I started working when I was 16 as a hostess at Gilda’s, a seafood restaurant on the wharf in Santa Cruz. It was one of a few restaurants owned by a large family of Neapolitan immigrants—the Stagnaros—who were born fishermen and restaurateurs. I met my first real boyfriend there, a line cook who surfed and drove a turquoise ’59 Chevy. He made a mean Denver omelette and taught me to roll a joint. At Gilda’s (pronounced with a soft “G”) we served excellent Boston clam chowder and a divine crab Louie, the West Coast salad made with crisp lettuce, hard-boiled eggs and Thousand Island dressing. So when I saw a recipe in the Times last month for a slightly updated version (courtesy of David Tanis of Chez Panisse), I began craving it in the way you do the familiar tastes of home. I made it with fresh East Coast lump crab meat, not the classic Dungeness, and dressed it with a creamy boiled dressing instead of the pink stuff, and it still satisfied immensely.

bright young things

Crisp celery, the floral notes of Meyer lemon and a tangy dressing yellow from egg yolks. Along with the frisée, I also used some pleasantly bitter radicchio.

frisée aka curly endive

the louie, invented in the early 1900s, still satisfies

Here are some things of interest I came across this week. I hope you enjoy them, and your weekend!

A great weekend project to revive a tired shirt

Or perhaps this DIY is more your speed

For cocktails, drizzling and intoxicating sweetening

If you need further inspiration to eat more salads

Or to start that business you’ve been dreaming about

A great place to spend a New York afternoon

And yet another of the many reasons to live in Portland

Those were the days. Sometimes I yearn for the suppleness of youth, its insouciance and capacity for indulgence. But it’s a fleeting moment of fantasy because I belong irrevocably to this moment. I inhabit this skin with a sense of purpose and without regret. There are times for looking back and times for looking ahead, but there’s no time like the present. As Joni Mitchell sings, in her seminal song “Down To You,” Everything comes and goes, marked by lovers and styles of clothes. Things that you held high and told yourself were true, lost or changing as the days come down to you.

The salad days that matter now are on your plate. Channel your creativity and your quest for health into this ageless combination of the raw and the cooked. Interrupt the dreary weeks of winter with refreshing concoctions crisp with cabbage, celery, apple and bitter greens, and punctuated with sweet bursts of citrus and pomegranate. By all means toss in some protein—a grated hard-cooked egg; some oily tuna or smoked mackerel; a crumbly goat cheese or sharp pecorino. You’re looking to create that perfect balance of flavors and textures: crunchy and creamy, sweet and tart, salty and spicy. As in all things, experience enhances your ability and wisdom makes a superb seasoning.

supremely tart

One technique worth learning is how to “suprème” citrus—to cut away the peel and pith, then remove each segment from between the membranes. You lose more of the fruit than you would simply by peeling and sectioning, but you also lose any bitterness. Incidentally, there is important nutrition in the membrane, so it’s best to reserve this technique for special dishes, like desserts, sauces and the occasional salad.

bitter, sweet

A sharp knife is essential here or you will make a mess and get frustrated. If you like, before you begin, you can use a microplane to remove the zest from your citrus. Then slice the rind off the top and bottom of the fruit, exposing the flesh and making it easier to stand the fruit on one end so it will sit flat for easy paring. Cut the peel and white pith away, going from top to bottom and following the curve of the fruit. Trim away any pith still attached. Hold the fruit in your non-dominant hand, and use a paring knife to cut down both sides of a segment, separating it from the membrane. Then just flip it out. When you’ve taken all the segments out, squeeze the juice from the membranes. Use this for sauce or salad dressing, or just drink it up. (You can watch a demonstration of suprèming here.)

zest in show

The distinctive crimson flesh of the blood orange comes from anthocyanins, a family of pigments common to many flowers and fruit, but rarely seen in citrus. These pigments only develop when temperatures are low at night, which is why blood oranges are in season now. They range in flavor from quite tart to very sweet, with the best of them balanced perfectly in between.

