When I was a kid, the strong, pungent odour of parsnips emanating from our kitchen door would send me running to a neighbour’s home, begging for an invitation to stay for supper.

            And for the past 40 years, I have cleverly avoided eating parsnips. Just the sight of the offensive root in a produce section, looking like an anemic carrot, gave me the shudders.

            It was for this reason that a mere few months ago, I found myself eyeing the ingredients that my good friend Pam was tossing together for a roasted root dish. Was that parsnip I saw? I waited in trepidation as the baking dish went into the oven, praying that I could be adult about this. I was prepared to make a hasty escape if the anticipated offensive smell became too much to bear. But, it didn’t happen.

            In fact, I ate those parsnips, which were now caramelized and crisp, and I asked myself: Had I been missing out on a food simply because my Mom didn’t cook them right? Was it even possible that I could have been a liver-lover? Of course it wasn’t her fault. In the 50’s and 60’s, especially if you came from British roots, you tended to cook every vegetable until it was only a pale shadow of its former self. It’s a wonder we didn’t all die from scurvy or some other nutritional deficiency.

            The parsnip originated in the Old World where it once grew wild. Before the introduction of the potato from the New World by Columbus and other explorers in the 16^th century, the parsnip was the principal source of starch and sugar. It is closely related to the carrot, from which it gets its looks, but is probably more closely associated with the flavour of turnips, from which the “nip” in parsnip is derived. It was used not only in stews and soups, but also, because of its high sugar content, in desserts. It was and is still today, particularly in Ireland, used to make both beer and wine.

            But with the introduction of the potato, the parsnip lost favour in many countries. In France, it has become more important as food for pigs, and although it was brought to North America with European settlers, it just never caught on. If it had, we might be eating french fried parsnips today.

            I was curious to find just one reference to what I consider its major flaw; that nasty, sickly-sweet smell, and found that most food writers are far too kind. They use terms such as, “oddly sweet,” and “unusual,” and “nutty.” But I did finally find one author, an honest one at last, who described the root as having a taste, “which, although not strong, is peculiar and not to everyone’s liking. Its oddly semisweet quality makes it an awkward partner to other foods…” This was in The Oxford Companion to Food, by Alan Davidson.

            Parsnips are generally considered best when served in either a buttery or cheesy sauce, as in a gratin, or in soups and stews. They are often combined with pear or apple and curry seasonings, as in mulligatawny soup. They can also be cooked and mashed with potatoes and, of course, they are perfect in roasted winter vegetable mixtures, along with carrots, turnips, yams, potatoes, and onions. Most of the nutrition of parsnips, as with many roots, is directly under the skin, so they shouldn’t be peeled, if possible. Try to select small, firm roots, but if you do end up with thicker ones, it’s best to quarter them lengthwise and cut out the fibrous core.

            My next confrontation with my former vegetable nemesis came a few weeks ago. Jordan and I were in a produce section, choosing vegetables that could be grilled and served on buns for our New Year’s Eve party. I was quite surprised when Jordan selected some parsnips. I knew that they were not on his list of acceptable (all three!) vegetables. I sliced them lengthwise and parboiled them before marinating them along with eggplant, onion, and zucchini.

They turned out nicely, certainly better than the tomato slices I naively thought might grill well. But perhaps that wasn’t the fault of the tomatoes. I recall hearing far too much laughter coming from my grill cooks as I was madly trying to pry burnt tomato off my grill baskets. Hmmm!