Four years ago I planted a tiny horseradish seedling. Every year it grew up into a fine, broad-leafed plant, with what I always assumed would be a little horseradish root underneath, perfect to use in a single dinner sometime. I did nothing about it, watching every autumn as the plant started to wither and vanish, wondering whether it would return each spring. It continues to do so, and I continue to look at it, every year, thinking about digging it up and cooking with it, and doing nothing.
Maybe this will be the year