in the pink

Pink peppercorns are actually the dried berries from the baies rose plant. They’re cultivated in Madagascar and imported through France, so they can be rather pricey. But I think their sharp, piney flavor and subtle sweetness is worth it. Soft enough not to require grinding, they can be easily crushed with the flat of a knife or in a mortar and pestle. Try them in salads, with goat cheese or baked into your next batch of shortbread.

toss & turn

This salad comes together in just a few moments. Whisk together a mustardy dressing, toast some walnuts, suprème your citrus, dice some ricotta salata and thinly slice radicchio and fennel. Who knew your salad days actually lay ahead?

You go along in life, understanding the course of things, but never really imagining that what you see others endure will befall you. That might be the definition of youth. Because, inevitably, it happens to you. To paraphrase Mia Farrow, life is a series of losses and it’s all about the grace and resilience with which you respond. My former mother-in-law once looked at a photo of Liv Ullman on the cover of the New York Times Magazine and said, “Ugh, she’s really let herself go.” Never mind that the Swedish actress was being lauded for directing a film, what mattered to this woman was that a former beauty now looked like the 62-year-old she was. And I remember feeling disgusted by that, and vowing to forever construe “letting oneself go” as something quite liberating and wonderful.

I let my grey hair come in over the past 2 years and there was a certain loss that needed to be mourned there; quietly, mind you. I went from a tousled brunette to an elegant silver without more than a whimper. But now that I am finding it difficult to fit into any of my clothes, now that my skin is becoming slacker and my muscle tone less defined—all those clichés of middle age—I begin to feel a bit of that desperation that sends women under the scalpel. I’m not going to start in with the whole I’m invisible routine. Unless you’re Elle Macpherson, that pretty much sets in after age 40. And I’m lucky enough to have a husband who tells me I’m beautiful all the time. But, pathetic as it may be, I am newly committed to holding on to what I have for as long as possible. That entails lots of exercise and watching what I eat. Because, to me, being a glutton is all about expanding your palate not your waistline. It’s being greedy for the things that are good and good for you. It means that lunch is about salad.

step on the scale

Our friends Laquita and Tim brought us some delicious smoked trout over the holidays. It actually comes from a local business, Samaki, in Port Jervis. The owner is a white African who somehow ended up in this little town cold-smoking fish that goes to venerable city retailers like Russ and Daughters, Barney Greengrass and Zabar’s. Rich and peppery, it’s got lots of protein, iron and vitamin A, and relatively little fat, most of it the good kind. The skin is so gorgeous, no?

where there’s smoke…

I love smoked fish. I saw a great video recently on how to create your own stovetop smoker, and I just ordered a bunch of different wood shavings so I could experiment with making my own. I have a piece of black cod that I’m going to try first, as sable is my go-to order at Barney Greengrass. If you’ve never been to this New York institution, by the way, you should definitely make a pilgrimage. It ain’t cheap but it’s the real deal. I’ve also been known to frequent the outpost at Barneys in Los Angeles.

what a flake

Use a fork or your fingers to flake the fish apart. This is nicer than chopping it with a knife. Another great way to eat smoked trout is whizzed in the cuisinart with some cream cheese and scallions. Spread this on dark rye and go to heaven.

crunch time

In the middle of a busy day, I made a quick, satisfying and healthy lunch with just a few ingredients. If you work in an office, this is an easy meal to transport. Bring the salad in one bag, the trout in another and the dressing in a jar, and combine just before eating. When I worked at Saks, I went through phases where I brought my lunch a lot, and it’s so much more “sustainable” all around.

greens keeper

Frisée is like lettuce with a perm. Its texture holds dressing really well, almost like penne holds sauce. Of course you could use any combination of fresh greens you like; something with a hint of bitter goes nicely with the smoked fish. Sliced radishes add an excellent crunch, but fennel or celery would also work.

