Fresh-faced, yet utterly jet-lagged. That’s how I arrived in France for the first time. And that’s how I was introduced to Belgian endive.
Madame Gabillet was hosting me for my college semester abroad and she welcomed me pretty much right off the plane into her chilly, dark home. Dinner was waiting, so we sat right down and rather silently (since I didn’t yet speak a word of French) began the meal. That’s when I saw a vegetable I didn’t recognize.
Was it cabbage? No. But whatever it was, it was bathed in a luscious cream sauce with Gruyere bubbling on top. It was a fitting welcome to what would be a cold and rainy few months. I understood precious little of what my host family said to me that night, but I did catch the name of the tender, slightly bitter, delight that we ate — Belgian endive.
Madame Gabillet loved Belgian endive (and luckily, as I discovered, so did I). She served it chopped and sauteed in sweet butter, or sliced and tossed raw in a mustardy vinaigrette, or — my favorite — baked in a white cream sauce with onions and cheese.