In which one Washingtonian figures out what the heck to do with local and seasonal ingredients in a kitchen the size of a shoe box.

“Parsnips?” I thought to myself, looking over the crates of winter roots and squash.

“With blue cheese …” answered the mischievous voice in my brain that spurs me to do truly stupid things, like karaoke. Apparently, this voice had not gone to bed the night before.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I told the voice. “I’m not sure that would be any good. Maybe I’ll just puree them.”

“With blue cheese …” insisted the voice.

You see, I had a friend in town for the long weekend — a dear friend I’ve known since high school — and while he was here we partied like it was 1997. That is how I came to be at the market unwashed, headache-y, and seriously considering combining parsnips with blue cheese.

Against my better judgement, I reached into the crate of parsnips and piled the fat, fragrant albino roots into a sack. If you’ve ever had a parsnip, you might understand my reluctance.

Parsnips have a fairly strong flavor, sweeter than carrots and with traces of anise and pine. They are delicious when roasted with the Thanksgiving turkey, or pureed as a lower-starch stand-in for mashed potatoes.

Blue cheese is sharp and pungent in its own right, so I knew the two strong flavors were either going to compliment each other well or collide in some hideous taste train wreck. My karaoke voice was sure it would work, but the rest of me feared the train wreck.

As I walked home, I fleshed out my course of action: I’d make croquettes — little fried cakes of parsnip puree and blue cheese. With just a bit of research on croquette technique, I shrugged off my doubts, crumbled some bleu d’Auvergne and dove in.

In the aftermath of the frying, as I broke through the crisp coating with my fork and tasted the creamy filling, I was so glad I’d taken the chance. The glory is that the blue cheese and the parsnip don’t compete in the final product. The cheese takes a back seat, letting the sweet, full-flavored parsnip shine in the spotlight, and only asserts itself at the very end. You get depth, and complexity and bite.

These croquettes make a fine and refined meal for the adventurous (or the hung over). Karaoke not required, but highly encouraged.

Parsnip and Blue Cheese Croquettes

With technical help from Mark Bittman

Serves four. 1½ hours of prep time, one hour of which is inactive.

Ingredients

4 large parsnips, peeled, quartered and cut into one inch pieces

2 eggs

½ c. blue cheese (I used Bleu D’Auvergne, because it’s a bit sweeter, but you could play around with a spicier blue, or really whatever you have in your cheese drawer)

1 c. panko bread crumbs (I’m sure you could use regular bread crumbs, but I had panko in my cupboard, and these Japanese bread crumbs add a really nice crisp lightness to the dish)

¼ cup olive oil

Salt and pepper

Parsnips can get waterlogged and lose their flavor if boiled; Mark Bittman suggests steaming or microwaving to avoid this. Place the cut parsnips in a microwave-safe bowl with 2 tablespoons of water and a sprinkling of salt. Cover and microwave until the parsnips are soft enough to run a knife through (about 10 minutes).

Mash the parsnips with a fork and let cool until you can touch them with your finger (you want to avoid cooking the eggs with residual heat when you add them).

Add the eggs and the cheese and mix thoroughly. Add salt and pepper to taste; keep in mind the cheese is salty, so you may not need much salt.

Form the mixture into eight hamburger-sized patties, cover, and chill for at least an hour.

Heat the oil in a frying pan over medium-high heat. Spread the breadcrumbs onto a plate, and dredge the patties on both sides in the crumbs. When the oil is hot but not smoking yet, fry the patties two or three at time, about four minutes on each side, until golden brown on both sides. Remove from the heat and let them drain on a paper towel. Serve them hot, with a green salad or some crusty bread.