cuts the mustard

I decided to use a little mustard oil for the dressing. What I’m talking about here is pure mustard oil, a deep golden elixir with a spicy, nutty flavor that’s used quite a bit in Indian cooking. (And in Ayurvedic massage to stimulate the muscles and circulation, as well as the male member prior to sexual congress!) It smells like very powerful horseradish and is a good source of vegetarian omega-3 fatty acids. A little goes a long way, and it can be used in conjunction with other oils to mute its strong taste. Because horseradish is traditionally served with smoked fish, I though it would go well with the trout, and I was right. I drizzled some on the frisée and radishes, then added the juice of an entire small lemon.

slim chance

It was a bracing, fresh combination that satisfied. I aspire to be eternally slim, but I am not about deprivation and I will never, ever sacrifice flavor. Would you?

A while back, I believe I mentioned a desire to explore some lesser-known ingredients with you. I’ve been keeping a running list—including pickled tapioca, sorghum molasses and dried Persian limes—so do let me know if there’s anything you’re curious about. This is kohlrabi—from the German “kohl,” meaning cabbage and “rabi,” meaning turnip. It’s a brassica, like cauliflower, kale and collards, and has all the same nutritional benefits: low in carbs and calories, high in fiber and antioxidants. It also comes in a deep purple color. Slightly sweet and fresh, with the faintest peppery bite, kohlrabi can be eaten raw or cooked. If raw, it needs to be peeled, but after cooking the tougher outer skin softens up plenty. With all the cozy soups and hearty braises we’re eating at this wintry time of year, it’s nice to have some cool, crunchy salads as a counterpoint, (here’s one with celery root, and another with radicchio and grapefruit), so I used my kohlrabi in a crisp, sprightly slaw.

like the happy marriage of a cabbage and a turnip

Look for kohrabi bulbs no larger than 3″ in diameter with healthy green leaves which can also be eaten. The tenderest, smallest bulbs won’t even need to be peeled, and can be snacked on out of hand like an apple. Try grating kohlrabi raw for salads and slaws, slice thinly and sprinkle with salts and herbs, or cut into sticks to use with dips. You can steam it, either whole for about 30 minutes, or thinly sliced for 5-10, or dredge in flour and briefly fry. It goes well with lemon, butter and herbs or curry. Add it sliced or cubed to soups, stews or stir-fries. Kohlrabi will last for a few weeks in plastic in the fridge; store the leaves and bulbs separately.

the fine art of chopping

I can’t tell you what a difference my new knife makes with any slicing and chopping tasks. (It makes me so curious about this one!) With any slaw, texture is quite important. It’s nice to have all the ingredients roughly the same shape/thickness. If you don’t have the time/patience to julienne like this, you can always use a hand grater or food processor.

in the pink

The Pink Lady apple is among my favorites. It’s a blush apple with a firm texture and a balanced sweet-tart flavor that offsets the mild, slightly radish-y kohlrabi.

in the sticks

Leave the skin on, so the slaw is not quite so albino.

flavor boosters

To spice things up, I used what I had on hand: jalapeño, lemon zest and tarragon. I was inspired to build on the slight licorice flavor of the tarragon with the addition of some fennel seeds.

ready to go

There is something very satisfying about setting out all your ingredients—your mise en place—as you prepare to assemble a dish. It eliminates all that frantic scrambling about when you haven’t properly read the recipe.

seeds of an idea

Toasting the fennel seeds in a dry skillet brings out their oils and creates a richer, more complex flavor and smell. They brown very quickly, and will taste bitter when burnt, so cook over low heat and watch them carefully.

back to the grind

I have a dedicated spice grinder for this, but you can also use a hand mill or a mortar and pestle, especially if you don’t need a very fine powder.

good to the grain

I felt like a good strong mustard would complement the Germanic roots of the kohlrabi, and I’m always looking for ways to use my Kozlik’s. This Canadian company makes so many delectable mustards, it’s tempting to collect them all. The one above is their Triple Crunch, made with three kinds of seeds and Canadian Club whiskey. It’s almost like a spicy, vegetarian caviar.

see slaw

As you work, be sure to drop your slices of kohlrabi and apple into the waiting lemon juice, to prevent browning. Once you toss everything together, the flecks of red apple skin, yellow zest and green tarragon and jalapeño make a very pretty combination for the eye as well as the palate. This slaw couldn’t be healthier, more refreshing or more delicious.

