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I had never given radishes a moment’s thought before sitting down to them at a lunch in France a few summers ago.  On the table: wine, bread, butter, salt, and radishes.  The radishes would be sort of spread with butter, sprinkled with about 7 grains of salt, and then eaten, maybe with some bread, or just as they were; I can’t remember.  But I do remember the bracing taste of the radish, and the perfect cream of the butter, and the wine, under the little canopy where we would eat outside.

I bought one bunch of bright shiny radishes at the farmers’ market a couple of weeks ago and finally sliced them up and ate them with butter and salt and bread yesterday.  It is best to err on the side of too much butter.