no blood in turnips… but they’re high in spite

We just had a lovely dinner. Pan seared sword fish – heavily buttered then set in a pan to create a crisp protein crust. Onion and bacon fried golden to crisp mingling with french-cut green beans. A warm bowl of wild rice pilaf, notes of grass and chestnuts in the steam. A simple salad of shaved carrot, radishes, and parsley dressed in olive oil and lemon juice.

I like radishes. Small red ones to the great daikon – peppery to sweet. However, this isn’t a confession of a husky boy. No, the fact is… Snuff hates radishes. I serve radishes because I like them and he hates them. I try to be nice and temper their spiciness with lemon juice but there’s nothing that will change his mind.

I don’t get complaints…
I know he’s picks around it…
I look at his plate knowingly…
He knows I know…
We’ve had a lot of pot roast this winter…
He always puts turnips in his pot roast…
I hate cooked turnips as much as he hates radishes…
I have a pint of radishes left in the fridge…

One comment

  1. Hadi says:

    Another example of blissful co-existence! I think we should have read the fine prints on the carton.

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