My friend Andy Jacobson died on Saturday. He was only 52, and he left behind an incredible wife and two amazing teenagers. I saw it coming but I wasn’t prepared. I wanted more time with him, a chance to fix him the Brussels sprouts salad that was the subject of his last tweet to me. In response to my posting this video on the subject, he wrote: “Looks so good! Will you make them???? Pleeeeeze.” I never got around to it. Like my father, he had stomach cancer, so he might not have been able to eat it anyway. But still. I’m making it now, Andy, and I’m hoping that whoever else tries the recipe below will think of you, too. An aesthete, a mensch, a quibbler, a devoted father and husband, a loyal friend, a merry prankster. One of G’s pals from way back, and like family to us, he got himself licensed so he could perform our wedding ceremony, and he milked that crowd for laughs. The gods are surely smiling today.

photo by Sarah Shatz for Food52

The Fudehouse video pretty much says it all as far as a shaved Brussels sprout salad goes, but I’m also including a version from Merrill Stubbs of Food52. Hers uses pecorino instead of Fudehouse’s Parmesan, and red onion instead of walnuts. The point is to shave the sprouts very finely—a super-sharp knife works well if you don’t have a mandoline—and then add a pungent dressing. I like a combination of walnut and olive oils, the tartness of lemon, the bite of mustard and the tang of pecorino. But I’ve also used capers, pine nuts, olives, champagne vinegar and even mustard oil (not all at once). As with everything, once you learn the basic technique, you’re free to experiment.

I’ll miss Andy terribly and my heart feels as heavy as a knish. But I’ve learned that grieving takes place while life continues on, and sooner or later it’s time for dinner.

My baloney has a first name. It’s Mortadella. I’ll bet you already know that baloney is a bastardization of bologna—actually, Bologna, for the city in Italy from whence this delectable pork sausage hails. But are you aware that it’s named for the mortar (mortaio) that in conjunction with a pestle was originally responsible for the finely ground meat that forms the basis of this heat-cured salume? (Salume is how Italians refer to charcuterie or, more basely, cold cuts.) I have no love for Oscar Mayer’s offspring, and shudder to think what goes into those inspid, rubbery slices. They’re barely fit to kiss the hem of the real deal: a rich, dense and savory concoction, flavored with garlic, coriander, nutmeg and sometimes studded with pistachios.

this is not your childhood bologna

I get my mortadella at Eataly‘s fabulous salumeria where I can have it cut to order in a thick slab. For some gathering over the next month I may even make this recipe I came across for “Mortadella Smear” in Saveur. Trust me, it surpasses its unfortunate name in every way. Pureed mortadella enriched with a velouté sauce and a little cream, slathered on grilled bread and drizzled with balsamic. What’s not to like? This diverges wildly from the mortadella of yore and is more akin to paté whipped up by a lazy Italian contessa.

into the frying pan

Mortadella has a fair amount of fat, so it fries up beautifully crisp. You can do thin slices, which are quite nice, almost chip-like, but I prefer chubby little cubes that come out chewy with crunchy edges. The perfect vehicle for them? A fresh escarole salad tossed with tangy anchovy dressing.

