Generous handful of hazelnuts, toasted and coarsely chopped


In a Dutch oven, cook the parsnips, fennel and onion in butter over moderately low heat, stirring periodically for about 15 minutes, or until soft

Add the flour, stirring 3 or so minutes

Add the stock and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for about 20 minutes

Add the cream, salt and pepper. Stir until heated through. Top with chopped fennel tops and hazelnuts and serve. 


TURNIP-ONION-POTATO CASSEROLE
Serves 4 as a side

If you cannot find Halloumi, a salty, Cypriot goat's milk or sheep's milk cheese, you can substitute Gruyere or even feta. Just add a little salt to the dish before baking.

2 turnips, trimmed and cut into chunks

1 large red onion, cut in half, then quartered

1 large yellow onion, cut in half, then quartered

1 yam, peeled and cut into chunks

1 Idaho potato, washed, peeled and cut into chunks

3 red bliss potatoes, washed and quartered

8 cloves garlic, peeled and cut in half

1/3 cup olive oil

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

4 ounces Halloumi cheese, thinly sliced


Preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit.

Coat the interior of a baking dish with 1 tablespoon olive oil. Tumble the vegetables into the dish then drizzle the remaining olive oil over the vegetables and toss to coat. Sprinkle with black pepper, then place in the oven and bake, uncovered, for 45 minutes or until the vegetables have browned slightly.

Remove the baking dish from the oven. Place the cheese on top of the vegetables and return to the oven. Turn the broiler on medium and broil until the cheese has melted and browned, about 1 to 2 minutes. Serve immediately.  

MAPLE-GLAZED TURNIPS
Serves 4

2 pounds turnips, trimmed, peeled and cut into chunks

1/4 cup unsalted butter

1/4 cup maple syrup


Using a steamer, cover and steam the turnips until just softened, about 5 to 8 minutes.

Melt the butter in a large sauce or saute pan. Add the steamed turnips and maple syrup. Reduce the heat to medium-low and, stirring, coat the turnips with the syrup until a nice glaze has formed on them, about 5 minutes. Serve immediately. 

© 2008, Kathy Hunt. Distributed by Tribune Media Services Inc.