About Me

Hi. Yes. It’s me. The Belgian one. You’re welcome.

I belong to a rather large and, frankly, confusing family—the genus Cichorium. We’re known for our charming bitterness and our inability to be clearly labeled in grocery stores. The family includes several of us leafy types: Cichorium endivia, Cichorium pumilum, and Cichorium intybus. Think of it less as taxonomy and more as… a complicated group chat.

Now, technically, I’m part of the Cichorium intybus side of the family. That’s the chicory branch. We’re the slightly more refined ones. My cousins over there include radicchio (dramatic), puntarelle (eccentric), and, of course, me—the Belgian endive. Pale, composed, grown in darkness. It builds character.

Then there’s the Cichorium endivia side of the family. Nice enough. A bit chaotic.

You’ve got frisée (that curly one) — always showing up disheveled, insisting it’s “textural.” Then escarole — broader leaves, milder personality, constantly trying to convince everyone it’s basically lettuce. It isn’t. We’ve talked about this.

There’s been ongoing confusion between our branches for years. People mix us up, mislabel us, call everything “endive,” and move on with their lives. We try not to take it personally. (We do.)

Frisée likes to get lightly wilted and act like that’s a personality. Escarole gets sautéed, stuffed, stewed—very accommodating. I, on the other hand, prefer a more curated experience. A little butter. Maybe some cheese. Respect.

In Europe, we’re appreciated properly. Elsewhere… it’s a journey.

Anyway, that’s the family. A little bitter. A little misunderstood. But we clean up nicely.