My mother. If she had given me radishes as a kid, would I have eaten them? No. Nevertheless, do I blame her for me not knowing about radishes until age 33? Of course I do.
This snack sounds weird. I know it does. But it's...what is it? It's transcendent. Right now, at least, it's transcendent. Actually, it's been transcendent for days and I've been waiting for the transcendency to wear off so I can give you a good, objective review of it. But since it hasn't worn off yet, I'm just going to give you the recipe.
Keep an open mind and you will be rewarded with radishy goodness.
Stick some radishes in ice water for about half-an-hour. Meanwhile, let some good, unsalted butter soften. When the half-hour is up, lavishly butter several slices of fresh French bread and sprinkle some sea salt on there. It's important to use sea salt, I feel, instead of salted butter or other types of wussy, small-grained salt, because it adds a certain layer of necessary salty crunch that you'll thank me for later. Thinly slice the radishes and layer them on top of the butter. Discover why your mother has been hiding all the radishes for herself all these years.