Radishes

Aren't radishes what Benjamin bunny risked life and limb and blue jacket for in Mr. McGregor's garden? Poor thing. He might have been planning a picnic with a batch of shaved radish and cucumber sandwiches with compound butter. Radishes are great on a salad of course. On the street in Mexico vendores keep them in a bath of vinegar and ice to scatter over savory tacos. But the French and the English are the real radish experts. For the french radishes are like garden fresh penicillin. "C'est tres bon pour le foie", a little old french innkeeper kept telling me as she passed me slice after slice of dark buttered bread piled with spicy radish shavings. She was lovely and kind and her wrinkled little forehead was etched with worry for my liver and those of my twenty-ish traveling companions. She was probably right to worry, we had been a little over exuberant in our pursuit of knowledge about French wines. She was also right about the meal of bread and radishes. It was light, cool and clean on the palette. Just what the doctor ordered. I still make this when I get my hands on a bunch of pretty little pastel radishes but these days I'm more likely to enjoy it with a glass of white wine or a icy cold beer than use it as a hangover remedy. First I make a compound butter. Take a stick of room temperature butter and blend it with about a tablespoon each of washed, dried, minced radish tops and finely sliced green onion. Blend together with a bit of salt and set aside. Slice a fresh baguette lengthwise and toast in a hot oven while slicing a bunch of radishes and a cucumber. Not too thin, this isn't a little tea sandwich. This one is crunchy, chewy, pungent and peppery. When the baguette is toasted and cooled slightly, spread on the compound butter (any leftovers would be fantastic on a piece of fish with just a squeeze of lemon), and pile on the veg. Sliced into generous portions this is a delicious stand alone lunch. Sliced in smaller pieces it is a perfect warm weather cocktail nibble.