bitter(sweet) greens

Escarole, also known as “broad-leaved endive” (but not called that by anyone you know) is a member of the chicory family, along with puntarelle, radicchio and Belgian endive. It’s slightly sweeter than its bitter brethren and is a sadly under-appreciated green. (Here’s a recipe for a very simple escarole soup.) Delicious cooked—sauteed with shallots and chile, wilted in garlicky oil—escarole is secretly a salad diva. Served raw, it’s gutsy without being aggressive and has gently curled edges that are made for cupping dressing.

crowning touches

We had this salad one night for dinner along with cups of creamy butternut squash soup sprinkled with spicy toasted squash seeds, and it reminded me that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something: GARNISHES. The way you finish a dish can make the difference between good and extraordinary. G calls it “kicking it up a notch”—unabashedly ripping off Emeril’s catch-phrase—and it’s a call to action in the kitchen. You can always make something just that much better with an extra drizzle of spicy green olive oil, sprinkling of coarse sea salt, frizzle of herbs or dollop of crème fraîche.

top it off

This is where the notion of condiments comes into play. Homemade chutney, spiced pumpkin seeds, curry salt, fried sage, pickled onions—these have the power to bring your cooking into focus by adding flavor and textural counterpoints. Use your imagination, your creativity and your palate, and have fun gilding the lily.

Fall is here—already. It’s brought with it beautiful cool sleeping weather and that poignant quality, a tender melancholy. This is my favorite season, bittersweet and poised so precariously between the royal flush of summer and the dark abyss of winter. Time now to squeeze every last drop of warmth and sweetness from the world. In the garden, tomatoes, zucchini, basil and herbs are performing a glorious swan song. It’s the perfect moment for one of these verrines, a French bistro staple that I learned about in the October issue of Food & Wine, which is dedicated to the new French classics. You’re undoubtedly familiar with parfaits, those gorgeous layers of fruit, cream and frozen delights showcased so perfectly in clear footed glasses. Well, this is sort of a vegetable version of that. A fresh, chunky salad topped with a creamy layer of whipped mascarpone, and garnished with a crispy slice of prosciutto. It’s an ideal lunch, or a lovely way to welcome guests for a casual dinner party.

yellow romas, romanesco zucchini and other garden delights

Although it wasn’t a great year for gardening—cold snaps followed by blistering heat and then way too much rain—G still managed to raise lots of lovely tomatoes, including these gorgeous yellow Romas, and enough zucchini and cucumbers that I would actually despair when he crept into the kitchen with his daily harvest. It was zucchini fritters and pickles galore over here.

a crispy prosciutto chip makes the perfect garnish

Such a revelation to discover that you can fry up slices of prosciutto to a wonderful crackly crisp. They’re almost like pork chips! And they stand at attention like little soldiers in the verrines, where they add a savory, salty crunch to the mix.

Can’t stand the heat? Get out of the kitchen. But if you live in the complete sticks, where restaurants and take-out are really not an option, the kitchen is where you ultimately wind up when you feel hungry. The solution is often the grill, or you can abandon fire altogether and opt for cold leftovers, chilled soup, composed salads or even ceviche. But if you happen upon some screaming yellow zucchini and are looking for an easy supper, here’s something that’s all inspiration and no perspiration. In addition to the squash, you’ll need a knife, pine nuts, basil, parmesan, a lemon and some good olive oil. Leave your hearty appetite at the door. This is a light repast for those summer evenings when you’re feeling like a cat on hot tin roof. If you’re still hungry, eat a pint of ice cream…

the blinding yellow of this squash drew me like a bee to honey

Color like this telegraphs that summer squash is rich in antioxidants. It’s high in calcium, fiber, iron and vitamins A and C, and quite low in calories. Which means it pairs well with nuts and cheese, of course.

toast your pine nuts in a skillet or in the oven

Pine nuts tend to go from golden to burnt in a heartbeat, so use a low flame and watch them closely if you’re toasting them in a skillet. Otherwise, you can spread them on a baking sheet and roast them lightly in a 350º oven for about 10 minutes, stirring them a couple of times. By the way, buy Italian pine nuts. Apparently certain Chinese pine nuts—they look smaller, duller and rounder than others—are responsible for “taste disturbances,” leaving a strange metallic taste in the mouth for up to 2 weeks after consumption.

