Roasted Beets and Radishes with Caramelized Fennel

This is an easy, gorgeous side dish that's full of delicious. The radishes and fennel balance out the sweetness of the beets. You can cut up the veggies into any size you want—just keep the pieces at approximately the same size so that they cook at about the same pace.

Ingredients
3-4 beets, peeled and cut into 1/2"-1" chunks
3-4 carrots, cut into similarly sized pieces
1 bunch radishes, scrubbed, trimmed, and halved
1 small bulb fennel, cut into pieces
Kosher salt and freshly ground white pepper

Preheat oven to 425°F.

Drizzle a baking sheet with olive oil, then toss in the beets and carrots. Stir to coat evenly, then roast for 20 minutes.

Remove veggies from the oven, add radishes and fennel, and drizzle with a little more olive oil if the mixture seems at all dry. Toss everything gently, then replace in the oven for another 20 minutes. Stir once more, then roast again for 10-20 minutes or until the different veggies are tender when you pierce them with a fork.

Sprinkle with salt and freshly ground white pepper. Serve hot.

Serves 3-4.

Sauteed Radish Greens with Spring Onions

Another Parisian picnic favorite—this one seriously amazing, compliments of the husband.

Ingredients

Olive oil

1 tbsp butter

Greens from 1-2 bunches of radishes, carefully cleaned

2-3 radishes, thinly sliced

2 spring onions, white and light green parts, sliced

Fleur de sel or kosher salt to taste

Heat olive oil and butter in pan over medium heat. When butter is melted, add the spring onions and sauté for a few minutes until they soften.

Add the radish slices to the pan and sauté for another 3 to 5 minutes, until the radishes are soft and become somewhat translucent.

Add the greens and stir to coat. After they have wilted slightly, turn off the heat and allow the greens to wilt a little more with the remaining heat in the pan.

Salt to taste; serve warm.

Serves 2-3 as a side dish.

Roasted Radishes

Who knew? The radish has a top-secret alter ego. Hard and bitter by day, sweet and juicy by night. To transmogrify, simply toss with olive oil, stick them in the oven, and wait a few minutes.

Ingredients

1 bunch of radishes, brushed clean, stems removed, and halved or quartered

Olive oil

Salt & pepper

Preheat the oven to 425°F.

In a nonstick banking pan, toss radishes with olive oil to lightly coat. (The pan should be big enough that the radishes aren't too crowded together...overcrowding will inhibit browning.)

Roast for 10 minutes, shake the pan, then roast for 8-10 minutes more until radishes are tender and nicely browned. (Check by inserting a fork. If you check after 20 minutes and they're not quite tender, don't be afraid to roast them a bit longer...if you stop before they're quite done, they'll still have a bit of a bite.)

Sprinkle with salt and pepper, and serve hot.

Serves 2, but heavenly (and easy) enough that you'll wish you made one bunch per person.

Bread and Butter and a Watermelon Radish

Speaking of simple yet addictive, try this one, suggested by our CSA box insert long ago and resurrected after my mom gave us a watermelon radish.

A watermelon radish, in case you don't know, is what Gandalf would be if Tolkien wrote salads instead of books (and you've already met Sauron). Putting radishes and butter on bread is apparently a French thing, and at first glance not related to Tolkein in any way, until you have it as a 10am second breakfast one morning and realize you're going to need to introduce third breakfast as an excuse to eat another before lunch.

Ingredients
Freshly baked bread, sliced
Pasture butter (or a good quality, salted, European-style butter)
Radishes, thinly sliced

Lightly butter the slices of bread, and cover with a single layer of radish.

Seriously, that's it. The crunchy bite of the radish brings out the creamy sweetness of the butter and makes this a perfect mid-morning snack. Or mid-afternoon snack. Or post-dinner pre-dessert snack. Whichever.

White Bean and Chickpea Spread with Cumin and Cilantro

You know how chickpeas are slightly too thick to make a good spread, and white beans are slightly too watery?

I think I may have had a culinary epiphany. Or possibly the 100 degree weather has addled my brain. Regardless, this was both easy to make and delicious. I have witnesses.

Ingredients
1-2 cups cooked chickpeas
1-2 cups cooked cannelini beans
1 small clove fresh summer garlic
(if you don't like the bite of raw garlic, try using a clove or two of roasted or boiled garlic -- just add one clove at a time to avoid overpowering the flavor of the other ingredients)
Fresh cilantro (again, use sparingly -- try a five-fingered pinch of leaves to start)
1 tbsp(ish) olive oil
Generous sprinkling of cumin
Dash or two paprika
Pinch or two salt (unless your beans are already highly salted)
A little freshly ground white pepper
2-3 radishes, julienned

Toss all the ingredients except the radishes in a Cuisinart and blend until smooth. Adjust the beans to chickpea ratio until you've got your desired consistency, and adjust all the herbs and spices to taste (too little spice? Add more cumin. Too much cilantro? Add a few more white beans to dilute it down again).

Serve with or over toasts or crackers (I think thinly sliced, toasted french bread would be perfect, but all we had was crackers, and that worked well too). Garnish with julienned radishes and a few leaves of cilantro if desired.


Serves 2-4 alongside other small plates for tapas.


Pairs amazingly well with a $5 bottle of Honey Moon Viognier (available at Trader Joe's. I know, we're classy).

Spring Salad with Beet and Black Radish

Last weekend, my culinary experiences were forcibly broadened when a black radish was foisted upon me by my very own mother.

I had, until that moment, considered my mother to be a rather mild-mannered and gentle purveyor of food-related provisions, offering the occasional overabundance of Meyer lemons or pears or sweet potatoes to take back with us to Sacramento, or a spare pair of turnips leftover from their CSA box. Such gifts were suggested casually, and could be accepted or declined with no particular emotional consequence.

