“I know I’m an acquired taste – I’m anchovies. And not everybody wants those hairy little things.”  -Tori Amos, American pianist, singer, composer, lyrical master, and fellow redhead

“From now on,” Nicole says with a bit of her usual (and quite enviable) sassafras in her step, “you are ‘Superstar Chef Krista,’ ok?”  We are wandering from showroom to showroom in SoHo, shopping for kitchen re-model ideas, at New York’s 22nd Annual ICFF bonanza.  I cringe at the thought of introducing myself this way, and am more than a little nervous that she’s going to do the honors for me.  (She doesn’t…..thank goodness.)  Nicole has this wonderful elegance about her – the kind of elegance where I always picture her holding a champagne flute and quoting Audrey Hepburn lines from old movies.  The kind of elegance that let’s you know you could be doing a much better job of being a lady, if you just tried a little bit harder.  I appreciate about her that she’s managed to turn a “business meeting” into a series of fabulously styled rooms that are full of endless booze and snacks.  (This includes, at one point, a stint on Paul Smith‘s roof.  It is 20 minutes of beach vacation, smack in the middle of Lower Manhattan.  Lovely.)  I feel like a wide-eyed child at Epcot Center at these showrooms.  There are so many pretty, futuristic things to look at.

I remember going to these ICFF parties in my early 20′s, mostly because I knew everyone and there was free food and liquor.  (As a broke-ass 20-something designer in New York City, believe me, you know where all the chic open bars are…..)  Fast-forward about 10 years, and now I’m back, and I’m wearing the wrong shoes.  I look around, and I notice things have changed.  I notice that I have changed.  Every single person around me is stylish and kisses each other on both cheeks when they say hello.  Most people I’m introduced to have delicious little accents and incredible names.  I look towards the floor and I see designer shoes for miles and miles.  Everyone is more beautiful and more saavy than I could ever dream to be. I’m wandering through gorgeous interiors with rooms full of dream furniture that seems so devastatingly far out of reach.  I have a pair of last year’s beach sandals on, I just got my first pedicure of the season last week, and I don’t know anyone.  I’m holding either my 5th or my 6th paper cup full of free Prosecco.  I’m following Nicole around like a lost little puppy dog.  I’m completely out of my element, and try as I might, I just can’t get used to this life.  Hell, I feel less comfortable in it now than I did 10 years ago, when I was just a spectator.

I’m not sure if I will ever be great.  That might not be in the cards for me, but I know I have always loved to touch greatness…..whether it be fumbling through a squeaky, tense performance of Bach‘s “Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major” on my falling-apart and too-small-for-me cello, badly knocking off some amazing garment styled by It-Girl X and shot by It-Boy Y and designed by It-Person Z that I saw in a magazine layout, sitting for hours in front of a Classic sculpture in a museum and trying somehow to capture its beauty with my own hands in my puny little sketchbook.  I suppose this is the stuff of many creative minds.  I’m attracted to beauty like a mosquito is attracted to a bug zapper.  I love to look, but touching…..that’s something else entirely.  There’s a point where it stops being “Ooooo, look at the pretty light!” and, you know, starts being that pretty light that’s burning your retinas a little bit when you get too close.

I don’t understand the money in these showrooms that results in all of this free wine, these trays of free canapes, and insanely gorgeous people hired to serve these things to me.  I get worried in situations like this.  I think there must be a storm coming.  I like feeling fancy, but I don’t like feeling uncomfortable.  If I could ever muster up the courage to put on a pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes, I would feel so paranoid  the entire time that I was going to spill something on them, or trip over a crack in the pavement and break the heel, or lose my balance and wind up in the hospital, etc. that I could never possibly wear them and feel comfortable.  I once wore a vintage Pucci dress to my cousin’s wedding in California, thinking I was being such a stylish New Yorker, and I wound up in the reception parking lot fumbling for the keys to the trunk because the fragile vintage stitches had split all the way up the side, exposing it all, and I needed to find my jeans immediately.  I must have learned my lesson.

