A Carrot Wellington for Your Spring Celebrations

I’m on record as a supporter of off-beat choices for Easter cooking. A few years ago, I made the case for eating rabbit (I know) on the holiday, in the form of a slow-braised bolognese. Last year I celebrated at a friend’s apartment, assembling hot dogs for a crowd. Though the Easters of my youth were full of eggy brunches and glazed hams, I’ve mostly bucked tradition in adulthood, aiming instead to counter the pastel-colored (if secular) or low-key spooky (if religious) undertones of the day. This year, I’m doing another goofy twist: My table will feature a carrot Wellington, the meatless main every bunny will love.

Beef Wellington is a feat of engineering. Traditionally comprised of a tenderloin coated in a mushroom paste and wrapped in a sheet of puff pastry, it’s a delicate balance of textures and disparate cook times, which makes it difficult to nail. While the pastry browns and becomes flaky at one rate, the beef cooks through at another. The bravest among us might wait until slicing to see just how done their meat is, but a thermometer stuck into the center can take the guesswork out (food director Chris Morocco’s recipe is the one to follow).

In dreaming up a vegetarian version of the classic, I couldn’t stop thinking about the infamous Epicurious vegducken with the single scallion stretched through the middle. How could I recreate that winking visual in Wellington form, particularly in a way where I wouldn’t have to worry about the components being underdone in the middle? The answer, it turned out, was carrots.

To make a carrot Wellington, you start by roasting carrots in large pieces. Half get blitzed in a food processor with shallots, goat cheese, and Gruyère to form a paste—a carrot-y version of the typical mushroom duxelle that you’ll slick over a sheet of puff pastry. The other half is tossed with honey and curry powder, then lined up across the carrot spread to form the center “tenderloin.” Rolling the pastry around the carrots and sealing the ends creates the traditional Wellington shape; decorative slits in the dough add visual interest and allow steam to escape while the log cooks.

I love serving a vegetarian Wellington partially sliced, so guests get the visual of the whole golden brown shebang and the funny cross-section of the roasted carrots in the middle. To round out the spread I’ll whip up a yogurt sauce to dollop on the side and a bright and bracing green salad—rabbit food, if you will.