The Season's Seasonings
The Taste Of Tradition.
BY JOHNETTE RODRIGUEZ

As the American food landscape has shifted from year to year, cooks and diners alike have become interested in trying out new dishes, and they become particularly adventurous during the holidays. As "new American cooking" has come to the fore, with its emphasis on fresh ingredients, unusual or little-known veggies and herbs have been discovered at local farmers' markets and coops. And, as low-fat and low-carb concerns have drifted down from specialty diets to grocery shelves, home bakers have begun to experiment with whole grain flours and less-refined sweeteners.

With an ear (and appetite) attuned to the out-of-the-ordinary foods I meet on my travels, both here and in Europe, I've sometimes befriended certain veggies, such as kohlrabi, Romanesca cauliflower (those bright green pyramids), white asparagus, and salsify long before they reached American supermarkets. But my ravenous curiosity about food has also introduced me to parsnips, turnips, celeriac, and Jerusalem artichokes right here in Rhode Island.

I've also cooked primarily vegetarian meals for the past 30 years, and that has kept me interested in ways to dress up grains such as quinoa, millet, barley, and bulghur. And I've been on the lookout for winter soups and salads that use some of the more unusual veggies. Lastly, I was part of that whole-wheat/honey generation that made substitutions in handed-down recipes, tried out new ones, and generally kept an open mind about things like rye-flour cookies. However . . . these cooking experiments had to be delicious, with nary a hint of "health-food" clinging to their crumbs or sauces. With all of that in mind, I guarantee that the following advice and recipes are time-tested and palate-pleasing and will bring smiles to any holiday gathering.

Let's start with those aforementioned roots. Celeriac (or celery root) is related to celery, with a similar kind of cleansing flavor. This gnarly fist-sized knob has a white and greenish skin. Celeriac needs those gnarls trimmed and its skin peeled before grating it into salads; boiling it in chunks and serving with a mustard-tinged cream sauce; puréeing it with pears; or roasting it with compatriot rooties before drizzling with balsamic vinegar and sprinkling with kosher salt. Create unusual and colorful latkes from a mixture of grated celeriac, potatoes, carrots, golden beets, and parsnips, in equal amounts, plus the other requisite latke ingredients.

Jerusalem artichokes (sometimes called sunchokes because they're in the sunflower family) are tubers, not those thorny artichokes from the thistle family. Impossible to peel, they should just be scrubbed thoroughly and never overcooked. We like them lightly sautéed to retain their water chestnut-like crunch and nuttiness, but they are also good in salads, soups, or stews, as pickles (in wine vinegar, a bit of sugar, and herbs) or roasted (tossed with oil, 20-30 minutes in a 400-degree oven, until just tender when poked with a knife).

Parsnips look like cream-colored carrots, with a sweeter, almost spicy flavor. Peeled and chopped, they too can find their way into soups, roasted combos, and mixed mashed veggies (don't overcook them). The versatile recipe which follows came from my friend Ginny and may be served as an appetizer, quiche or dessert. After steaming a pound and a half of parsnips and puréeing them, add four eggs, three ounces of cream cheese, 1/2 cup cream, 1 tb. orange zest, 1/2 cup orange juice, 1 tb. lemon juice, and 1 tb. honey. Bake at 400 degrees for about 25 minutes, in an unbaked pie shell, if desired. As a dessert, sprinkle with chopped nuts and brown sugar. As a veggie dish, unmold and cut into wedges.

Turnips and their rutabaga cousins have sometimes received a bad rep because when they are overcooked, the mustard oils in their makeup become quite odiferous, also affecting their taste. Carefully handled, a turnip can be as mild and delicious as a potato. My friend Pam has made mashed turnips for several Thanksgiving gatherings, seasoned with butter and salt, plus a bit of milk or cream. But she emphasizes that they must not be overcooked.

