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French Endive
Remove the imperfect outer stalks from the desired number of heads of French Endive. If heads are large, cut them in halves lengthwise; if small, separate the stalks. Wash, drain and chill. Serve with French Dressing (see Page 83).
A salad reduced to its essentials, which means the few choices left matter. Nearly everything depends on the state of the heads when they reach the table.
- What to buy"French endive" here is what a modern market calls Belgian endive or witloof chicory: the tight, pale, torpedo-shaped head, not curly endive or escarole. Choose heads that are firm and creamy white with pale yellow tips; green edges mean light exposure and pronounced bitterness.
- Wash quickly, do not soakThe heads are grown in darkness and are cleaner than they look. A brief rinse and a thorough drain is enough; a long soak waterlogs the leaves and dilutes the dressing on contact. Spin or blot dry before chilling.
- Chill means genuinely coldThe instruction to chill is the whole technique. An hour in the coldest part of the refrigerator, loosely wrapped in a damp towel, gives the snap that makes the dish worth eating. Limp endive cannot be revived by dressing.
- Dress at the last momentCut surfaces oxidize and the leaves wilt fast in acid. Combine dressing and endive at the table or seconds before serving.
- The French dressing of the periodA period French dressing of this kind was typically oil and vinegar in the region of three to one, with salt and pepper, shaken or beaten to combine. Whatever the book gives on Page 83, it will not be the sweet orange bottled product that later took the name.
- Managing the bitternessA small cone of bitter core at the base can be trimmed out with the tip of a knife if the heads are large. Some cooks countered the bitterness with a little sugar or cream in the dressing; a sharper vinegar works as well.
- YieldThe recipe leaves the quantity open; about one medium head per person is a reasonable guide for a side salad.
Witloof chicory, the plant behind "French endive," is generally traced to mid-nineteenth-century Belgium, where chicory roots stored in cellars were found to throw up tight pale shoots in the dark; growers learned to force the heads deliberately by burying roots in sand or soil away from light. It reached American tables largely as an import, and in the months before local salad greens were available a crisp raw vegetable of this kind was a small display of means. It was often sold and listed as French rather than Belgian, though the reason for the label is not firmly documented. The recipe's brevity is itself a period marker — the compiler assumes the cook knows how to make a French dressing and needs only to be told that this particular vegetable should be served cold, raw, and undisguised.