Endive

This dish is the Italian equivalent of the French grand aïoli. In France, a colorful assortment of vegetable crudités is accompanied by a large bowl of garlicky homemade mayonnaise. In Italy, instead of dipping the vegetables into aïoli, they dunk them into a bowl of bagna cauda, a “warm bath” of garlic and anchovy simmering in butter and olive oil. In this dish, I toss my favorite winter vegetables with the bagna cauda and pair them with a meaty Australian bass, barramundi. Feel free to adapt the recipe to your location, season, and cravings. If you’re in the mood for asparagus or potatoes, add them to the mix. And if you can’t find barramundi, this dish is delicious when made with another bass, snapper, or halibut.

A variety of cheeses work in this salad, but I particularly love St. Agur, a triple-crème French cow’s milk blue cheese. Its pungent and intense blue flavor is balanced by an unusually creamy and sensuous texture. When shaved into long thin ribbons, the cheese is elegant on the plate and delicate on the palate. To make thin ribbons, I use an old-fashioned cheese pull, a wide metal spatula-shaped utensil with a slotted blade in the center. Pears and cheese are always happy companions, so if you can’t find St. Agur choose another blue, or seek out a good sheep’s milk cheese, such as a Roncal, Manchego, or pecorino. We’ve had more than one customer order this salad as dessert, so you decide where it falls in the meal.

Certain foods taste better when you eat them with your hands, like barbecued ribs and corn on the cob. This salad is the perfect way to indulge that primal urge. Use the endive leaves as scoops to gather up some olive shards, a fava bean or two, and a slice of lemon. The crisp spears explode with flavor, and before you’ve finished the first your hand will be reaching for another. Hand out forks if you must, and make sure to tell your friends that the Meyer lemon slices are for eating. They’re sweet and delicious, peel and all. Slice the olives thinly, so their intense taste doesn’t overwhelm the other ingredients. As for the dressing, gently stir (don’t whisk) in the cream to incorporate it without whipping it.

My grandmother passed this recipe down to my mom and she then passed it on to me. It’s a casserole of pure comfort. First, bitter endive is simmered until sweet, then wrapped in savory ham and smothered with a creamy nutmeg béchamel. Gruyère tops it off before it’s baked until bubbly and golden.

This super-savory dressing goes with everything from haricots verts to chopped romaine. But I especially love it in this combination. For parties, I toss the dressing with just the snap peas and spoon the mixture into the endive spears to make a passed hors d’oeuvre.

This jewel of a salad is the prettiest way to welcome in the cooler months. We use the firm fuyu persimmons, which have a crunch similar to that of apples. The pomegranate seeds add a gorgeous touch and a resounding sweet and tart pop of flavor.

Back in the day, when there was Sally Wong, when there was yellow pepper, and when there was tuna, David was doing endive salad and roast chicken. Although nonrevolutionary, this salad is always delicious. It’s on the menu often, especially in the winter when the garden is under a snowbank and the Parc Vinet Salad (opposite page) is a distant memory. Use Stilton in this salad; it works much better than other blues.

This is the one stew you can get away with in the summer, yet crave in the winter. Veal chunks from the hind shank is the best meat for this; cheeks or shoulder is another option. All but the rear leg muscle will work. Of course, mashed potatoes or a marrow pilaf (rice baked with bone marrow instead of butter) is the perfect buddy. As a finishing touch, we like to pimp our blanquette de veau with truffles, cock’s combs, foie gras, or small slices of lobster. It lends regality to an otherwise hearty and simple stew.

Belgian endive, toasted walnuts, and Gorgonzola make a satisfying winter salad—and a successful pizza topping. Brian first covers the pizza dough with a layer of caramelized onions, then sprinkles on the braised endive, crunchy nuts, and clumps of creamy Gorgonzola dolce, a young, mild version of the familiar Italian blue cheese. Cut the hot pie into thin wedges for an appetizer, or serve larger wedges with a salad for dinner.

This classic of la cuisine grandmère did not come to Cakebread Cellars via anyone’s French grandmother. We learned it from Rich Collins, who introduced endive to the United States when he began cultivating it commercially in California in the 1980s, as a young man barely out of college. Naturally, he calls his product California endive, not Belgian endive, and he has almost single-handedly built an American audience for this shapely chicory. We have watched Rich’s company, California Vegetable Specialties, grow exponentially, and we use his flawless endives year round in hors d’oeuvres and salads. Make endives au jambon—braised endives wrapped with ham and baked in béchamel sauce—on a blustery winter night, and bring it straight to the table in its baking dish.

