Although beets didn’t make the list of 2012 food trends, I’m beginning to think that they should have. Everywhere that I go, I see these gorgeous root vegetables. Even restaurants pledging to serve seasonal, local foods are doling out salads, soups and sides of purple, golden, white and candy cane-striped beets. I’m not complaining. If there’s one vegetable that I can happily eat day in and day out, it’s a sweet beet. Beauty as well as taste must be influencing this current craze for you just can’t beat the aesthetics of this veggie. Tumble a handful of luscious magenta beets over a mound of otherwise bland greens and you go from dull to dazzling in seconds. Toss a few yellow slices atop pasta or grilled chicken and you end up with a sunny meal to brighten the chilliest and rainiest spring days. Sold year-round, beets are at their peak from June to October. During this time I can buy the usual purple as well as the more colorful varieties. I can also pick up crisp …

The downside to be married to, or even knowing, a writer is that inevitably you get pulled into one of her stories. Three years ago that very thing happened to my husband. Not only did I mention him in an article about root vegetables but also did an editor make him the star of the headline: At 38 man finally tries parsnips. The good news is that he now likes this pale, oblong vegetable. That is good news, indeed. High in starch and fiber as well as potassium, this relative of the carrot has long provided nourishing, filling meals. Although it took my husband almost four decades to appreciate this frost-hardy plant, much of the Western world has consumed it since ancient times. Growing wild throughout Europe and western Asia, the parsnip was first farmed during Roman times. Because it prospers in cooler climates and sandy or impoverished soils, it is ideal peasant food. Parsnips served a vital role in medieval European cuisine. At a time when sugar was a rare luxury, these honeyed veggies …

Growing up, I had little respect for the pumpkin. Blame it on lack of exposure. It showed up once a year in my mother’s Thanksgiving pie and then quickly disappeared from our menus and my mind. If I did see it more than once, it was usually at Halloween. At that time it was carved up, stuffed with a candle and dumped unceremoniously on our doorstep only to be forsaken after the holiday. It’s no wonder I now feel a bit sorry for pumpkins. A part of the gourd family, which also claims cucumbers and melons as members, the pumpkin hails from the Americas. Sensitive to cold in spite of its tough skin, it requires temperate weather, regular watering and lots of space to flourish. As evidenced by a predicted pumpkin shortage in the Northeast, it does not fair well in floods or hurricanes. What to do once a hefty, blemish-free pumpkin had been bought from a local farm stand or plucked from my parents’ garden used to baffle me. Cleaning and chopping this unwieldy …

They sat glistening in the sun like a display of amethysts at Tiffany’s. One look and I knew that I had to have them. No, they weren’t sparkly earrings, strappy sandals or the latest handbags from Elaine Arsenault. They were one of nature’s gems, purple asparagus. Unlike white asparagus, which is merely green asparagus that hasn’t seen the light of day, purple asparagus hails from the Albenga region of Italy. There farmers propagated seeds from hardy, opened female plants, producing a variety known as Violetto d’ Albenga. With this variety the stalks grow larger but there are fewer of them. Although its stems appear purple in color, its feathery leaves remain green. Similar to other asparagus, Its flesh ranges from pale green to white. Twenty percent higher in sugar than its green counterpart, purple asparagus possesses a mildly sweet taste. Due to its low fiber content it’s also tenderer than green and white asparagus. These differences in taste and texture make purple asparagus perfect for raw salads. When blanched alongside its green and white relations, …

Since virtually every food writer in America is talking about Thanksgiving this week, I’ve decided to jump on the bandwagon and share a bit about turkey day. As you’ll see, the history lesson is short. The recipes, however, are plentiful. As most may know, Thanksgiving didn’t become a national holiday until President Lincoln declared it so in 1863. Even so, early 19th century Americans still gave thanks for successful harvests and other welcomed events with sumptuous meals. These celebrations featured an array of meats such as pork, venison, duck, goose, chicken and turkey. They also included sweets such as dried fruit, plum puddings, fruit pies and tarts. Missing, though, were many of the delicious side dishes that I so enjoy. While these dinners lacked my garlic-chestnut Brussels sprouts and three cranberry conserve, they offered something that the present holiday doesn’t – a strong religious tone. This was particularly the case in New England where colonists spent their days of thanks in church rather than at the table. By the late 19th century the religious aspect …

As a kid, I thought that beets were the coolest vegetable on the planet. Round, plump and reddish-purple, they possessed a sweet taste and soft, silky texture that I adored. Sweet AND purple! Who wouldn’t love that quirky vegetable? Today I appreciate these low calorie root veggies not only for their color and taste but also for their versatility. With beets you can cook the leaves as well as the roots. Just steam or saute the greens in garlic and olive oil for a warm salad or side dish. Roast, boil or steam the roots for sides or soups. One vegetable. Multiple recipes and techniques. Cultivated since 300 B.C., beets are descendants of a wild seashore plant known as the sea beet. This plant grows in clumps along the Mediterranean and Atlantic coastlines of North Africa and Europe. Unlike its offspring, which can be as small as an orange or as large as a grapefruit, it has a small, skinny root. Thin or fat, beet roots have long been used in salads and soups. Seventeenth …

A few weeks ago I faced an unusual culinary dilemma: What to do when friends drop by with two pounds of freshly picked chili peppers? On that afternoon I wasn’t up for stuffing, coating and frying the peppers for a fiery take on chilies rellenos. Nor did I anticipate making several gallons of spicy pico de gallo. Forget about hosting a scorching, week-long celebration of Mexican, South American, South Indian and Thai food. So, just what would I do with all these potent veggies? For centuries cooks have faced a similar quandary. In Mexico chilies have been cultivated since at least 3,500 B.C. Thanks to Portuguese and Spanish explorers who transported these plants around the globe, Indian and Southeast Asian chefs started dabbling with chilies in the 15th century. By the mid 16th century Europeans had incorporated them into their recipes. Although I normally associate chilies with heat, these early cooks added them for flavor. Chopped or ground up, dried or roasted, the peppers enhanced countless regional dishes. Ultimately, they became renowned not as a …

As a kid, I loathed eggplant. No wonder. My first taste of it came in the form of a bland and watery eggplant Parmesan. One bite of the floppy, cheese-coated, sauce-logged vegetable and I wrote it off for good. Or so I thought. A decade later eggplant landed on my plate again. This time, though, it looked far more palatable. In fact, it looked downright delicious. Sliced into strips and then seasoned with olive oil, salt and black pepper, it had been grilled until slightly charred around the edges. A tentative taste left me hooked on its mild tang and supple, melting texture. With that my hatred of the purplish-black, teardrop-shaped veg ended and my love affair with eggplant began. Known in Great Britain and France as an aubergine, the eggplant – along with the tomato and potato – is a member of the flower-bearing nightshade family. Reputedly originating in China, it first hit European shores during the 13th century. There it became the backbone of such renowned dishes as French ratatouille, Greek moussaka, Spanish …