Want: The Fat Radish

I have a thing for radishes--and my cousin does too.  We share them at my home on a regular basis, and we shared some at The Nomad, and we recently shared an email pining after that particular occasion.  I bought a black radish today--it is hopelessly romantic, like black velvet, the Anna Karenina of radishes.  I will slice it very thin, drape it with a little olive oil, sprinkle it with Galveston county salt, and offer it a little butter on the side.  Radish, salt, butter: a combination that I think of as part of my wardrobe.  If my clothes had a taste, it would be this.  If my perfume were a snack, it would be this.  You want to go to there, don't you?  So do I.  And so I want to go to The Fat Radish.  I heard about this place over the summer, and though I don't see a radish on the menu, I'm keen (as a radish is as much an idea as it is a root vegetable).  Here's what I'd like to taste: oysters (always oysters); grilled cheese and pickles (always pickles); celery root pot pie; the bacon cheeseburger with duck fat fries, and the scallops with beet and sweet potato hash; maybe the fat radish plate too (here, I expect to find an actual radish).  I want to leave The Tenement museum and stroll down Orchard street as the violet hour takes over and go...to there.  Would you?