Horseradish Sauce

The first time I grated a fresh horseradish root I cried at the kitchen counter. Properly cried, with my eyes streaming and my nose running, laughing at myself in front of the window. Nothing in a jar prepares you for the real thing. It's a vegetable that fights back, and once you've met it on its own terms you won't go back to the beige stuff with the long shelf life.

This is a sauce for a Sunday in winter, when there's a piece of beef resting on the board and the kitchen is warm with the smell of fat and rosemary. Cream, a knob of grated root, a spoon of vinegar, a spoon of mustard, a pinch of sugar to soften the edges. That's all of it. You can make it in the time it takes someone to set the table.

The trick, if there is one, is to make it close to the table. Horseradish has a short, brilliant temper. Grate it an hour too early and the heat starts to slip away from you, leaving behind a milder, sweeter ghost of the sauce you meant to make. Grate it ten minutes before you serve it and it'll knock the top of your head off in the best possible way. Right food, right evening.

I wrote it down in the notebook years ago, just three words: beef, root, cream. I haven't needed more detail than that since.