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14
Dec

Never sure what to do with familiar sounding root vegetables that I didn’t grow up eating (turnips, rutabagas, parsnips) I came up with this technique after seeing something similar on Emeril Green. The variety of color, flavor and texture helps me appreciate the unique vegetables available during the winter, and makes me less skeptical of cooking seasonally when my garden has finally succumbed to
endless frost.
I dug up these parsnips just before the temperatures really took a dive. The core was a bit woody, but once quartered and cored, they were deliciously sweet and complex. I planted them in just one square foot of the garden, and they were growing side by side, almost touching. A very productive square foot of dirt.


honey-glazed root vegetables
If you want, you can do the broiling ahead of time, toss with the honey butter and rosemary and finish the cooking just before mealtime, that way you can turn your attention to preparing another dish.
The one vegetable I always make sure I include is sweet potatoes. Although the recipe would be fine without them, I like a few extra sweet bites every now and then, as well as their familiar taste.
5 lbs. mixed root vegetables and/or winter squash (whatever is available, such as sweet potatoes, celery root, parsnips, carrots, potatoes, turnips, rutabaga, pumpkin, butternut squash)
olive oil, just enough to coat
salt and fresh ground pepper
6 tablespoons butter
6 tablespoons honey (eyeball it -same volume as the butter)
2 tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary
Scrub the vegetables and chop into 1 inch pieces. Preheat the broiler. Thinly coat the vegetables with olive oil, and toss with salt and pepper. Place in a broiler-safe dish lined with parchment and set on the second shelf of the oven. Broil, turning the vegetables as they pick up nice coloring. In the meantime, whip the honey and butter together. When all the vegetables are browned, remove from the oven, turn down the heat to 450, and toss with the honey butter and sprinkle the rosemary. Taste for seasoning. Return to the oven and let the vegetables continue to cook until tender, or if already tender after broiling, cook just 5 minutes more until the flavors meld.
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Sometime I can’t resist buying produce because of it’s color: neon-green cauliflower, fire-red carrots or golden beets. This time it was an old friend, purple cabbage. I knew I shouldn’t have bought it for the meal I was making because I’ve only used it with German or Eastern-European meals in the form of sweet and sour cabbage with apples. I was making pasta. But after thinking it through I came up with a stunningly easy and versatile dish that was the star of the meal. I’ll be making it over and over again this winter, either with red or green cabbage. For the sweet component that purple cabbage harmonizes so well with, I used balsamic vinegar. Although I got a little tired of balsamic vinegar for a while, I realized I was getting what I paid for, which was not much. These days I’m still not buying aceto balsamico tradizionale, but I’m splurging for a better bottle, and using it thoughtfully.
Last year before the neighbors cut down their apple trees (sigh), I went onto their property without asking (maybe that’s why), and picked up fallen apples, cut off the bad spots and made the most delicious applesauce I’d ever tried: just apples, fresh lemon juice, and a few gratings of fresh ginger. I came into some more apples and made it again, this time, I had run out of lemons and fresh ginger, so I used bottled lemon juice and dried ginger. Such a sad pot of applesauce.
The nasturtium plants have taken over a portion our backyard, climbing their way onto our deck with hundreds of blooms and even more beautifully dark and circular leaves. We grew the nasturtium for the edible blossoms, but a month or so ago, I found out the leaves could be used like watercress. Sort of. They are deliciously peppery and tender -even the larger leaves- as such, but their shape is tricky to dress as a salad. When left whole or even torn, the flat shape creates too many layers to permeate, and shredding them didn’t make for a very attractive salad.
Inexplicably delicious and blissfully simple. It can’t get any better than that. Oh, wait: my kids were fighting over bites from my bowl the next day.




When I saw a recipe for “Snobby Joes” in 