Pink & Greens For Fall

All right, I got the beet madness out of my system with a little red borscht soup and potato-cheese pierogis at Lomzynianka in the Polish neighborhood where I'm staying in Brooklyn. I was also assisted by the red flannel hash (eggs over beets mixed with corned beef), plus a side of beet mustard and salad greens I had at a most exquisitely delicious restaurant, The Farm on Adderly, which has a bowl of plastic farm animals to take like business cards or toothpicks and Slow Food NYC's Snail of Approval, a distinction I did not know existed. So now here's a relatively lighter post.

Erin's already written about the eye-watering watermelon radish, but I suggest we all clasp our hands together and breathe, "Oh!" one more time because aren't they just the purtiest lil' darlin's y'ever did see?

Fall is supposed to be when we get serious--about our work, our lives, our leaves--but it's a relief to see that not all is dark orange, brown, or somber green this time of year. I got these first watermelon radishes of the season in mid-September at the Ferry Plaza Heirloom Organics stand, and paired them with dandelion greens, though more out of a sense of color than taste, I admit. Watermelon radishes are supposed to be sweet as far as radishes go, but these were super spicy, perhaps because they tend to start off really feisty and mellow out as they mature (rather like humans but the opposite of most radishes, according to this site).

To ease the hot pink peppery jolt, as well as the bitterness of the greens, I sauteed them together. Next time I might put some scrambled eggs on the side and serve the bold-flavored dish as a morning eye-opener.

I had used only half the radish, so later I dropped some raw triangle slices on top of hummus and fried falafels (made the naughty cheater way with water and a mix from Rainbow Grocery's bulk section, though I did add freshly minced shallots.

The sweet-tart ending to this pink-and-green theme party came with the arrival of these "mystery apples" I got from Four Sisters Farm. The woman at the stand told me this fruit was deemed "mysterious" because the tree's seeds had blown into their five acres from elsewhere on the scented winds of Aromas, their Monterey County location.

For those who like rankings, I say these apples' cuteness factor is the food equivalent of the baby pygmy hippo.