Monday, November 17, 2003

Fine words butter no parnsips

Parsnips make me think of withered old New England spinsters. I don't know why, since I've never had them. Maybe because they're the type of people who would use weird proverbs like that.

In medieval Europe, when sugar was rare, honey expensive, and the potato had not yet arrived, sweet, starchy parsnips were a staple. Parsnips were traditional during Lent, since the flavor and nourishment (they're healthier than potatoes) helped peasants make it through meatless fasting periods. Babies also sucked on parsnip roots as pacifiers.

So I got a pound of them (to eat, not to suck on). They look like giant white carrots.

I peeled and sliced them. They smelled like carrots.

I roasted them in a 425-degree oven with a little bit of brown sugar, butter, and olive oil for about half an hour. They tasted like carrots.

It's a good thing I like carrots.

No comments:

Post a Comment