We've always struggled to grow simple things like carrots and radishes. Children are given these seeds as an introduction to gardening because it's so easy to succeed with them.
But we never succeed.
For one thing, we have so many tree roots in our garden plot that long-rooted vegetables like carrots grow into shapes like tuning forks or bad plumbing.
For another, we're eager and start pulling them up to see if they are done yet. They never thrive after that.
This week, coming back to the garden after a long, long hiatus, we started clearing out the overgrowth and discovered some forgotten veggies that we planted long, long ago.
In case you're wondering, that beet-like root and its companions in the photo are different kinds of radishes. Not a beet among them. I suspect they are exotic rainbow and watermelon radishes.
We couldn't harvest without tasting. Woody -- I expected woody from such a big, old radish, but it wasn't particularly.
The flavor was fierce and fiery. Not the light zingy, tangy flavor of a radish at its peak. These radishes taste angry. It made me think of something an up-and-coming West Hollywood bar chef would to infuse vodka with for a signature cocktail.
Assuming, of course, he could find his way to the Neglectful Farmers Market for a supply of slow, soil-aged radishes.
But we never succeed.
For one thing, we have so many tree roots in our garden plot that long-rooted vegetables like carrots grow into shapes like tuning forks or bad plumbing.
For another, we're eager and start pulling them up to see if they are done yet. They never thrive after that.
This week, coming back to the garden after a long, long hiatus, we started clearing out the overgrowth and discovered some forgotten veggies that we planted long, long ago.
In case you're wondering, that beet-like root and its companions in the photo are different kinds of radishes. Not a beet among them. I suspect they are exotic rainbow and watermelon radishes.
We couldn't harvest without tasting. Woody -- I expected woody from such a big, old radish, but it wasn't particularly.
The flavor was fierce and fiery. Not the light zingy, tangy flavor of a radish at its peak. These radishes taste angry. It made me think of something an up-and-coming West Hollywood bar chef would to infuse vodka with for a signature cocktail.
Assuming, of course, he could find his way to the Neglectful Farmers Market for a supply of slow, soil-aged radishes.
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