This isn't so much a recipe as it is a love story. You see, I used to think that radishes were useless. Sure, they looked cute enough, but their red round cuteness belied their inner hatefulness. What
good were they? Just a watery afterthought, a bitter, unimaginative addition to salads, mere space wasters on trays of crudites.
But my relationship with radishes has undergone a radical transformation. You might even say we're in love. It's all due to butter, salt, and of course, the French. As in the best love stories - or perhaps more accurately 1930s screwball romances - the dramatic conclusion was not reached without some initial animosity, some madcap misadventure, and (hopefully) a good dose of witty banter.
