Few who’ve had a well prepared one would dare to argue: parsnips are something special. I first fell in love with parsnips last fall, when someone brought a dish to a potluck that was simple and delightful: julienned and roasted parsnips, beets, and carrots. The parsnips were the star of the dish, roasted to perfection they were soft as sweet potatoes, and had that perfect minty sweetness that sets them apart from their carrot compatriots.
That same fall, while attempting to whip up a batch of ADAMAH style kimchi (where the spice mix of garlic, ginger, hot pepper, and scallions are left thinly sliced instead of blended into a paste and no fish sauce is used) I substituted regular radish for the more traditional daikon radish and wanted another vegetable to help add bulk to my batch. I stumbled across some parsnips, and hastily decided that they’d serve as an appropriate physical substitute for long white daikon radishes. I was more than pleasantly surprised when tasting my kimichi three weeks later revealed a creative mingling of flavors. A sweetness, a soft crunch, a great vehicle for the heat of the peppers, and I was hooked, I promised myself I’d try to replicate this faux-yah again.
Freshly dug parsnips
A few weeks ago, when the incredibly gifted gardener behind “the crow’s nest,” alias, my boyfriend’s neighbor, reminded me that she had planted a row of parsnips she had no intention to consume… I immediately began plotting.
Making kimchi often feels sort of like the grand finale of a pickling season. Of all the items I make, it’s the most elaborate (in terms of ingredients), and because I try so hard to deal with gardeners/farmers growing sustainably, on a small scale, and as nearby as possible, this is where the difficulties of sourcing multiple ingredients for the same day come to a head.
Once I knew where my parsnips were coming from, I began scouting for the other necessary ingredients. By market saturday I had tracked downcarrots and daikon at Vang Family Farm, scallions from Grown in Detroit, garlic and hot peppers from my garden, the parsnips from the crow’s nest, and ginger from Eastern Market. The last thing that needed to fall into place was Napa cabbage. After gathering all the rest atEastern Market, I headed out to Royal Oak in hopes of picking up cabbage from Royal Oak Community Farm. I was thrilled to find an abundance of enormous heads immediately upon arrival. I made off with 4 and returned home with my booty.
The next step involved a lot of chopping, slicing, and feeding into a food processor. With vegetables flying all over the place, i was lucky to have my friend Hannah helping me in the kitchen.
Hannah sliced the cabbage
Close-up on sliced napa cabbage
Scallions sliced and ginger and hot peppers waiting patiently for the knife
Once all my ingredients were sliced and ready, the task of mixing them in a big crock (or, in this case, a 5 gallon carboy) was at hand. This involves a few simultaneous efforts: first, incorporating ingredients in a rotation to aid incorporation. Second, using your hands and arms to get in some nice deep mixing, and third, salting to taste. I like to salt all my products to a point where at first bite, they tastes too salty, but the sensation quickly subsides. Kind of a subtle marker, but after you’ve gotten used to it this can be a very helpful rule.
I let my kimchi ferment 3 weeks, but it starts tasting good after as early as a week. I didn’t include any numbers because it’s not an exact science. Equal parts carrot, parsnip, and daikon with double the amount of unsalted (unwilted) cabbage is a great start, while the spice mix can be ginger and garlic in equal proportions with 1/4-1/2 the hot peppers and double the bulk in scallions.
I can’t wait for this year’s kimchi to be done, and I’m most excited about the fact that I have roughly 5x the amount I made last year for this coming winter! Sure, most of it’s for sale… but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’ll be putting a portion aside for my own enjoyment.
