Puntarelle Alla Romana Recipe (Puntarelle Salad with Anchovy Garlic Dressing)

Puntarelle Alla Romana Recipe (Puntarelle Salad with Anchovy Garlic Dressing)

#Puntarelle #Alla #Romana #Recipe #Puntarelle #Salad #Anchovy #Garlic #Dressing Welcome to Alaska Green Light Blog, here is the new story we have for you today:

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Why it works

Crunchy, bitter Puntarelle pairs well with anchovies and garlic, softening their intense flavor. When puntarelle is hard to find, endive is a great substitute. Soaking thinly sliced ​​strips of puntarelle or endive in ice water for a few hours will create spiral curlicues.

For someone as obsessed with Italian cuisine as I am (by which I mean a lot), I’ve only been to Italy once, for just 10 days before one November. But I packed a lot of food into this one short trip, including the tasting and falling in love with Puntarelle alla Romana for the first time, and then ordered it daily for the rest of the time I was in Rome. (Late fall is the start of the Puntarelle season in Italy, which runs from October to April.)

Puntarelle salad is made by tossing crisp, juicy shreds of the usually mild-mannered bitter greens with a heavy dressing of anchovies and garlic. The flavor of the salad is intense, no doubt, but paradoxically, the texture and flavor of the Puntarelle sand takes away most of the garlic and anchovies, making it strong but utterly enjoyable. Case in point: my wife, who grew up in the Midwest, doesn’t like salty, intense things like anchovies, olives or capers, and yet she loves this salad. It might seem like an odd dish to obsess over, but I absolutely love it and I know I’m not the only one.

Serious Eats / Andrew Janjigian

From a distance, puntarelle heads look very similar to other members of the chicory family to which they belong, with a crown of long, slender, serrated leaves, with pale white ribs and deep green dandelion-like fringes, similar to escarole. But those outer leaves hide a bizarre surprise inside: a gnarled cluster of pale green asparagus-like shoots, often knotted together like a freaky, multi-fingered fist. (The shoots’ vague resemblance to asparagus explains why another name for puntarelle in Italian is cicoria asparago, or “asparagus chicory.”)

While the heart of the puntarelle is sometimes braised, it’s most commonly served raw, either as individual skewers on an antipasto platter or in the aforementioned salad. For the lettuce, the shoots are cut into fine, long shreds with a knife or, even better, with a special puntarelle cutter, which consists of a series of latticed metal wires stretched tautly over a wooden frame, which is done quickly. The schnitzels are then placed in a bowl of ice water for an hour or two, after which they form elegant spiral curlicues. (Produce stands and supermarkets in Italy sell pre-shredded and pre-curled puntarelle, which eliminates the labor entirely.) After that, the curls are tossed with a dressing of olive oil, red wine vinegar, lots of crushed garlic, and anchovies and herbs, and other salty, pickled things like chopped olives or capers.

Serious Eats / Andrew Janjigian

When I got home from Italy, I checked out the local farmers markets and specialty stores, but it seemed no one was growing Puntarelle here in the Boston area. It wasn’t the sort of thing that came up as an import from elsewhere, either, and so my short, passionate love affair came to an abrupt and, well, bitter end. (Puntarelle is popping up in larger markets like New York City and Los Angeles, so those of you who live in those places are lucky enough to have maintained an enduring relationship with the vegetable.)

Until I decided I could live with a deputy for the Puntarelle. While it doesn’t exactly resemble the vegetable, at least in its native form, its chicory cousin, endive, is actually a pretty good substitute. Not only does it have a similarly crunchy-juicy texture and a mild but zesty bitterness, but—as I discovered after a bit of experimentation—it curls up nicely when cut into chunks and refrigerated for a while! It’s not the same by any means: its texture is slightly more starchy and fibrous than Puntarelle’s, and it doesn’t curl quite as dramatically. But it scratches me too, and I do it all the time.

Serious Eats / Andrew Janjigian

The procedure is the same as described above with some differences due to the substitution. For starters, I like to use a mix of white (Belgian) endive and red endive, which is similar in shape and flavor to white endive, except striped red like the Treviso — another chicory that has red and white variegated leaves like radicchio was crossed . (My local Trader Joe’s sells a mix of white and red in small packets.) To prepare it, quarter the heads without removing the core. You then slice each quarter lengthwise through the core into 1/4 inch wide pieces. With the core left attached, the pieces form ruffled florets that curl up chaotically when placed in ice water, giving them a somewhat puntarelle-like appearance.

Serious Eats / Andrew Janjigian

If you can get your hands on real Puntarelle, by all means trade them for the scammer here. Once in a blue moon I was able to source the real deal myself and it was as good as I remembered it being when made using this recipe. Anyway, it’s enough until the day we can both go back to Rome.

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