Daikon...

One of my earliest food related memories, that didn't involve my mother's kitchen, was going to the Union Square Greenmarket for the first time. I was, maybe, 8 years old and here I was at my mother’s hip wandering around amongst farmers, and bakers and cheesemongers with no idea what the hell was going on. She took me to several stalls, but the one that sticks out in my memory was the guy who sold Daikon Radish.
He had long, straggly hair, and even longer fingernails; and what he didn't make up for in long hair and long fingernails, he more than made up for with long, brown rabbit teeth. His skin was the complexion of a discarded, greasy, white paper bag from a pizzeria; and had the same crinkly appearance. And his eyes, his eyes had a wild intensity about them that scared the ever-living hell out of me. One look at him, and I knew I wanted no part of being anywhere near his stand...my mother, had other ideas.
She dragged me over to his small table and picked up a gnarled off-white horn.
"Is this a type of carrot?" she asked.
"Oh no. This," he said, stroking one of them with his long thin fingers, "this is a Daikon..."
It was the way he said it too. The foreboding mysteriousness with which he said it, and the way he drew out the "i" and the last syllable; so that each had the same emphasis: "dye-khaan."
I'm sure he went on to explain to her that it was a type of radish and that it was used primarily in Asian cookery, but after he said, "dye-khaan" I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

What’s On My Mind This Week?:
My step-brother is in town and he’s a fan of the burger. What red-blooded American man who’s lived in the Southwest for any period of time isn’t a fan of the burger? So I will be grilling my brisket-blend burgers, with pictures and recipes to follow.

Photo: Feasting on Pixels