Radishes offer unexpected flavor boosts to mealtime

Consider me a convert to the simple red radish, with all credit going to Paul Berglund, executive chef of the Bachelor Farmer in Minneapolis.

For decades, I had deliberately ignored the bite-size vegetable that appeared on countless relish trays at family gatherings.

Never mind that it also found its way as an afterthought sprinkled on the occasional dish for added color. A few bitter nibbles early on must have convinced me that radishes were not my cup of tea. I never gave them another thought, or taste.

Then the Bachelor Farmer (50 N. 2nd Av., Mpls.) opened its doors. Front and center on the dinner table, a relish tray landed with a handful of cherry red radishes and a mound of coarse salt.

I knew what to do, remembering what my Norwegian grandparents had done at the table years before: Dip the radish in the salt.

It was love at first bite. I reached for another, and, by the end of the meal, I was parched from all the salt, but happy.

Since then I've gone a bit radish wild. There's usually a bunch in my refrigerator crisper, ready to be added to salad (where they are definitely not an afterthought) or sprinkled in stir-fries, and added to sandwiches or omelets. You get the idea. Those little vegetables are versatile.

His epiphany came about a decade ago while visiting an Iowa farm, where dinner included freshly harvested radishes braised in a bit of butter with a sprinkle of salt. "It was heavenly," he said. "You experience the radish in a completely different way when it's cooked. Instead of the bracing spiciness, there is more sweetness and more vegetable notes."

Berglund grows two varieties of radishes — French Breakfast and Cherriettes — atop his North Loop restaurant. He no longer serves them in a relish tray, but, while in season, the baby vegetables appear in various ways as a kind of culinary surprise for guests.

Roasting them is one of Berglund's favorite ways to eat radishes. If the vegetable is larger than a quarter, he cuts it to that size, then tosses all with olive oil and salt, and roasts the radishes in a 400-degree oven, turning them every once in a while until they are caramelized on the outside. He adds them to salads and appetizers, or serves them alongside grilled meat, with the addition of chopped fresh herbs and a squeeze of lemon.

"It's the lowliness of the radish I'm drawn to," Berglund said. "It's not foie gras, not rib-eye steak. It's just a radish. And it's incredibly delicious."

I couldn't agree more.