When Joe and I had a friend over for dinner the other night, we divided the duties—Joe was the D.J., and I was the chef.
A song came on with harmonies that sounded remarkably like the band Crosby, Stills & Nash, but when I asked who it was, Joe said, “The Grateful Dead.”
I was stopped dead in my tracks. No way could the folksy song on the stereo be the product of the Grateful Dead. They were a hippie band who played some kind of skreetchy electric guitar brand of hard rock. I had never actually heard them, of course, but with the word “dead” in their name and a skull in their logo, I knew their music would not be for me.
Apparently, I was wrong.
For dinner, we had smoked haddock, rice, and roasted parsnips.
While living in Belfast, Joe and I have received a weekly delivery of vegetables from a local farm called Helen's Bay Organic. The delivery includes the usual suspects like potatoes, carrots, and onions, but the farmer also surprises me with vegetables that I have never seen before or cooked. For example, one time I received a massive round root that was only slightly smaller than a volleyball and required both hands to lift. It turned out to be a giant turnip. Before that day, if you had asked me if I knew what a turnip was, I'd have answered with confidence, “Of course!” After all, I've know the word “turnip” since I was a kid. But had you laid out a turnip, a parsnip, and a rutabaga side-by-side and asked me to identify them, I probably would have failed the test.
After fighting to cut through the huge root, I managed to bake half of it into “scalloped turnip” and sauté the rest in butter. I was pleasantly surprised to see the white flesh turn orange when cooked, but the flavor wasn't nearly as appealing to me as the color.
Parsnips, on the other hand, have been a decidedly delightful discovery. Just as I had assumed I wouldn't like the Grateful Dead's music, for some reason, I expected parsnips to be bitter and yucky, but they’re not! It turns out they are sweet and delicious, especially tossed in olive oil, salt-and-pepper, and baked to a crisp.
Why didn't anyone ever tell me how wonderful parsnips are? Why isn't the entire world dreaming about parsnips, cultivating them in every spare inch of dirt, and writing songs to celebrate them?
I will be a pioneer and lead the way with this tribute:
To a Parsnip
Oh, white root,
Often overlooked,
Misunderstood, indeed,
Feel not sad, but splendid,
For you are sweet, no weed.
Okay, perhaps my poem won’t win any awards, but at least the poor parsnip has received some proper praise.
With the entire world so full of crises—war in Libya, earthquakes, tsunamis, nuclear meltdowns in Japan—a part of me feels shallow writing about such frivolous things as the Grateful Dead and parsnips. What does it really matter that I discovered an old band or a new vegetable? Certainly, there must be more interesting and meaningful subjects to explore.
But when I look at it another way, what I'm really writing about is prejudice, which seems like a more serious and worthy topic. It reminds me of something a friend of mine says—live without expectations and assumptions. I see the wisdom: if I didn't have any expectations, I would never be disappointed, and if I didn't make assumptions, I would be open to a world of new ideas and experiences and would not be in error so often.
The trouble for me is that I'm full of both; expectations and assumptions are like a second skin. They are so much a part of me that I don't even notice them. If Joe hadn't played that song or Helen's Bay hadn't delivered parsnips to my door, it wouldn't have crossed my mind to try either one.
Of course, my life would have gone on quite happily without them, but discovering the Grateful Dead and parsnips brought me truly joyful moments. And I think in the face of all the global gloom, a dash of joy is just what a doctor would order.
But if challenging my expectations and assumptions = new discoveries = more joy, then I'm in a tricky position. How can I challenge what I don't see? How do I make myself aware of my expectations and assumptions?
Maybe it's as simple as paying attention. When I find myself saying, “No, I don't like...” (as in “I don't like the Grateful Dead”) or if my internal “Ick-o-meter” goes off (as in “Ick, I don't like parsnips”) then I should go on red alert (a nod to Star Trek). But instead of red alert, I'm going to call it PEA, for Prejudice-Expectation-Assumption alert.
PEA alert! PEA alert! PEA alert! It even sounds funny and makes me smile. Perfect!
If my PEA alert is successful, then I'm sure to discover many happy things like more good music and yummy vegetables. In the meantime, I think I’ll listen to the song Uncle John's Band by the Grateful Dead and eat sweet roasted parsnips.
