Fritter Away

Promote a parsnip comeback with a few of these favorite fried things

PARSNIPS ARE deeply rooted in long history. They were known and celebrated by the ancients. Apicius, author of the oldest surviving cookbook in the Western world, recorded several recipes for parsnips. But during the 20th century, this once popular vegetable fell so decidedly out of favor that some less generous souls might say parsnips are history. Like some pale ghosts of their carrot cousins, parsnips have been buried, lo these many years, buried in the cold, cold ground. After all, who really eats them anymore?

Anyone with any sense — that's who. I got interested in parsnips when most of the vegetables I served in the professional kitchen where I worked were, by an unwritten code, local and in season. One grows weary of carrots and beets; and parsnips afforded a refreshing change of pace. They are, in fact, one of the most delectable vegetables of all time, sweet, fragrant and satisfying in ways that other vegetables only dream of being.

In her definitive treatise on the subject, "Vegetables from Amaranth to Zucchini," Elizabeth Schneider writes of parsnips, "The name sounds goofy — then there's the parsnip's appearance — frumpy and pallid. But once we get past these superficial matters, there is a parsnip's flavor: complicated, intense, sophisticated — a flavor to be proud of!" Hear! Hear! Ms. Schneider.

A real epiphany came when I was collaborating on a dinner with Herbfarm chef Jerry Traunfeld to celebrate the wines of DeLille Cellars in Woodinville. Traunfeld paired pan-seared foie gras with a purée of parsnips, and I threw in some red flame grapes, warmed in the pan where the foie gras was seared. The dish was a stunner; the parsnips amplified the subtle sweetness of the liver, and together they complemented the wine the way a lilac tree sets off a row of noble firs in spring.

I have to admit that parsnips do not appear as regularly on my own table as, say, carrots or celery, two of its closest cousins. But that's not because I do not like them as well as those more frequent guests. Parsnips are, you might say, of a season: here today, but mostly gone tomorrow.

A decided lack of demand makes them less than frequent selections at farmers markets. And even more than their diminished popularity, parsnips' decided seasonality makes them often absent from our supermarket shelves. Schneider ponders why parsnips are never sold with their greens, and I can tell her why. The roots grow sweet only after the tops are killed by frost, and by the time the biennials start sprouting leaves again, they have passed their prime.

When Mrs. F.L. Gillette published her "White House Cookbook" in 1887, parsnips were still very much in vogue, and her collection included five recipes for them: boiled, fried, stewed, in fritters and creamed. By the time my tattered 1975 edition of "The Joy of Cooking" was published, less than a hundred years later, Mrs. Irma S. Rombauer saw fit to include only one recipe for parsnips. Split in half, brushed with butter and baked until tender in a shallow bath of chicken stock, the parsnips were finished with chopped parsley. (The parsley called for is, incidentally, yet another of the parsnips' kissing cousins.)

But if cookbooks are any indication, there is hope that parsnips may be ready for a comeback. Ruth Reichl's "Gourmet Cookbook," published in 2005, includes five new recipes for parsnips, each one even more delicious-sounding than the last. But in every case, parsnips take a secondary, supporting role. They are pureed with carrots or apples, roasted with other winter vegetables, or braised with crispy sweetbreads.

I'm for putting parsnips back on the plate in a more prominent role. In a fritter, parsnips shine. Serve the little latke-like cakes as a ready first course with creamed oysters or a dollop of sour cream. Or serve them as a perfect side dish with roast chicken or lamb. Whatever you do, serve them.

Greg Atkinson is author of "Entertaining In The Northwest Style." He can be reached at greg@northwestessentials.com. Barry Wong is a Seattle-based freelance photographer. He can be reached at barrywongphoto@earthlink.net.