The Bitter Leaf

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  • Puntarelle alla Romana

    Puntarelle season has started in Rome, and if you can find them north of the Alps, buy them immediately.

    Pull the shoots off the head, slice each one lengthwise into thin strips and drop them in iced water for an hour until they curl up like ribbons.

    For the dressing, pound 4 anchovy fillets and a small garlic clove into a paste, then whisk in 1 tablespoon of red wine vinegar and 4 tablespoons of good olive oil. Drain the puntarelle, dry them well and toss with the dressing just before serving.

  • Risotto al Radicchio di Treviso

    The first tardivo of the season arrives in late autumn and I always make this the same week.

    1. Sweat a finely chopped shallot in butter, add 320 g Carnaroli rice and toast for a minute.
    2. Deglaze with a glass of red wine (yes, red — it suits the colour).
    3. Add hot stock a ladle at a time for about 16 minutes.
    4. Halfway through, stir in 250 g shredded radicchio; keep a handful raw for the end.
    5. Off the heat, beat in cold butter and Grana Padano. Rest for two minutes, fold in the raw radicchio and serve.

    A few drops of aged balsamic on top are optional but recommended.

  • Chicory Root Chocolate Brownies

    Ground roasted chicory root deepens chocolate the same way espresso does, without keeping you awake at night.

    • 200 g dark chocolate, 150 g butter
    • 3 eggs, 200 g brown sugar
    • 80 g flour, 30 g cocoa, 2 tbsp finely ground roasted chicory root
    • A pinch of flaky salt

    Melt the chocolate with the butter. Whisk eggs and sugar until pale and thick, fold in the chocolate, then the dry ingredients. Bake in a lined 20 cm tin at 180 °C for 22 minutes — the middle should still wobble. Cool completely before cutting.

  • Endive, Pear and Roquefort Salad

    A classic bistro starter, and a lesson in balance: bitter leaves, sweet fruit, salty cheese, crunchy nuts.

    • 3 endives, leaves separated
    • 1 ripe pear, thinly sliced
    • 80 g Roquefort, crumbled
    • A handful of candied pecans
    • Dressing: 1 tbsp cider vinegar, 1 tsp Dijon mustard, 3 tbsp walnut oil, salt, pepper

    Arrange the leaves like a flower, tuck pear slices between them, scatter cheese and pecans, and dress at the last moment. Use the leaves as scoops.

  • Grilled Radicchio with Balsamic, Honey and Walnuts

    Ten minutes, five ingredients, and it converts radicchio sceptics every single time.

    1. Quarter two heads of Treviso radicchio lengthwise, keeping the core so the wedges hold together.
    2. Brush with olive oil, season with salt and grill on a very hot pan for 2 minutes per side until charred at the edges and just wilted.
    3. Warm 2 tablespoons of balsamic with 1 tablespoon of honey until syrupy.
    4. Drizzle over the radicchio, scatter toasted walnuts and shavings of Parmesan.

    The heat mellows the bitterness and the honey does the rest. Excellent next to grilled sausages.

  • Roasting Your Own Chicory Root Coffee

    Chicory coffee has a reputation as wartime ersatz, but freshly roasted root is genuinely delicious: dark, toasty, a little caramel, with no caffeine at all.

    You will need

    • Fresh chicory roots (dig them in autumn, or buy them from a farmers’ market)
    • A sharp knife, a baking tray, a spice or coffee grinder

    Steps

    1. Scrub the roots thoroughly. No need to peel.
    2. Chop into 1 cm cubes — even sizes roast evenly.
    3. Dry them at 120 °C for about an hour, until they rattle.
    4. Raise the oven to 200 °C and roast for 20–30 minutes, stirring often, until they are the colour of dark chocolate and smell like brownies.
    5. Cool, then grind medium-fine.

    Brew 1 tablespoon per cup in a cafetière for 5 minutes. Try a 50/50 blend with coffee — New Orleans style — with hot milk.

  • Chicons au Gratin (Endive, Ham and Cheese Bake)

    The dish of my childhood. My grandmother made it every Sunday from November to March, and the kitchen windows always fogged up.

    Ingredients (serves 4)

    • 8 Belgian endives
    • 8 thin slices of cooked ham
    • 40 g butter, 40 g flour, 500 ml milk
    • 150 g grated Gruyère (or young Gouda)
    • Nutmeg, salt, pepper, a pinch of sugar

    Method

    1. Cut a small cone out of the base of each endive — that is where most of the bitterness hides.
    2. Braise the endives in a covered pan with a knob of butter, the sugar and a splash of water for 20 minutes. Drain them well and squeeze gently; watery endives ruin the sauce.
    3. Make a béchamel, season with nutmeg and stir in two thirds of the cheese.
    4. Wrap each endive in ham, lay them in a buttered dish, pour over the sauce and scatter the remaining cheese.
    5. Bake at 200 °C for 25 minutes until bubbling and brown.

    Serve with mashed potatoes. Nothing else is required, though a cold Belgian beer does not hurt.

  • A Field Guide to the Chicory Family

    Every winter someone asks me what the difference is between endive, chicory, witlof and radicchio. The honest answer: they are all Cichorium intybus (plus its cousin Cichorium endivia), and the names change depending on which side of the Channel you are standing.

    Belgian endive (witloof, chicon)

    The pale, torpedo-shaped heads grown in the dark from forced roots. Crisp, juicy, gently bitter. Raw in salads, braised in butter, or wrapped in ham and baked under cheese.

    Radicchio

    The Italian red chicories. Chioggia is round like a small cabbage, Treviso precoce is long and tight, Treviso tardivo looks like a firework and is the best of them all. Grill it, roast it, stir it into risotto.

    Puntarelle

    Catalogna chicory shoots, a Roman winter speciality. You slice the hollow shoots into thin strips and soak them in iced water until they curl.

    Escarole and frisée

    Technically endivia, but they behave the same in the kitchen. Escarole is lovely wilted into beans; frisée wants bacon and a poached egg.

    Chicory root

    The large-rooted varieties are dried, roasted and ground into the famous coffee substitute. More on that in the Root & Coffee section.

    Rule of thumb: the paler the leaf, the milder the taste. Bitterness is a feature, not a flaw — balance it with fat, salt, acid or sweetness and it sings.