They don't all belong to winter, you know.
On my way to the copiers, as I was trotting through the wet Union Square Farmers' Market today (the newly-laid paving stones do not.drain.properly), unwittingly flipping black puddle-water spots onto the back of linen pants as I went, grrr, I was stopped in my sodden tracks by these gorgeous radishes, baby turnips and young fennel.
Lust. Pure lust. I wanted them. And I wanted bagna cauda. Four or five sorts of raw vegetable chopped or sliced, dipped into a warm bath of: olive oil, lots of soft, sweet garlic, melted anchovies, and spritz of lemon, perhaps. Bread to sop the last, fond-rich sediment up.