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.
Two weeks ago, I swallowed my shock at spending over six dollars for a newspaper, and bought a Sunday New York Times. It was a revelation, a joy and so completely absorbing that I periodically had to remind myself to stop reading, and do something useful. Comparisons are odious and all, but since I started reading the Times, I am feeling the pain and guilt of finding a new love and leaving the old one with great relief and not much of a parting glance. Our local paper, despite being the only offering in this state’s capital, has lost all of its charm. It was purchased by some national publishing conglomerate which clearly labors under the impression that, because we live in Flyover, even the goings-on under the Capital dome do not require an experienced and intelligent writing staff. Wire service reports are good enough for us, sometimes about events that occur within 50 miles of our circulation area.
ANJELICA HUSTON
', the scene where Joyce Redman and Albert Finney eat Lobster....
' where Daryl Hannah attacks the shellfish in the fancy restaurant mermaid-style and the scene in '
' where Tom Hanks razor nibbles the baby ears of corn the way a kid would. In character, ingenious, and hilarious in both instances.
LYNDA RESNICK
' when Jane serves her sister's lunch under a silver salver that once open, reveals a rat, it is kind of heart stopping. To this day when I see dinner being served under those shiny domes I hold my breath until the contents underneath are revealed by the liveried footman. Not an everyday occurrence for sure unless you are as devoted as I am to Downton Abbey.
'.
One of the best techniques for cooking firm white-fleshed fish is pan-searing. Cooked for exactly the right amount of time, searing locks in moisture and flavor. As the flesh turns opaque and starts to flake, it is complete. Tilefish is a wonderful fish for searing since it's extra-lean. But it doesn't fall apart like some other white fish, and stays exceptionally moist with a mild flavor. But what an unusual name for a fish? I guess it's their vivid blue-green iridescence and gold spots that make them look like painted tile.
The Wild Boar (a.k.a. my husband) and I were having a little contest yesterday trying to decide who had a worse day. He won.