Please note: this page is part of an older version of the Paradiso web site and its content may no longer be up-to-date or correct.
Go here to browse the current version of our site
We’ve been playing around with parsnips a bit lately. Good time of year for that, I hear you say, seasonally aware cogniscenti of foodieland that you lot are. Yes indeed, and what’s more, there are a couple of turnips out back that will be hauled into the Paradiso experimental kitchen soon. No, we don’t have a science lab outpost off in the woods north of Macroom; the experimental kitchen is the bit of the pot sink draining board that the kitchen porter kindly facilitates at his discretion.
Part of the reason for the noble parsnip being given royal treatment this early winter is the serious shortage of winter squash. I hate to bring up that summer again, but its last laugh was to render the squash crop a pale shadow of its hopes and ambitions. Usually at this time of year, we would be facing into a mountain of the stuff. First we’d put on all of our favourite squash dishes and then we’d figure out a few more ways to sneak it into dishes that only the most eagle-eyed and truffle-nosed would spot. This year, we will be stretching the Gortnanain squash as far as we can, or using it all in a reckless flurry, I don’t know yet.
What’s that got to do with parsnips or the price of eggs, ask the impatient seasonally aware cogniscenti of foodieland? Briefly, this: we’ve a grand crop of parsnips and we’re looking into the things parsnips and squash have in common. An earthy sweetness and a dense, slightly floury texture are two good starting points. Both roast well, both carry spices and happily roam the food cultures of the world with nary a thought for their supposed origins. I suppose that’s the basis of it really – wherever the squash can go, might the parsnip not follow? (Senior or academic cogniscenti who wish to argue that the ancient parsnip had already travelled the world while the squash was still a mere pumpkin lantern please see the footnotes below).
For starters, parsnip is muscling in on the ravioli pitch. This version is just one of those we’re playing with. In others, the parsnip has been taken down south, hauled out east and allowed to cosy up to familiar local flavours like mushrooms, leeks and apple. I’m not promising this will ever make it onto the Paradiso menu but I can say that it made a damn fine dinner. I suspect, though, that whatever the final version may be, it will find a use for this new apple balsamic vinegar from Llewellyns in Ireland that seems made for parsnips.
The recipe should make enough for four as a main course or eight as a starter. If you don’t fancy making brown butter, a simple rosemary, tarragon or sage -infused butter would also be good, as would one spiked with chillies, citrus or ginger.
{Footnotes: parsnip authenticus was first discovered in a muddy cartwheel track just north of Palermo around 467AD. Taken for a pale carrot, it was grated into a salad with raisins and orange juice, a recipe that quickly became a staple of the western world, the anglo bit anyway. In the 19th century, as human teeth shrank, people complained of the woody bits in the middle of pale carrots and the vegetable was discarded from fashionable tables. In the latter part of the 20th century, the western world discovered the knack of cutting the core out of parsnips and the vegetable was found to be incredibly useful in making soups and ravioli, though it was never again put in salad with raisins and orange juice.}
ravioli filling:
1 tablespoon butter
100mls dry cider
280g parsnip, net weight after peeling and coring
60g ricotta
20g hard cheese, finely grated
nutmeg
pasta:
200g durum flour
1/4 tsp salt
1 egg
2 egg yolks
brown butter:
4 tablespoons butter
2 springs rosemary
1 clove garlic, thickly sliced
crisped leeks:
1 leek, white part only
2 tablespoons flour
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
mushrooms & balsamic:
1 large portobello mushroom, thickly sliced
1 tablespoon apple balsamic vinegar
Chop the parsnip into dice. Heat a tablespoon of butter in a pan over medium heat, add the parsnip and saute for one minute. Add the cider, lower the heat, cover the pot and simmer for 7-8 minutes until the parsnip is soft. Check occasionally and stir, or add a little water if needed. Mash the parsnip with salt, black pepper and a few gratings of fresh nutmeg. Leave to cool.
Sift the flour and salt into a bowl, add the eggs and 2-3 teaspoons of water and bring them all together with your hands to form a dough. Knead for a minute, then leave the dough to rest under a cloth.
Roll the dough thinly, either by hand or using a pasta machine, and cut out circles approx 6cm in diameter. Place a generous teaspoon of the filling on each circle, moisten the edge with water and fold over to seal. Store the filled mezzaluna under a damp towel as you go.
Put three tablespoons of butter in a pot over low heat. When melted, add the rosemary and garlic, and increase the heat to medium. As the butter turns a golden colour, and then a little darker, skim off the white foam. Remove the browned butter from the heat and leave to infuse, then remove the rosemary and garlic.
Preheat the oven to 200c/400f.
Chop the leek in half lengthways, wash it and dry it as well as possible. Cut it in half horizontally, then cut each of these quarters into thin strips. Place in a bowl and toss with the flour, paprika and some salt. Place on a baking sheet and bake for 10-12 minutes, stirring once or twice, until lightly coloured. Remove from the oven and leave on the tray in a warm place to crisp.
Toss the portobello slices in a little of the brown butter and some salt, and place on a baking tray. Roast in the oven for 7-8 minutes, until tender.
At the same time, bring a pot of water to a boil, drop in the ravioli and cook for 4-5 minutes. Lift them out with a sieve or slotted spoon and toss them briefly in the brown butter, and serve.
Place some ravioli on each plate, with some of the brown butter. Drizzle over some apple balsamic and place the roast portobello and crisped leeks on top.
Thanks, Emma. We’re having trouble uploading images to the site just now, but there is one on the facebook page – http://www.facebook.com/paradisocork.
#1 · Emma
Friday, 09 November, 2012This sounds amazing! Can’t wait to try it out – any chance of a picture to whet my appetite?!