Next up in my trying-to-like-things-I-usually-don’t challenge is another purple vegetable, the regal, bitter beauty: radicchio. Radicchio makes my first candidate, beets, look like child’s play, her bite far more intense, far more relentless, than beets’ occasionally off-putting earthiness. We’re all more or less programmed to shy away from bitter flavors, and so radicchio is nearly impossible to tame to typical tastes. But I found her all the more exciting for it.
Radicchio is revered in Italian cooking, a staple since the 15th century. There are many varieties of this pretty chicory, several of which are so precious in Italy that they’re given PGI (Protected Geographical Indication) status: Rosso di Treviso Tardivo (the “king” of radicchio, and the mildest); the pink-speckled Variegato di Castelfranco (Tardivo’s queen, also relatively mild); Rosso di Treviso Precoce; Rosso di Chioggia; and Rosso di Verona. There’s also the stunning blush-colored Rosa del Veneto. All hail from Veneto in the northeast, the same region that boasts the ruby red beet ravioli I shared a couple of weeks ago. And all vary in size and shape—some with long, pronged leaves; others taut and round; still others endive-like and oval—and range in their bitterness, too. The small, cabbagey Rosso di Chioggia is the most common both in Italy and stateside, and what I used for today’s recipe.
Although their shades of flavor differ, there are a few balancing ingredients you can pair with any radicchio that’ll work every time: other lettuces (of course), nuts, dried and fresh fruit, sausage and smoked meats, anchovies, and, my favorite, rich and pungent cheeses. Titans like gorgonzola, taleggio, and fontina are particularly well-matched to balance radicchio’s bold bitterness—marry them in salads, savory pies, risottos, frittatas, and—the reason we’re all here—pastas. Veneto’s radicchio pasticcio, a wintry lasagna with layers of fresh pasta, taleggio, béchamel, and, obviously, radicchio is a classic. Penne or potato gnocchi with radicchio and gorgonzola is also a favorite, as is pasta with radicchio and pork sausage. You’ll see I didn’t stray too far from tradition—you don’t need to tell me twice to make a luscious, fondue cheese sauce.
Everything is made better with cheese, but I would not be fooled into thinking cheese alone would suddenly make me radicchio’s biggest fan. Especially because the ubiquitous Rosso di Chioggia is perhaps the most bitter of them all (if you can find some of the other red varieties, like the curlicued Rosso di Treviso Tardivo, I would opt for those). Soaking radicchio leaves in cold water for 30 minutes to an hour reduces their bitterness, as does cooking them. Here, a quick, hot sear helps with the softening, as does a balsamic-honey vinaigrette. And if the plate wasn’t already pretty enough with those bursts of pink and purple among the white pools of fonduta, a final flourish of pistachios takes it over the top.
In my first of these experiments, I promised to be honest about the outcome and whether I felt I’d succeeded in my mission. The beet ravioli were a clear win, but I’ll admit this one left me a little less sure. The truth is that nothing can make radicchio anything but what it is. No matter how much salt, or sweet, or umami you add, it’s still a little bit of a punch in the face. Still, I found myself unable to stop eating this dish, and ended up packing away far more than I’d expected. I even went back to eat the leftovers a few hours later. In my uncertainty, I couldn’t seem to get enough—I just needed to try it again, and again—and now, looking back, I think radicchio might have finally ensnared me in her beautiful, bitter web.
Penne with Fonduta & Seared Radicchio
Serves 2 to 4