Rutabagas are the larger yellow variety in the turnip family, and they work well in a chowder with potatoes (one to one); spiced with ginger and mace and baked au gratin; mashed and then baked with sliced apples and cinnamon; cut into sticks for a relish tray; or coarsely grated with cabbage and chopped apples for an unusual slaw (add some raisins and peanuts for a "rutabaga roundup").

The latter idea - of raw autumn vegetables for winter salads - is becoming increasingly popular. Mixing green and red grated cabbage with carrots and apples, grated turnips or celeriac with apples, or various kinds of radishes with each other or other veggies produces palate-cleansing accompaniments to everything from roast turkey to vegan casseroles. My Wickford friend Peter grows the hefty black Spanish radish (one can weigh close to two pounds) in his garden, and he has learned that such radishes give a great kick to any cabbage salad. After peeling and grating the white radish flesh, he sets it aside for a couple of hours and drains off the liquid, which takes the bitter taste away. Then he either makes up a big batch of salad for home consumption or, during the summer/early fall, takes the grated radish to Ryan's Market, whose cooks incorporate it into their take-out slaws.

Since it's probably impossible to find this rare radish in a market, Peter recommends substituting daikon in his "Spanish Slaw," as follows: grate or shred enough red and green cabbage with carrots to make a colorful salad and add about one-third of that total amount of grated radish. Add chopped sweet onion to your taste and dress it with a ranch dressing thinned with lemon juice. Peter's secret to avoid the "lake effect" at the bottom of a bowl of slaw is to salt the prepared cabbages ahead, which draws out some of their excess moisture. Then wash and dry the veggies thoroughly. Don't mind that they look slightly wilted; they'll perk up in the slaw. Don't add additional salt to this recipe.

Turning from the savory to the sweet, wonderful cookies can be created from whole grain flours, nuts, seeds, and non-sugar sweeteners such as maple syrup or honey. Chris Brown, vegan cook extraordinaire and founder of Warren's the Natural Choice (cooking classes and services), offers her friend Rosemary Serviss's "ultimate chocolate-chip-almond cookies" with toasted and ground oats (11/2 cups), toasted and chopped almonds (1 cup), 1 cup whole wheat pastry flour, 1/2 tsp. salt, 1/4 tsp. baking soda, and 1 cup chocolate chips (Sunspire are vegan). Stir all of these together and combine 1/2 cup canola oil, 1/2 cup maple syrup, and 2 tsp. vanilla extract in a separate bowl. Stir the wet into the dry ingredients until just blended and drop rounded tablespoonfuls onto cookie sheets, flattening with a spoon to 1/3-inch. Bake at 375 degrees for 12-15 minutes.

I've adapted many recipes from my mom's admirable collection by using whole wheat pastry flour and honey. The flour is substituted directly for amounts of unbleached; the honey is cut back to 2/3 or even 1/2 of the amounts of sugar. If you've made the recipe many times, you'll be able to judge the consistency of the dough so that it is not too dry or too runny. You also need to adjust the baking time since the cookies will most likely brown quicker than those using unbleached flour and sugar. Some of the most unusual "alternative" cookies I've made have been with rye flour, including a rye shortbread (1 cup butter, 1 cup raw sugar, 21/2 cups rye flour); and rye cookies flavored with orange or lemon rind or with poppy seeds.

A favorite recipe that uses only molasses for sweetener goes like this: two 1/4 cups whole wheat pastry flour, one 3/4 tsp. baking powder, 1 tsp. salt, 11/2 tsp. ginger stirred together. Bring 1 cup molasses to a boil and add 1/2 cup vegetable margarine and 1 tsp. baking soda. When margarine has melted, stir in dry ingredients. Cover and chill several hours. Roll out to 1/8-inch thick and cut with seasonal cookie cutters (Santas, bells, stars, gingerbread people). Bake 5-7 minutes, just until firm. Do not let edges darken. Cool and store in airtight containers. I found that these keep very well if they are not discovered.

So launch some culinary adventures this holiday season and discover ingredients and combinations thereof that have never entered your sugar-plum dreams. You can even feel that you're being virtuously healthful in the process!