Radishing

As a haphazard urban gardener, if you grow it I will come.


Oh sure, I have my tomato plants tucked into the soil, herbs over planted in giant clay containers, and micro greens sprouting in make-shift greenhouses. Still, this time of year, it's really all about our local farmers' markets.  As we wait for the summer big guns to arrive, the markets are springing to life right now. Nestled among the  baby vegetables, hardy greens, tender lettuces, turnips, squash blossoms, and bedding plants, gorgeous radishes burst from almost every farm stand like imperfect
living kaleidoscopes.

No doubt thinly sliced or grated radishes add peppery bite to salads and cooling crunch to soups or stews. Left whole, they're also terrific swiped through good butter before quick dabs into pillows of sea salt. That said, radishes are more than a crunchy one trick pony. They can also bring their demure side to the party. When cooked, their vibrant punch softens and  mellows  into subdued unexpected jewels. Radishing.

Butter Braised Radishes.
Typically, I'd shoot for a hard caramelization with a deep long braise. Nope, not this time around. I kept it very simple. Pure and simple.

After soaking 3 bunches Stonehedge purple, red, rose, white, bi-color, and French Breakfast radishes, in lukewarm water to rinse away the soil, I trimmed the green tops to about 1/4" before halving the medium sized radishes, quartering the larger ones, and leaving the smaller ones whole. I melted 3 tablespoons unsalted butter in a large cast iron skillet, added 1/2 cup water, brought the buttery water to a boil, tumbled the radishes into the skillet, showered them kosher salt and ground white pepper, reduced the heat, covered the skillet, and let them simmer/braise for 15 minutes. When the radishes were knife tender, I removed the lid and raised the heat to evaporate the water until they shimmered in light buttery glaze. After splashing them with fresh lemon juice and spooning the radishes over fresh Stonehedge chicory greens, I finished with flaked sea salt and  a scant scattering of windowsill  radish micro greens.

Napped in butter with a hint lemon, the mellowed (almost sweet ) peppery crunch of the radishes countered the slight bitterness of the wilted chicory greens, reminiscent of slow braised baby turnips with turnip greens.

Unexpected.
Fresh.
Fabulous.