You know, the French really do have it figured out. There's the wine, and the cheese, and the terribly fashionable and svelte women, and the bike riding, and the art, and well, Paris. So, they happen to be catching some bad press at this precise moment, but I think most of us would agree that one man's actions can't very well speak for the whole country, no matter how shocking or philandering they might be. (See U.S. History, chapters 1992-2009 for recent references). A few weeks ago, I was soaking up the French vibe, wearing my striped shirt, sipping a chilly glass of rose, and slicing radishes to eat on gluten free toast with the tiniest bit of butter and a sprinkling of salt when I was overcome with my absolute love for the peppery, delicate, perfectly reddish pink vegetable. I haven't been able to shake the feeling and have since bought radishes every single week.
Every day, run of the mill radishes, these are not. Oh, no! These are Easter Egg radishes in various shades and sizes, rat-tailed radishes, which sound disgusting, but are just stretched out versions of the typical red variety, daikon radishes with an extremely pungent scent and mouth watering spiciness, and any other type of heirloom radish I happen to find staring longingly at my grocery basket. I've eaten them in the tres francais manner mentioned above, sliced thinly as a taco topping, sliced thinly adorning turkey burgers, as perfectly round discs sitting on top of a classic salad, and especially paired with a stinky cheese and farm fresh eggs in a fluffy omelette. How do you like your radishes?
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