the key to thin slices, and general success in the kitchen, is a very sharp knife

This recipe calls for very thin slices, so it’s a good opportunity to haul out your mandoline if you’ve got one. Mine has been in storage since we moved upstate two years ago, but I find that in most instances a very sharp knife used with patience and caution works just fine. Don’t be afraid to ad lib here. No basil? Try mint or tarragon, or use all three. Substitute balsamic for the lemon juice, pecorino for the parmesan, toasted walnuts for the pine nuts. Just don’t gob too much of anything on there or you’ll overwhelm the delicate squash slices.

it really is as good at it looks

I call this a carpaccio in homage to the classic Italian dish of paper-thin slices of uncooked beef. It makes a gorgeous presentation and there’s something kind of subversively sexy about the fact that it’s totally raw.

June is busting out all over. The delicate pink and white blossoms of spring have given way to lush peonies and roses and lilies. After a momentary blip last week, there is no more no sign of the sultry, damp days ahead when dogs will lie panting in the shade and we will press sweating glasses of lemonade to our fevered brows. Today all is bright green hills and turquoise skies. The kind of weather when thoughts turn to fresh salads. And the grill, of course. Summer means grilling. Oh, no! you say But I’m a city dweller. I can relate. I’m a grill widow. Where once I was only in charge of marinating, my hobbled husband has temporarily relinquished his patio post in front of the Weber, leaving me to face down this fiery challenge. For the moment, I have run screaming back to my stove, where it’s possible to make a perfectly acceptable steak. Heat up that cast iron pan really well, buy the best meat available and don’t overcook it. That’s the best advice I can give you. That, and serve it sliced thinly next to a simple salad of arugula and red onion. It’s heaven on a plate.

the best steak is humanely raised and well-marbled

I don’t think I need to go on any more about the importance of buying humanely raised meat, do I? My hope is that you will have found a local source, some small farm that takes good care of its animals. Organic has come to mean less and less, and I don’t think proscribing grass-fed makes any sense either, so just try to know your farmer, or at least your butcher, and learn about where your meat comes from.

My favorite steak is a well-marbled ribeye with the bone in. You really need that fat for juicy flavor. And I feel like the bone imparts extra flavor. To me, this is the most buttery and delicious cut. It requires nothing more than salt and a hot pan (or grill). Although I know tastes vary, I think the best way to eat it is medium-rare. Before cooking, I let my steak sit out so it’s room temperature, and salt it generously.  Then I set a cast-iron pan on the flame and let it heat up for quite a while. You want your steak to sear and get a deep crusty char on the outside, but remain juicy pink and tender within. Note: switch on your stovetop fan and throw open a window, as you will be generating some smoke!

no matter where you do your cooking, you want to get a deep crusty char

If you’re a steak novice, fear not. Nothing could be easier. But you either have to use a thermometer, or learn a simple technique for ascertaining doneness. Heat changes the texture of meat, and this is palpable. As it heats up, the protein strands tighten, causing the meat to firm up. This shrinks it and squeezes the juices out, which is why a rarer steak is preferable; a well-done steak is tougher, firmer and less juicy.

If you’re going to use a thermometer, here are suggested temperatures. But do bear in mind that meat will continue cooking after you take it off the heat, so aim for about 5 degrees lower. It’s essential that you let your steak rest for at least 10 minutes before cutting into it. Trust me, this makes all the difference. Rest the meat on a cooling rack, turning it over in the middle of the resting period. It will help the juices from pooling on the bottom of the meat (and leaking out onto the plate), and distributes the juices evenly throughout.

