I’ve had a parsnip or two in my life, but never have I ever prepped them or cooked them.  They’ve always magically appeared on my plate, i.e.; my husband made them.

This time I made them.  What started out as a nice, lovely, refreshing surprise, has turned into something I can’t get removed from my nasal memory.

The recipe called for mashed parsnips as the side. It could go amazingly well or terribly wrong. I haven’t quite decided yet as they are still boiling on the stove.

I began peeling the parsnips and thinking, “Hmm….what’s that refreshing smell? Did someone just spray Pledge or is this the parsnips?!…….*sniffs half peeled parsnip* MMMMmmmm, it’s the parsnip! This is going to be awesome! Wait…maybe I don’t want mashed lemons…. hopefully this smell won’t last for long”.

I was correct.

Soon after boiling the parsnips I smelled a very familiar smell. Remember that smell that wafted through the house after your dad mowed the lawn? You know? That woodsy, sweaty smell that sort of singes the nostrils? Yeah….that’s what my house smells like. It’s somewhere between sweat and port-a-potty. How am I to eat these mashed parsnips if they taste even remotely close to how they smell?