Eating Radishes à la française

 

When we first received black radishes in our weekly produce box, I referred to my go-to resource, the Bitt-man’s How to Cook Everything. He suggested eating them sliced with butter, salt, and pepper.

Huh?

My only previous encounters with radishes had been as shiny globes in mounds at salad bars, spicy slices in a restaurant garden salad, or the fastest growing vegetable that we never had any idea what to do with in our garden. Helene at French Foodie Baby had mentioned eating radishes with butter as had Karen in French Kids Eat Everything. But how? Melted on top? Cold in slices? How much per radish? I was quickly paralyzed by my overanalysis of such a simple vegetable and it’s most simple preparation.

The Black Radishes long gone, we received a bunch of red radishes this week, and I resolved to eat them immediately according to the preparation Dorie Greenspan provides in Around My French Table (drool-inducingly gorgeous, this is a book that will jump from temporary visitor, aka library book, to permanent resident in my home):

“If you want to serve radishes in the French style, wash them well, and if they came with stems and leaves, trim their topknots, leaving just enough greenery to serve as handles. Drop the radishes into a bowl of ice water and keep them there until serving. (You can even serve them on ice.) Serve the radishes whole accompanied by very soft butter for spreading on the radishes and a bowl of sea salt, preferably fleur de sel, for dipping; small rounds of dark bread or baguette are optional.”

Well, in 4 hours, our refrigerator froze our radishes; so I didn’t put them on ice. I carved little slices out of them, filled the slices with butter, and salted (and peppered) them. They were a quick, simple, refreshing veggie starter. I will never dip a radish in ranch again. Thanks to Dorie for the cure for my analysis paralysis. Now bring on the butter!

I’m A Fool for Moule

Well over a year ago, Monsieur and I took a trip to Montreal. While we were there, we ate at a restaurant that specialized in mussels, Le Petit Moulinsart (sadly, now defunct). We ordered a pot of mussels and sat on a lantern-lit terrace tucked between buildings in the Old Port. The mussels were tasty, occasionally gritty (as mussels sometimes are). I could take or leave the mussels by themselves, but the broth. The broth that you soak up with bread. It tastes like the sea. It’s so simple and so perfect. If I were stranded on a desert island and could only choose one food to eat the rest of my life, rather surprisingly, that broth with a baguette would be it. It even beats chocolate.

But I never would have considered making it at home. Shellfish. Best left to professionals. Or so I thought. In the 4 Hour Chef, there is a recipes for moules mariniere, a classic mussel dish that apparently is popular with sailors because it’s cheap and easy. Shellfish? Cheap and easy? I’ll bite.

So I picked up a 2 pound bag of mussels from our most reputable fishmonger (the flagship Whole Foods), a head of fennel, which I had never purchased before in my life, some basil,  a bottle of white wine, and a loaf of crusty bread (our favorite right now is Whole Foods Whole Wheat Daily Bread). We had the onion in the pantry at home. When we checked out, the bagger asked “What do you use the fennel for?” “We’re cooking mussels! Apparently they’re easy!”

From start to finish, it took 15 minutes to make the mussels (blessedly, the mussels came in pristinely cleaned condition). That included opening the bottle of wine, slicing the onion and fennel, and cleanup. The pasta we ladled the mussels over took longer to cook (and we were cooking angel hair). They all opened. The broth was as fragrant and delicious as I remembered.

Now I have random thoughts like, “I should get some fennel.”  This thought is almost as random as the new “I need more tablecloths” thought.

A year ago, no, a month ago, I had never cooked mussels. Today I’ve cooked them 4 times. Maybe a day will come that I get tired of white wine and I’ll try beer, or we’ll add some fish to cook along with the mussels. But the day hasn’t come yet.

In the short term, so much for variety. At first, I was afraid that the discovery of new favorites would end in the same rut we were in before we started this adventure, only we would be in the rut with different foods. But I’ve recently come to a slightly different conclusion (perhaps in an effort to protect my consumption of mussels). We are expanding our comfort level preparing a variety of new foods. The more we prepare these foods, the less intimidating they become and the more likely we are to prepare them for a weeknight meal. If you imagine adoption of a new food or recipe as a curve with a steep beginning flattening off at the top in terms of effort of preparation we’re effectively just condensing the curve by preparing our new favorites frequently.

Here are a couple of our new favorites and their recipes (let’s see how I do transcribing them from memory):

Roasted Cauliflower

• preheat oven to 400 degrees
• roughly chop 1 head (<2 lb) of cauliflower
• put in a Ziploc bag with 1-2 T olive oil and salt and pepper to taste
• shake liberally
• spread in a single layer on a foil-lined baking sheet
• place in oven for 20 minutes (or until you’re satisfied with the raostedness)

Moules Mariniere

• Slice medium onion. 
• Cut the greens off of the fennel and discard, cut remainign white portion in half and core. Slice fennel.
• Heat 2 T olive oil over medium heat in a a dutch oven or stockpot. Add onion, a couple cloves or garlic pushed through a garlic press (we started buying prepeeled garlic cloves and have never looked back), and fennel to oil and saute until just translucent. Less than 5 minutes.
• Add 1/2 cup white wine.
• When wine starts to boil, add 2 lbs cleaned, debearded mussels. Cover.
• Boil for 3-5 minutes or until most of mussels have opened.
• Serve over pasta and/or with crusty bread to soak up the delicious broth.

Roast Turkey Breast

• Set oven to 325 degrees. 
• Line bottom of roasting pan with foil.
• Spread boneless double turkey breast and season on both sides with salt and freshly ground pepper. Salt the heck out of it. It can take more salt than you probably think it needs.
• Insert thermometer into thickest part of breast (we like the ThermoWorks Original Cooking Thermometer/Timer) and place turkey in the oven.
• Remove when internal temperature reaches 165 degrees. Let the turkey rest on the counter for 20 minutes after cooking.

White Flatfish (like sole or tilapia)

• Cook for 2-3 minutes per side in a frying pan or under the broiler
• Refer to 4 Hour Chef or Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything for seasoning ideas

And a couple other new favorites (mostly out of Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything) whose recipes I don’t yet remember, but were delicious regardless:

Rutabagas with Mustard Sauce

Turnip Puree

Kale and Potato Soup

Beets

Fudgy Brownies with Port Soaked Cherries (this one is from Dorie Greenspan’s article* in the February 2013 issue of Better Homes & Gardens)

What’s your favorite dish, new or old?

*You’ll be hearing more about Dorie Greenspan. Her work has been popping up all over my life lately.