I look at the radish.
The radish looks at me.
I adjust the empty tote bag on my shoulder. The soil clinging to the root falls in a way that says, “You don’t know what to do with this.” I try not to break eye contact, but it doesn’t have eyes so I’m simply standing in the Union Square farmer’s market, glaring at a radish and I’m probably in someone’s way. People mill around inspecting piles of yellow pumpkins, and bright orange squash - lumpy and splashed with verdant green. After dismissing the radish, I spy a green vegetable that closely resembles an aggressive coat rack and notice that the interspersed nodes are Brussels sprouts.
Leaning against a plastic tub full of sprouts, it reminds me that the Brassica family is a mysterious neighbor with an abundance of stories that make me wish I traveled more. Reliable broccoli, underdog cauliflower, rebranded Brussels, enigmatic rutabaga, classic cabbage, trusty turnips, rude (judgmental) radishes, cast iron collard greens, mustard seed, and mustard greens all carry the Brassica name with pride.
Brassica Reppin
Tiny cabbages are cute, but every so often, Brussels serve as pungent reminders of their horseradish-laced heritage. As someone who isn’t the biggest fan of strong mustard flavors, I was suffering through each bite of a batch I’d just pulled off the stove. After a furious search, the Internet told me to blanch them, so the next day, I learned how to blanch: boil then shock the veggies with cold water before cooking. A friend recommended that I use garlic or onions to round out the flavors, so I got my pan going and filled my kitchen with the aromas of something good to come (garlic and onions). The trick is to cook them at a high enough heat for them to caramelize and quick enough to keep the spicy mustard flavor in the background. I tossed in some tortellini and leftover chicken to make a meal so good I forgot to Instagram it. It could have been an Amaro filtered memory but now you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Brussels are more than miniature cabbages. They have different flavors that are highlighted by preparation style and pairing. You can commit to the savory route with garlic and onion or liven things up with fruit. Their layers can swim in the sweetness of roasted red grapes. Tartness from lemons accents their bitter undertones. You can even combine sweet and citrus flavors by introducing oranges to your sprouts.
Another Breakthrough!
After a bit more exploration of the myriad ways to enjoy Brussels sprouts, my fail-safe has become garlic, chili flakes, and a little sugar. I halve the sprouts and let them caramelize in the pan. They end up being crisp along the edges but tender inside. I’ve never been dissaponted and usually can’t bring myself to save some for the next day.
As fall brings cooler weather, it unearths hearty vegetables and ample opportunities to warm your house from the kitchen out. Every vegetable has its own distinct flavors that deserve to be showcased and appreciated. This fall, I’m concentrating on learning what my vegetables really taste like and finding ways to highlight what makes them so delicious. At times, I find the farmer’s market intimidating in part because I worry that I may be the only one with a contentious relationship with radishes. Seasonal eating and vegetable forward thinking can feel like a big undertaking. And truth be told, there is so much to learn, that it could be.
But I’m taking it one meal at a time.
