ТОП просматриваемых книг сайта:
Vegetables. Sophie Grigson
Читать онлайн.Название Vegetables
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007359295
Автор произведения Sophie Grigson
Жанр Кулинария
Издательство HarperCollins
The oca has travelled less than many vegetables, but it has at least dashed across the oceans to New Zealand where it is grown commercially in a small way. Here it is known simply as the New Zealand yam, despite not being a yam at all, or Maori potato, or more interestingly, as ‘uwhikaho’, or ‘uwhi’ for short.
Practicalities
BUYING
The commonest of oca, the ones that I’ve come across, are relatively small – say about 10cm (4in) long – have a waxy reddish skin and a crinkled form. In fact, they look a little like pink fir apple potatoes. Unlike most vegetables, freshness is not critical. Smooth skinned, plump oca will be gifted with a more distinct note of acidity than those that are beginning to shrivel a little having had time to develop more sweetness. In other words, this is a two-in-one vegetable, which is a rare and delightful gift from Mother Nature. So, as long as they have been stored well, wrinkles are not to be derided. Soft damp patches or worse still, a hint of mould, are not good things on the other hand. However, since you are not likely to come across oca frequently, you can’t really afford to be too choosy. Just throw out any that are beyond saving.
Oca, as you may well have inferred, keep well in the right conditions. The vegetable drawer in the fridge is just fine, but if the sun is shining, you might prefer to spread them out on trays outside (cover with muslin if you have some to hand, to protect from flies) to sweeten up a little. You can even freeze them – not a bad idea if you’ve found a rare clutch of oca for sale. As with any other vegetable, damp is destructive, so keep them dry.
COOKING
Oca can be eaten raw, especially the sweeter sunned ones, say in a salad, or cut into strips to dip into a chillied tomatoey dip perhaps. I prefer them cooked, exactly as you would a potato. In other words, rinse them, trim off ends, but don’t even attempt to peel. Then boil them in salted water until tender. They can also be roasted in the oven, coated in a little olive oil to prevent drying out, or steamed, or sautéed. They make heavenly crisps, but perhaps that is something to save for a time when oca have hit the big time and are as widely available here as they are in the highlands of Ecuador.
The parsnip is an honest vegetable. No airs and graces, no pretensions to grandeur, no fancy frills and ribbons. It has a solid sunny nature, the kind that one can rely on time and time again. You can trust a parsnip – trust it to come out well, to cook up nicely, to sit comfortably alongside most winter dishes. Your parsnip doesn’t fade into the background – there’s no doubting its presence – just takes a comfortable stance amongst the other elements on a plate.
I like parsnips a lot, saving them for the colder months of the year, which in the past was the only time when you ever got them. Until recently, no parsnip was worth eating if it hadn’t been touched by a frost or two. Now we get them all year round. That’s modern varieties for you. So maybe I’m being a stick-in-the-mud when I ignore summer parsnips, invariably perfectly shaped and clean as a whistle. Although I know that you can, for instance, make a handsome salad with lightly cooked parsnips, I’m really not that interested when the sun is hot, or even tepid, in the way of so many summer days.
Parsnip is a comfort vegetable, one that rides to the rescue when the courgettes have long since swelled to marrows. Plain buttered parsnip is nice, mashed parsnip good, parsnip crisps excellent and roast parsnips totally irresistible. Frosts may no longer be crucial to the success of the parsnip, but nature has a habit of getting things right. Parsnips are definitely better adapted to cold weather, natural fodder for us humans when the cold weather sets in, but well out of kilter with the warmth of summer.
Practicalities
BUYING
Most of my adult life, I’ve bought parsnips from either a greengrocer, or from the supermarket, clean as a whistle and ready to cook. I’ve never been disappointed. Until recently. Until I signed up for a weekly veg box and began to receive the occasional helping of dirty parsnips amongst other vegetables. They have been something of a revelation, inducing retrospective disappointment for all those parsnips that have fallen short of these paragons over the years. Yes, I am now convinced that it is worth scrubbing the jacket of earth off those long ivory roots, just for the exquisite flavour that lies underneath. These have been the best parsnips I have ever encountered, putting all others in the shade. That mucky soil coating does indeed keep flavour locked in, just like my mum always said (actually, she was usually talking about potatoes, but the theory is the same). Look out for the muckiest roots you can find next time you visit a winter farmers’ market and leap on them with glee. As long as the dirt is not there to mask stale parsnips pulled far too long before from the ground, I have no doubt that you will notice the improved taste.
The trouble with this, of course, is that nice, neat, scrubbed parsnips will begin to disappoint. Nothing to be done about that. If you can’t buy them dirty, buy them clean and be sure to pick out roots that are firm and not too heavily blemished. They’ll keep for a few days, but not as long as carrots, I find. Flabby, aged parsnips are not only dull in taste, but also a complete pain to prepare. Put them in the compost bin and vow not to forget about good parsnips again.
COOKING
I like my parsnips peeled, but with organic ones this is not strictly necessary, especially if you have very small parsnips that can be cooked whole. What is necessary with sizeable parsnips is the disposal of the woody core. Cut the fatter parts of the parsnips in quarters lengthways and lop out the white heart – another candidate for the compost bin – before cooking.
Most recipes for parsnips begin with a spell in boiling water (just long enough to soften, but not so long that they go mushy) but after that they will almost certainly demand something more. ‘Kind words butter no parsnips’ is an old saying, distinctly out of vogue in the 21st century when kind words are considered essential to the development of children, dogs and houseplants. But way back when it was heard tripping from the tongues of the wise and wealthy, toughness was an altogether more praiseworthy quality for training the young and the wayward. The point here is the essential buttering of those parsnips. There is no debate on this issue. Parsnips, lovely vegetables that they are, are magically enhanced by lashings of butter or good oil, or dripping, or cream: butter on boiled parsnips, cream and/or butter in mashed parsnips, goose fat or oil and a touch of butter for roast parsnips.
The soft, starchy nature of parsnips makes them candidates for any sort of mashing or puréeing. Straight parsnip mash is perhaps too intensely sweet for most tastes – I find it nicer mashed with, say, half the volume of cooked potatoes, as well, of course, as butter, milk or cream, salt and a heavy dose of freshly grated nutmeg, or a few pinches of cinnamon. Parsnip and potato mash makes a fine topping for old-fashioned cottage, shepherd’s or fish pie.
Alternatively, you could purée the parsnip with plenty of thick béchamel sauce, again softening the total parsnip essence. This mixture can be turned into a gratin of sorts, by mixing in an egg or two, spreading out thickly in an ovenproof dish, scattering the top with freshly grated Parmesan mixed with equal quantities of breadcrumbs plus a few dots of butter and then sliding the whole lot into a hot oven to cook until browned and bubbling. Very good indeed.
Parsnip soups are terrific too, made along classic soup lines, pepped up with curry (see recipes) or with fresh root ginger, cut half in half with apple or pear, or aromatised with lemon thyme. Croûtons or crisp grilled bacon or pancetta are excellent with parsnip soups.
My