Not so with the black radish (or radishes, to be precise), which were prepackaged and waiting on the dining room table when I walked in the door of my parents' house last Saturday. The radishes were offered to me with a period at the end of the sentence, rather than a question mark, that stated an incontrovertible transition of ownership rather than a query about the radishes' future abode.
I was taking them with me.

I asked (I had not fully grasped, at this point, the severity of the situation) whether this black radish was the same kind of black radish I had heard certain negative things about several weeks before (namely "usually I love our CSA box, but eughgrh, that black radish...I don't know why anyone would plant those").

It was the same black radish. More alarmingly, I became aware that this revelation in no way changed the fact that I was taking the black radishes with me, and that this fact was as immune to future argumentation as my failed attempts as a child to acquire a kitten or (as I recall, my second choice) a baby sister. My mom looked at me. I could tell she felt a touch of compassion -- after all, she too had once owned a black radish. She tried to look encouraging, in an I-hope-you-don't-suffer-too-greatly-while-eating-your-black-radish kind of way. "Anyway," she said. "You're always taking new ingredients and figuring out recipes for them on your blog. So consider this a new ingredient."

In other words, I was issued a Black Radish Challenge. Here are the results. The bite of the radish offset the sweetness of the beets, and made for a perfect springtime lunch. Thanks, mom. :)

Ingredients
Several big handfuls of mixed baby greens
1 medium beet, peeled and grated
1 black radish, halved, thinly sliced, then cut crosswise into matchsticks (about 1/2 cup, or sub red radishes)
6 quail eggs, boiled for just under 3 minutes, peeled, and halved (or sub 1-2 hardboiled chicken eggs)

Vinaigrette: 
A couple generous glugs of olive oil
1 smallish spoonful grainy mustard
2 spoonfuls sherry vinegar
1/4 tsp minced fresh rosemary
Salt & freshly ground black pepper

Whisk the olive oil, mustard, and vinegar together in a large bowl to form an emulsion (it should be thick but not sludgy -- adjust the amount of olive oil as needed). Stir in the rosemary, salt, and pepper. Next, fold in the beets and toss to coat evenly, then add in the salad greens and toss until the beets are evenly distributed and the greens are lightly coated with vinaigrette. Taste and adjust seasonings as needed (there should be just a hint of rosemary, without it being overpowering).

Arrange the greens on plates, sprinkle with radish, and top with the egg and a bit of extra black pepper.

Serves 2 for a light lunch or side salad.

The Rehabilitation of the Beet

We are not exactly a beet-loving household. We tolerate them from afar -- in Spain, for example, they sometimes place a beet on an otherwise perfectly acceptable veggie sandwich, and we are fine with that (as long as we are not actually in Spain). But up close -- in the same country, for instance -- they become decidedly more troubling. Let's put it this way: there are only three things in the world that my husband won't eat, and the beet is one of them.

But we knew they were coming. It's that time of year. So when they showed up in our CSA box this week, we did not jump, or scream. We calmly extracted them from the box, turned, and stuffed them safely in the back of the vegetable drawer, buried under a heap of parsley, carrots, radishes, and about six other things we managed to cram in on top of them. We returned to our lives, and did not think about beets. Or rather, we thought about not thinking about beets. We tried not to think about not thinking about beets. We thought about beets.

We could, we reasoned, try the beets. A little, tiny, modicum of beets. A beetlette. We could try a beetlette, mixed in with other things, and see if maybe it wouldn't be quite so beety. And a fellow beetophobe had suggested trying them raw, rather than cooked, which would make them less beety as well. We could try a raw, practically infinitesimal, highly camouflaged bit of a beet, and see. Yes. We would do that. We would do that, and see, and then we could never ever ever eat beets ever again.

Except that after all that, we kind of liked them.

Ingredients
Baby greens
Olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Sherry vinegar
2-3 lemon cucumbers, peeled, quartered, and sliced
1 cup cooked chickpeas
2 radishes, halved, sliced, then turned crosswise and sliced into thin strips
1 beet, peeled and grated
1-3 carrots, peeled and grated
2 medium- or hard-boiled pastured eggs, quartered

Whisk together a generous dousing of olive oil with about a third as much vinegar to form an emulsion, and add a pinch of salt and black pepper to taste. Toss the greens with enough of the vinaigrette to lightly coat them (you'll also want a little more vinaigrette to drizzle over the salad, so save a bit or make more if necessary).

Arrange a heaping bed of greens on each plate, then layer on the cucumbers, radishes, and chickpeas. Sprinkle liberally with the grated beets and carrots, and drizzle a couple more spoonfuls of vinaigrette over the top. Add the egg on top or on the side, sprinkle with salt and pepper to taste, and serve.

Serves 2 hungry beetophobes as the main part of a meal, or more as a side salad.

Cucumber Salad with Radish and Lemon Basil

Found in our CSA box this week: Radishes, with lush green leafy tops, lemon basil, and more melons-masquerading-as-cucumbers.

Ingredients
2 medium cucumbers, peeled and sliced
3-4 large radishes
A little olive oil
White wine vinegar
8-10 leaves lemon basil, chiffonade
Salt

Toss the cucumbers with a little olive oil and some vinegar, and pile them on a plate. Refrigerate for at least five minutes to get them cold and crisp. Meanwhile, cut the radishes in half lengthwise, turn cut side down, and slice each half lengthwise. Turn 90 degrees and slice crosswise (so you end up with little strips). Spoon the radishes over the cucumber, top with lemon basil, sprinkle with a little salt, and serve.