Harold's obsession with roasting root vegetables was getting out of hand. Or rather, he constantly had a pan of them
in his hands. Every year, right around Thanksgiving, he would start slicing rutabagas, turnips, parsnips, kohlrabi bulbs, and of course, carrots! He had a special affinity for those vitamin-packed storehouses of deliciousness. People just didn't realize that by bathing these beauties with olive oil, s-l-o-w-l-y rubbing their surfaces, massaging them up and down, coating every crevice with golden-green shimmering liquid until they glistened...oh, um, what was he talking about? Oh yes, carrots! Once sufficiently lubricated, he would sprinkle them with some crunchy Maldon or Fleur de Sel sea salt and some pepper. He put them to bed inside a hot oven and then let them roast slowly, until they turned into something almost unrecognizable. Soft and caramelized, their fibrous bodies magically turning sweet, like love breaking down the most embittered heart.
Harold decided he was going to win the world over to these bulbous beauties by writing a cookbook. The only problem was, his obsession was becoming maniacal. His girlfriend, Roberta, pointed out to him that his skin was starting to turn orange, his eyes were growing wild, he was starting to sprout little green tufts at the top of his head, and his nose was distinctly and decidedly beginning to resemble the object of his affection! And she didn't mean herself! There was no stopping the H-man, though. It was almost as if his ears were full of dirt, so unable was his ability to hear her words of warning. Caution unheeded, he hurried to the oven with another pan.
14" x 17" Bristol Vellum
