| NEWS FROM MARIQUITA: A CSA Journal Ain't I smart? By Andy Griffin |
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May 10, 2004:
Sloth, carelessness, and poor planning can be great teachers, as my
most recent harvest of black Spanish radishes illustrates. The black
Spanish radish is an antique radish, a throwback to a time when people
counted on storing roots to survive the winter. To modern consumers
the black Spanish radish is puzzling. Unlike the ubiquitous little
red radishes that adorn green salads the black Spanish radish is a
huge root that can weigh as much as a small cantaloupe. Black radish
isn’t mild either, but can be harsh, especially right after
harvest. Many recipes for black radish call for the root to be grated
and marinated in salt water to dispel the mustardy bitterness.
I’ve read that it is traditional to slice black radish into pieces and eat it with a pinch of salt and a swig of beer. This recipe is ok, though I’ve usually wondered why I don’t just swig the beer solo. But I keep planting black radish, even though most of my customers probably don’t eat their black radishes anyway. The root is so magnificently ugly with its rough textured black hide that it makes a fabulous conversation piece. Food stylists looking to take eye catching photos of table displays love it. I’m charmed by the black root myself and I’ve taken pleasure in growing an heirloom vegetable that seems more suited to a museum than a restaurant. Over the years I’ve learned to plant black radish after midsummer so it will not bolt to flower before forming a root. And I’ve learned to religiously cloak my planting of black radish with a protective row cover from the day I sow it. Even if most people don’t care to eat black radish, cabbage maggots sure love it and without a row cover a marketable crop can be almost impossible to achieve. This is where sloth, carelessness, and poor planning can make a big difference. Last year poor planning meant I didn’t have row cover on hand to protect the black radish crop when I planted it. The fabric came but then we didn’t do a good job pinning it to the ground. The wind blew the row cover off the seed bed leaving the tender young radishes exposed to the flies. The result was a crop of black radish riddled with pale white maggots. Out of two 40 inch beds planted in double rows 600 feet long, I only salvaged a couple of bags of radish worth saving. I threw the plastic sacks in the dark corner of my cooler, disgusted. This was a bitter harvest in more ways than one. Recently I uncovered the bags where they had lain forgotten. I figured the radishes would be rotten after four months in a bag. But no. When I looked the roots seemed to look the same as the day I harvested them. I sliced a root open to see if it was rotten inside. The black radish in my hand had snowy white flesh. Then, cautiously, without even a can of beer on hand to wash away the taste, I tried a bite. The radish was great. The harsh mustardy flavor was gone and the taste was clean crisp, and mild!
I finally understood. Black Spanish radish needs to be stored to reach its full potential. Back in the old days black radishes would have been heaped in the cellar with carrots, turnips, celeriac, etc. In the spring after sweeter roots had been eaten up the black Spanish radish would be waiting, ready and good. Beer brewed with the previous fall’s grain harvest would be ready to drink, too. My constant companions--sloth, carelessness, and poor planning--had come to my rescue again. Now I have a good plan. This July I will plant black radish right on schedule and I’ll care for it assiduously. In November we will harvest and clean the crop, then store it. Come next spring I’ll have a crop to sell just when my fields are empty and I’ll need money. Maybe I can even make back the dollars I lost last year. Ain’t I smart?
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