Erica De Mane

Ravanello il candela di fuoco, from Southern Italy.

Recipe: Radish and Anchovy Antipasto

I’ve always liked radishes well enough, but when I discovered how great they taste smeared with soft butter, I started to love them. That isn’t an Italian flavor combination but a French one. It’s at its best in late spring, when I find long, red French breakfast radishes at the Greenmarket, or white ones, which are usually called icicle radishes. If I’ve got either of those and a block of lightly salted French butter, I’m in heaven. Both of those radish varieties are less bitter than the round red ones you see all over the place (even under my bed sometimes, since my cats love to play with them).

Enough French talk. Let’s get back to the entire point of my devotion to cooking, which obviously is cooking with an Italian spirit. With that in mind, I’d like to introduce you to an excellent flavor combination, radishes and anchovies. Maybe you already know about that, but it’s worth thinking about again if you haven’t for a while.

I believe my first encounter with this perfect match was at Aurora, a fine little Italian restaurant in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, when it first opened about seven years ago. I’m not sure how I had missed out on the little treat during all my trips to Italy. I mean, almost every time anything with anchovies appeared on a menu, I was on it.  But most of my traveling has been in the South, and I didn’t often come across ravanello, the radish’s Italian name. Even though Southern Italians love bitter anything, and even though cauliflower and broccoli, both related to the radish, are huge favorites all through the Mezzogiorno, radishes just don’t seem to have much of a presence. I have seen very long, skinny, red ones at a Palermo market, going by the name il candela di fuoco, which is exactly what they look like, but I don’t believe I ever ate one. I’ll have to ask my Greenmarket farmers if they’ve ever tried growing them. They look beautifully obscene.

In any case, mixing radishes with anchovies to produce something really delicious couldn’t be simpler. All you need to do is halve (or quarter if they’re huge) some decent looking radishes (the round reds ones are fine for this, but if you see long sweet radishes for sale, grab them and quarter them lengthwise); then mash a few oil-packed anchovies, very good quality of course (Flott are great, but so are Agostino Recca, both from Sicily) with a generous amount of fine extra-virgin olive oil, until you have a loose paste. I’ve made this with salt-packed and with oil-packed anchovies, and even though for uncooked dishes I usually prefer salt-packed, the oily ones seem to work better with the radishes, maybe since they’re richer, more like a condimento. Salt-cured anchovies, after soaking, can revert back to tasting like fresh fish. Now you’ve got a nice oily, fishy sauce. All you do is pour it over the radishes and give it a gentle toss. Simple. And that is exactly how they were served at Aurora. It’s kind of like bagna cauda, except it’s not hot. It’s just as messy, so have a pile of napkins nearby. It’s a nice change from a bowl of olives.

The recipe I’ve provided for you is my little spin on the theme, but I didn’t want to stray far from the pure treatment, so I’ve added only a couple of flourishes.

Radish and Anchovy Antipasto

(Serves 6 as an antipasto)

2 bunches of very crisp, round red radishes, washed, stemmed, and halved
5 oil-packed anchovies
½ a small garlic clove
About 4 tablespoons very fruity extra-virgin olive oil (preferably a Sicilian variety such as Ravida; Tuscan oil, I find, adds too much bitterness)
A handful of lightly toasted pine nuts
Freshly ground black pepper
A palmful of tender celery leaves, left whole

Place the radishes in a serving bowl.

With a mortar and pestle, grind the anchovies with the garlic, adding the olive oil a little at a time. You’ll want a fairly smooth consistency, but it’s okay if it still has some texture. Pour this over the radishes, add a few grindings of black pepper, add the pine nuts, and give it a toss. The sauce should be a little loose, so add a bit more oil if you think you need it. Right before serving, scatter on the celery leaves. Serve at room temperature.