Tardivo

Come the end of winter, I’m fascinated by the fairground purple and white striped curlicues of Tardivo. They’re an example of both our success at selective breeding and how we’ve learnt to manipulate the growing conditions of our crops. 

Bred in the late 19th century by a Belgian man called Francesco Van Den Borre. Tardivo gets its signature curls from a process known as ‘imbianciamento’ or whitening. Whitening takes advantage of phototropism: the way that the growing tips of plants will seek out the light. After they’re carefully uprooted, the lettuces are tied around their bases and transferred to a darkened tunnel. Starved of light, they grow etiolated, developing their characteristic thick white veins and twisted tips. 

Tardivo is a late growing example of Treviso, a type of chicory named for the Northern Italian city around which it’s commonly grown. Along with Radicchio and Puntarelle, it’s one of the bitter leaves we can use to really add punch to our salads. 

Bitterness is a divisive quality in food because we all have differing tolerances towards it. A specific taste receptor (TAS2R38) in the tongue is responsible for this; so it’s no surprise that your friend who takes a sweetener in their tea and gets you to cut the labels off their clothes (yes, it’s connected) also struggles to appreciate the bitter grip of Nebbiolo’s tannins.

The implications of that last part are profound. 

Quite simply; your well thought out wine pairings are, for a portion of your diners, wrong. 

That’s not to say there’s no value in wine pairings, just that there is no absolute correct for everyone. We need to accept that there has to be a degree of flexibility of suggestion, and most importantly to not get annoyed when someone really dislikes something you’ve suggested.

That said, I feel there is always a time and a place for bitterness at the table. We’ve probably been eating bitter leaves for as long as there have been people in and around the Mediterranean. Indeed, it’s believed that our modern bitter leaves are the same as those that were part of the original passover seder plate, their bitterness symbolising the harshness of the slavery the Jews endured in Egypt.

Time and place are also hugely important within the confines of the meal. We’re obviously going to want something different with a Treviso salad depending on whether it’s served as a starter or between a pasta dish and main. 

Picking wines to go with starters gives us the chance to explore the joys of what might euphemistically be called neutral varieties. The Trebbianos and Verdicchios of the world. Delicate, lightly herbal or with a hint of citrus peel and white flowers. Wines to sit to the side and quietly help you slide into lunch time proper. They’re pale, and perfectly catch the early springtime sun. 

I like serving a tangle of bitter leaves to the side of grilled meat, particularly steak. I find the bitterness helps me with the richness of the beef fat and the heavy salting in turn helps hide the bitterness. In this case, I like wines made with a decent amount of whole bunch, the slight stalky herbaceousness is very much in the same flavour space as the bitterness of chicory. Cinsault, Carignan, Gamay or Pinot Noir can all often have the right sort of weight and perfumed stalkiness to work wonderfully here. Plus they’re all of the right sort of weight to have at lunch, which is when all the best people prefer to eat.