10 years later, making the rounds at ICFF’s fancy SoHo parties, and I’m not wishing for stainless steel Bulthaup counters as much as I’m wishing that (as long as these businesses were throwing money at people who could make snacks that are passed out for free) I was being paid to make the snacks that are passed out for free.  I knew I could do it better than it was being done, and probably for a lot less money, too.  It didn’t make me uncomfortable to think this.  Not in the least.  Yes, I have changed.

I’ve been hanging on to a recipe from The New York Times for “Seared Radish Crostini” for a few weeks now.  The idea of cooking radishes at all was intriguing to me, and then when I read it, I loved the idea of pairing radish with anchovy.  I ventured into the lab, tinkered around a bit, and came up with something I’d happily serve at a fancy ICFF party in 2011, should anyone -ahem- need a chef.  I promise to find a better pair of shoes before then.  Maybe not Manolos, but better than last year’s beach sandals anyway.

Ingredients:

For the anchovy compound butter:

3/4 stick (6 tbsp.) butter, left out at room temperature until softened enough to mash easily with a fork

Zest of 1 lemon

Juice of 1 lemon

1 clove garlic, smashed, skin discarded, and minced very fine

6 or so strands of fresh chives, washed and chopped very fine

1-2 tsp. of anchovy paste, or 1-2 anchovy filets, bones removed as best you can and minced very fine (NOTE:  This really depends on your own personal taste.  Anchovies scare people, but before the flavor becomes “fishy” there’s a point in there where it just adds a very nice, subtle depth of flavor that’s absolutely delicious.  We’re going for that goal.  Add a little bit at a time and taste.)

Kosher salt & freshly ground black pepper

For the crostini:

1 big French baguette, sliced on a slight bias into slices about 1/4″ thick (NOTE:  Day-old bread is fine here.)

Extra virgin olive oil

1 bunch radishes, leafy green tops removed, bulbs washed and dried very well, and sliced into rounds about 1/8″ thick

Neutrally-flavored oil, such as vegetable or canola

2 handfuls of mixed micro greens, washed and dried very well (NOTE:  I found these at my local farmer’s market, but they can be tough to find at a regular grocery store.  As a substitute, try alfalfa sprouts.)

Flaked sea salt, such as Maldon brand, for sprinkling

Instructions:

1.  Adjust an oven rack to the middle area, and preheat oven to 375ºF.

2.  Line a sheet pan with parchment paper or Silpat.  Arrange the baguette slices on the prepared sheet tray.  Drizzle evenly with a light coating of extra virgin olive oil, and then sprinkle liberally with salt & pepper.  Place the sheet tray in the oven and allow the baguette slices to dry out and become golden-brown, about 20-30 minutes.  When they’re done, allow to cool on a rack until they’ve come down to room temperature.

3.  While the bread is in the oven, prepare the compound butter.  In a medium workbowl, combine softened butter, lemon zest and juice, garlic, and chives.  Mash together with a fork until well combined.  Add the anchovy a little bit at a time and taste, and finally, season to taste with salt and pepper.  Set aside.

4.  Heat a lightly-oiled cast iron grill pan over medium-high flame.  (NOTE:  I just got the very-affordable Lodge brand one and am obsessed with it.  It’s a grill on one side and a griddle on the other!  Highly recommended.  If you have an outdoor gas or charcoal grill, that works too.)  In a medium bowl, toss the radish rounds with just enough neutral oil to give each one a light coating, and a bit of salt and pepper.  When the grill is nice and hot, go ahead and lay out all of the radish rounds, and grill on each side until you get some nice grill marks, about 3 minutes per side.  When they’re all done, reserve on a plate lined with paper towels.

To assemble:

1.  Spread each piece of toast with a thin layer of the anchovy compound butter.  Arrange 3 of the radish slices on top, letting them overlap a bit.  Top with a little mound of the micro greens, and sprinkle with a few flakes of sea salt.  Pass around on trays with cocktails.  Smile and be fabulous.

Yield: This recipe gave me about 30 crostini and I had leftover compound butter (easily storable in the refrigerator for next weekend’s party)