Here is a guide that explains how to test for doneness by feel. It’s very satisfying to be able to give your steak a poke and understand what’s going on in there. As with everything, practice makes perfect. And remember, you can always throw your steak back to cook a bit more, but once you’ve overcooked it, well…

Rare: 140º

Medium rare: 145F

Medium: 160º

An arugula salad is the perfect cool, crunchy and slightly bitter counterpoint to your hot, fatty steak. Taking a cue from classic steakhouse salads, I like to throw in some red onion. It can be a bit too pungent and aggressive, though, so try soaking your slices in cold water as you prepare your steak. It’s a neat trick that softens their flavor.

For those of you not lucky enough to be eating your own corned beef tonight, here’s a quick peek at how mine turned out. Overall, I’m quite satisfied. The meat was just the right balance of tender but firm. It was a gorgeous pink, perfumed by the spices and very buttery from that extra layer of fat that my butcher did not remove. (Thanks, Jake!) I let the vegetables get a tad soft perhaps, but they have a melt-in-your-mouth quality that is irresistible. It makes me realize that I do not eat enough velvety cooked cabbage. Both the sauces—coarse-grained mustard with shallots and a dash of stout, and creme fraiche with horseradish and chives—are addictive and the perfect pungent, spicy counterpoint to the rich meat. The one surprise was the broth: copious amounts of it (so much so that I’ll be using it to make beans), and delicious poured over the whole dish. Served in a broad pasta bowl, everything can run together into one delectable hot mess. Would love to hear how anyone else’s turned out.

If you thought we were done with root vegetables—not so fast! After all the squash soups and mashed parsnips and potato-leek gratins and beet salads, I came across a root previously unknown to me: parsley root. Have you encountered it? Apparently it’s big with Eastern Europeans and Jewish grandmothers.

rooting around

tastes like celery + turnips + parsley

It’s from a different type of parsley—though equally edible—which produces much thicker roots than the types cultivated just for their leaves. Known variously as Hamburg root parsley, Dutch parsley, turnip-rooted parsley, rock selinen and rock parsley, it has a long history of use in soups and stews during dreary winters in Holland, Germany and Poland. It can also be served fresh in salads, or even fried. Its delicate, slightly sweet flavor is reminiscent of celery, turnips and, of course, parsley. The leaves, often sold attached (and hopefully feathery fresh and bright green), are quite similar to the flat-leaf parsley you know and love, and can be used much the same.

Try mashing a couple of roasted or boiled parsley roots with your Yukon Golds. Make a fresh salad with grated parsley root and celery root, dressed with lemon juice, horseradish and little walnut oil. Or use this recipe from Saveur for a delicious Chicken and Parsley Root Salad, to eat as a sandwich or over greens. Other good pairings with parsley root: barley, beets, cabbage, chicken soup, oxtail, other root vegetables, shallots, sweet potatoes and thyme.

rooted in eastern european tradition

Here’s a recipe from Marcus Samuelsson’s New American Table that promises delicious results.

ROASTED PARSLEY ROOT STEW

serves 6

Juice of 2 lemons

1 cup long beans or green beans, cut into 1-inch pieces

3 cups peeled 2-inch cubes parsley root or celery root

2 tablespoons toasted pine nuts, chopped

3 tablespoons olive oil

4 cloves garlic, chopped

1 tablespoon chopped thyme

2 tablespoons maple syrup

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 teaspoon coarse salt

2 tablespoons soy sauce

1 tablespoon chopped parsley

2 tablespoons chopped mint

Bring half of the lemon juice and 2 cups water to a boil in a medium saucepan. Add beans and simmer for 2 minutes. Remove from liquid with a slotted spoon; set aside. Add parsley root to liquid and cook for 5 minutes. Drain and set aside.

Add olive oil to skillet and heat over medium heat. Add garlic, thyme, and parsley root; cook, stirring, until garlic is golden, about 5 minutes. Stir in maple syrup, butter, remaining lemon juice, and salt; cook for 2 minutes. Stir in soy sauce, parsley, mint, beans, and toasted pine nuts. Toss to combine and cook until just heated through.