The plump and pristine Belgian endive from California Vegetable Specialties (see page 91) always impresses the Workshop chefs, and they come up with some novel uses for it. Chef James Boyce, a 2008 participant, made “choucroute” with the sliced endive, braising it with onion, bacon, and apples as if it were cabbage. He paired it with seared duck breasts, but you could serve it with a pork chop and boiled potatoes instead.

For this salad, Brian likes to mix the moist, orange-fleshed sweet potatoes—such as Garnet or Jewel—with drier, yellow-fleshed varieties. Ask your produce merchant to point you to the right types if you aren’t sure. After roasting and cubing the sweet potatoes, Brian tosses them with a mix of bitter chicories, a nutty sherry vinaigrette, and fine shavings of sheep’s milk cheese—an inspired marriage of contrasting textures and flavors. Serve with pork chops or a pork roast for a winter dinner.

At the winery, we are always looking for enticing finger foods that our guests can enjoy comfortably with a glass of wine in hand. This hors d’oeuvre from Memphis chef Wally Joe, devised at the 2004 Workshop, passes that test. Piped or spooned onto endive leaves, the mousse makes an easily passed hors d’oeuvre. The mousse’s creamy texture and smoky notes find an echo in our Napa Valley Chardonnay, and the apple garnish provides another aromatic link.

A colorful platter of crudités and dip is a sure crowd-pleaser for a party—or simply as a snack. As an alternative to lemon-thyme dip, serve the vegetables with the white-bean dip on page 51.

Roasting the portobello mushrooms deepens their flavor and makes them tender and meaty. To clean them, wipe the caps with a damp paper towel (do not soak).

GOOD TO KNOW Citrus fruits are excellent not just for eating out of hand, but also as substantial components of salads, particularly in the winter months, when other fresh produce can be difficult to come by. Here, orange slices are tossed with arugula and endive, and orange juice brightens the dressing.

I love endive cooked this way. It is so succulent and really does melt in your mouth. Serve it with all kinds of roasted meats and poached or baked fish.

A poached egg is easily cooked, incredibly nutritious, economical, and easily served at any meal. Poached eggs perched on a buttered toasted slice of tender bread is a perfect breakfast; a shimmering bowl of chicken broth served with an egg poached in it is a nourishing lunch that can generate a warm sense of well-being; and curly endive tossed in a warm vinaigrette with bacon and topped with a poached egg is a favorite dinner salad of mine—the egg enriching the vinaigrette as it coats the leaves. A poached egg is cracked from its shell and cooked in water, stock, or, sometimes, wine until the white has just solidified and the yolk has heated through. The poaching liquid should be very hot, but without any bubbles breaking the surface. This gentle still heat keeps the white tender and helps the egg keep its shape while cooking. Fresh eggs are best. A fresh egg cracked onto a plate has a thick, jellylike white that clings to the deep orange yolk, which stands up plump and high. As eggs age, their flavor dissipates and their whites thin out to the point of being watery at the edges, making it difficult to poach one with any success. Use a heavy pan for even heat dispersal, which helps keep the eggs from sticking to the bottom. If a heavy pan is not available, use a flame tamer. A relatively shallow pan will make it easier to remove the eggs from the hot water. I use a low-sided saucepan. Fill the pan with water 2 to 3 inches deep, add a large splash of vinegar, and put the pan over a medium fire. The vinegar speeds the coagulation of the whites, keeping them from billowing out into the water. Use good-tasting vinegar, as you will be able to taste it slightly. I add about 1 tablespoon to 4 cups of water, but if you particularly like the flavor of vinegar on your eggs (and it is delicious), add more. When poaching eggs in soup or broth don’t use the vinegar. Carefully, without breaking the yolks, crack the eggs into individual cups or small bowls. This way you can easily remove any fragments of eggshell and it will be easier to slip each egg gently into the water; and if you do break a yolk, you can set it aside for another use. When the water is very hot, but not bubbling, hold the cup right at the level of the water and carefully slide the egg in. This gentle entry into the water will help the egg keep its shape. After a minute you can gently stir the water a while to discourage the eggs from sticking to the bottom of the pan. Use care, though; the eggs are very delicate until the whites are set. Lower the heat if the water begins to simmer. The cooking time will vary depending on the number of eggs, their size, and the temperature they were when they went into the water. On average, a single large egg straight from the refrigerator will take about 3 minutes to cook. The white will be set but the yolk will still be soft; for a firmer yolk allow up to 5 minutes. Test for doneness by gently lifting the egg with a slotted spoon and pressing it gently with your finger to feel how set the white and yolk are. Carefully remove the cooked eggs and drain for a moment on a towel, blotting the top very gently to dry. When cooking for a crowd, freshly poached eggs can be kept for a few minutes in a bowl of warm water or stock while another batch is being cooked.