Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall
LATIN NAME
Pastinaca sativa
SEASONALITY
September–March
MORE RECIPES
Devilled parsnips; Curried new potatoes, red onion and lettuce; Chicken and cider stew with rosemary dumplings; Bacon and celeriac tart; Ale-braised ox cheeks with parsnips; Sticky date and parsnip cake
The British appreciation for parsnips is something to be proud of. Few other nations have taken to this regal root in quite the same way, nor found so many wonderful ways to use it. Hop over the Channel, for instance, and the question ‘Est-ce que vous aimez les panais?’ may well be met with incomprehension. The French, notwithstanding their illustrious history of gastronomic achievement, have almost no knowledge of this delicious root.
Paradoxically, it was probably a group of foreigners, namely the Romans, who introduced us to parsnips. We took a shine to them from the off, falling for their sweet flavour and delicately starchy texture, and we’ve been dishing them up as soups, salads and side veg for centuries. In the bleak, dark ages before sugar made an appearance in our diets, we even used parsnips to make tarts, puddings and preserves.
They remain, as far as I’m concerned, one of the finest features of the winter veg patch: something to get genuinely excited about when the first slender, ivory-skinned young roots appear in September. As well as tasting terrific, they’re inexpensive, easy to work with and very, very versatile.
It’s true that a parsnip does require a little bit of preparation. You can’t just chuck ’em in the oven whole, like a potato, or crunch a big one raw, like a carrot. But this is only because they are packed with sweet and complex flavours: the intense, earthy pungency of the parsnip can actually make it quite an overpowering mouthful if not handled with a little care. I like to add a bit of parsnip to a stock, for instance, but never too much, or it will dominate.
If you take the right approach with parsnips, however, they can be absolutely glorious. They are, indeed, surprisingly good served raw: cut into fine matchsticks, or slivered with a mandoline, or grated. Toss them into a slaw or salad with a mustardy dressing and some winter leaves. You can even juice them – try combining with apple or pear and a spritz of lime.
Boiled parsnips make great mash when combined with potatoes, or other roots (as in the next recipe), and I like parsnip mash with a little apple in it too. Or, for something a touch more refined, whiz up a smooth, silky parsnip purée with a little butter and cream, spiked with thyme and plenty of black pepper. This is a simple but very lovely way to serve parsnips with almost any meat or fish. ‘Let down’ the purée with some good stock and you’ve got yourself a parsnip soup.
Parsnips are also superb in a golden-topped gratin and can be used, grated, just like carrots in cakes. But my absolute favourite parsnip will always be one that’s roasted until crispy, close to burned at the thin end, chewy and toffeeish in the middle section, and creamy, almost fluffy inside the fat end.
These roots were made for roasting: the dry heat concentrates and caramelises their sugars, giving them a wonderful richness. To roast your parsnips to multi-faceted perfection, peel and trim them, then cut into long, root-to-tip wedges. Or at least make sure they are suitably tapered. Toss them with rapeseed oil, or lard or goose fat, salt and pepper and roast at about 190°C/Fan 170°C/Gas 5 for 40–60 minutes, stirring once or twice.
That’s your Sunday roast sorted, of course, but you’ve also opened the door to all sorts of hearty, warm salads because, at room temperature, that multi-textured, toasty-roasty root still packs a punch – and bounces off leaves, fruits, nuts and pulses in all kinds of pleasing ways. Try tossing roast parsnips with watercress, Puy lentils and a piquant vinaigrette, for instance.
Roasting parsnips is also a great way to prepare them for blitzing into a soup. That golden, caramelised exterior will deepen the flavours nicely – but stop short of the almost-black tip, or you might get a bitter note that is too much for your soup. (You could, of course, also get some colour on your parsnips by browning them in a pan, rather than roasting.)
Many recipes mix parsnips with honey or sugar before roasting. But, these days, I tend to avoid those additions – they burn easily and I reckon parsnips are sweet enough. What these roots really do love are herbs and spices. Try them roasted with 1–2 tsp crushed coriander or cumin seeds (or both), or plain roasted and then puréed into a soup with garlic and a dash of curry powder. Roasted parsnips’ sweet and nutty flavour also marries perfectly with bacon, piquant cheeses and other salty ingredients such as capers.
It’s not a myth that parsnips taste better when the weather gets colder. Low soil temperatures encourage the starches in the root to turn to sugar, and the sweetness intensifies. I eat them with increasing gusto from November through to March.
Parsnips should be peeled (unless very young and freshly dug) and topped and tailed before cooking. Really big ones can have a slightly coarse, fibrous core that cooks more slowly than the outer flesh. Some recipes suggest ‘trimming out the core’ of larger parsnips, but I’ve never bothered, and never found myself wishing I had.
As far as I’m concerned, all parts of a parsnip are too good to waste. In fact, if you give the roots a good scrub before peeling, you can even oil and roast the peelings to make delicious, curly parsnip crisps.
A hearty, flavoursome mash with a nice chunky texture, this is the perfect thing to serve with beef stew or herby pork sausages, but good enough to dish up on its own with a poached egg or a crumbling of blue cheese stirred in. Serves 4
50g unsalted butter
500g leeks (white and pale green parts only), washed and sliced
500g floury potatoes, such as Maris Piper or King Edward, peeled and cut into large chunks
500g parsnips, peeled and cut into large chunks
1 tbsp wholegrain mustard
Sea salt and black pepper
Put a large, heavy-based frying pan over a medium-low heat and add 35g of the butter. Once it has melted, add the leeks, cover and cook gently for about 10–15 minutes, until really soft and silky.
Meanwhile, put the potatoes and parsnips into a large saucepan. Cover with cold water and salt well. Bring to the boil, lower the heat and simmer for about 20 minutes until completely tender. Drain and leave to steam-dry for a minute or two.
Return the parsnips to the pan and add the remaining butter, the leeks, mustard and a few grinds of pepper. Use a potato masher to mash the veg roughly together. Taste, add more salt and pepper as necessary, then serve immediately.