From the NY Times
Of all the things you can do with a radish — slice it into salads,
chop it into salsa, shred it into slaw or, better, top it with a thick
layer of sweet butter and a sprinkling of flaky sea salt — the last
thing I’d thought to do was cook it.
But last spring I started noticing roasted radishes sprouting up on menus all over New York City. Even the fancy takeout shop near my house was offering them every now and again. Clearly, there was a reason to cook a radish, and I wanted in.
So I gave it a try, roasting a bunch of halved radishes in a hot oven with plenty of butter and lemon juice.
One mouthful, and I immediately got the appeal. Instead of spicy, crisp and crunchy, these radishes were sweet, succulent and mellow, vaguely like turnips but with a softer bite.
I continued to cook radishes all season long, pan roasting them instead of oven roasting when the weather became too hot. I usually ate them for lunch sprinkled with feta cheese and herbs, or sometimes left them naked but for extra sea salt and cracked black pepper.
I don't know if it’s the famous economy, or I'm just going through an I can't stand take-out anymore, but I've started to cook again. Not just grill a burger, which turns out pretty good when done on a stove top grill pan. I've actually been making vats of chile, or chicken and vegetables in marinara sauce, and freezing perfect portions in those great plastic containers everyone else in the world discovered before I did It's been a bone-chilling winter in New York this year, and coming home to something yummy that I can pop into the microwave, then actually eat straight from the container, has been life-changing. So that's what the room with all the white stuff that I used to go into all the time, is for.
Despite the anxiety-producing hit that my 401K has taken, I’m quite sure that the current belt-tightening is not bad for me. I agree with my friend Marc that “it doesn’t debit your happiness to live with less.” Yet Marc still gets grief from his friend for driving a VW now instead of a BMW, and I recently got grief from my friend for returning a $45 pair of windshield wipers to Pep Boys when I found Consumer Reports “best buy” ones on Amazon for $12. Only someone wealthy, arrogant and out-of-touch belittles driving a VW or saving $33. So here are some thoughts for middle-class people like Marc and me about how to live a very good life on a VW-with-Amazon-wipers budget.
I was particularly popular last week. It began with the arrival of our pin up boy president, Barack Obama, just blocks from my house. Since local streets were closed to prevent us local aliens from crashing the political party, and no one was going anywhere, I decided to throw a blocked by Barack block party in my front yard, to celebrate our proximity to all
the action at the Beverly Hilton. I fired up the gas grill and texted the next door neighbors whose kids sent tweets to others to bring sweets and treats, and we all e’d others and
within an hour we drew a crowd. Folks “came as they were” with whatever was in their refrigerators “as it was.” I have no idea what the expiration dates were on most of the U.F.O’s (unidentified frying objects) on my barbecue, but I sauced, smoked and fed about fifteen denizens of my block who flocked with sniffly progeny to my yard for a gangland eating orgy. Partay!
Yesterday I sat through two and a half of the most excruciating hours of my life. Sat through, twisted my torso through, felt like throwing up through. But I stayed there riveted, horrified, sickened and saddened beyond belief.