![]() If you've never tried parsnips roasted with a teaspoon or two or crushed coriander or cumin seeds (or both), or puréed them into a soup with garlic and a dash of curry powder, then you're missing a trick. By all means add herbs, though, or, even better, spices. And, frankly, parsnips are sweet enough without any help from the bees. It burns so easily and can be unappetisingly black by the time your parsnips reach their state of perfection. It doesn't get much better than that.Ĭountless recipes add honey before roasting – I've done it myself – but these days I tend to hold back on the sticky stuff. ![]() They're done when the thin, pointed ends are crisp, browned and caramelised almost to the point of burnt-ness, the centres are golden and delightfully chewy and the thicker end is still fluffy and soft. To achieve multi-layered, roast parsnip perfection, cut the peeled and trimmed 'snips into long, root-to-tip wedges, toss with oil, salt and pepper, and roast at about 190C/375F/gas mark 5 for 40-50 minutes, turning once. Thick at one end and tapering away to almost nothing at the other, roast parsnips give you the chance to enjoy three different textures in one go. The shape of the root can be a positive boon here, too. The heat of the oven intensifies the sugars in a parsnip, giving it a wonderful, caramelised note. Roasting will always be one of my favourite ways of doing right by these roots. But if you do the right thing to a parsnip, it absolutely sings with flavour. If not handled correctly, the parsnip's intense sweetness and pungency can make it quite an overpowering mouthful – I like to add a little bit of parsnip to my stocks, for instance, but never too much, or it will dominate. But this is not because they lack flavour. We don't pass round raw parsnip sticks as nibbles in the way we do carrots, or bake them and serve them whole, like potatoes. So, if you're reading this and you are either a) French or b) labouring under the misapprehension that parsnips are somehow not worth bothering with, allow me to introduce you to this regal root's charms.Ī parsnip, I will grant you, has limited appeal in its unadorned state. Chacun à son goût, of course, but for me there is no competition.) (The Gallic tradition, on the other hand, fully embraces the turnip, a vegetable we've never quite got to grips with. Especially since, whenever I serve French friends a parsnip recipe or two, they invariably love them. Why such a gastronomically accomplished nation should have perpetually passed over this delicious root is a mystery to me. Most French folk couldn't even tell you what a parsnip is. Skip over the Channel to France, however, and the question, "Vous aimez les panais?" may well be met by quizzical looks. In this country, we have long valued their sweet flavour we've been dishing them up as soups, salads and side veg for centuries. These roots are versatile, a doddle to prepare and cook, and pretty easy on the wallet, too. ![]() Take parsnips, for instance – one of winter's finest veg, in my book. An ingredient may be vilified in one land but celebrated by its neighbour for no very obvious reason, and the passing of the years tends to set such trends in stone. I t's a curious thing, how national tastes evolve.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |