This whole salad started because I was wandering around a specialty butcher that happens to sell a small selection of imported vegetables. I always end up looking at the vegetables. Even if I don't need vegetables. It's become a problem.
Anyway, I spotted chicory and realised I'd never actually cooked it before. I'd seen it on menus. I'd watched chefs do elegant things with it. I'd probably eaten it at some point without paying attention. But I'd never actually brought it home. Thankfully they were sold loose, so I could do the completely ridiculous thing of buying exactly two heads. Who does that? Apparently me.
Then I spotted some colourful radishes. Into the basket they went. I wasn't entirely sure what I was making yet, but that has never stopped me before.
Dinner rolled around and I found myself staring at two heads of chicory wondering what exactly roasted chicory was supposed to taste like. After a lengthy discussion with ChatGPT, a plan emerged. The chicory would be roasted with olive oil and a little honey. The chickpeas would roast until crisp. The radishes would stay fresh. The grapes would go into the oven just long enough to soften and become fragrant. Everything would get tied together with goat cheese and a simple vinaigrette.
The whole thing came together in about half an hour. Enough effort to feel like you've cooked something interesting. Not so much effort that you're questioning your life choices halfway through.
Most importantly, it answered the question. Roasted chicory is wonderful. The bitterness softens. The edges caramelise. It becomes nutty and slightly sweet and somehow much friendlier than it looks sitting raw in the vegetable section.
Ingredients
- 2 small heads chicory, halved lengthwise
- ½ can chickpeas, drained and dried well
- 12–15 shine muscat grapes (or any sweet green grape)
- 4–6 colourful radishes, thinly sliced
- 40–60g goat cheese
- 1 tbsp pumpkin seeds or sunflower seeds
- 1 tbsp olive oil
- Salt and black pepper
- 1 tsp honey
- Optional: pinch of dried mint, rubbed between your fingers
- — Vinaigrette —
- 1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
- 1 tsp Dijon mustard
- 3 tbsp olive oil
- Pinch of salt and black pepper
Method
- Heat the oven to 200°C.
- Toss the chickpeas with a little olive oil, salt and black pepper. Spread onto a baking tray in a single layer. Roast for about 25–30 minutes, shaking the tray once or twice during cooking.
- While the chickpeas roast, place the chicory halves onto a second tray. Drizzle with olive oil and season with salt and black pepper. Roast for about 20–25 minutes until softened and lightly caramelised around the edges.
- During the last 8–10 minutes of roasting, add the grapes to the chicory tray. During the last 3–4 minutes, drizzle the honey lightly over the chicory and return to the oven.
- While everything cooks, whisk together the balsamic vinegar, Dijon mustard, olive oil, salt and black pepper.
- Slice the radishes. Toast the seeds in a dry pan for 2–3 minutes until fragrant.
- Arrange the roasted chicory on a serving plate. Scatter over the chickpeas and roasted grapes. Add the sliced radishes. Crumble over the goat cheese. Scatter over the toasted seeds. If using dried mint, rub it between your fingers and sprinkle lightly over the salad.
- Spoon over the vinaigrette. Serve immediately while the chicory is still warm.
Any sweet green grape works if shine muscats aren't available.
Goat cheese can be replaced with feta if needed.
Toasted walnuts or pecans would work instead of seeds.
Chicory likes sweetness. If it tastes too bitter, add a tiny drizzle more honey.
Chicory also likes acidity. If it feels too rich, another splash of balsamic usually fixes the problem.
The entire reason this recipe exists is because I bought exactly two heads of chicory and needed to figure out what to do with them. The shine muscat grapes were honestly a bit of a luxury ingredient, but they worked beautifully. Once roasted, they become intensely fragrant and slightly jammy.
The chickpeas take slightly longer than everything else, but they're worth waiting for. They add crunch and make the salad feel like a proper meal rather than a collection of vegetables pretending to be dinner.
And honestly, that's one of my favourite things about cooking for one. You can buy two heads of a vegetable you've never tried before, satisfy your curiosity, and move on with your life if you hate it. Thankfully, I didn't.
The chicory brings bitterness, which sounds alarming until you pair it with sweet grapes, creamy goat cheese and a little honey. Roasting transforms the chicory completely. The edges caramelise, the bitterness softens and the flavour becomes deeper and nuttier.
The chickpeas add crunch and make the salad substantial enough to call dinner. The radishes stay fresh and peppery, while the goat cheese melts slightly against the warm vegetables. And the balsamic-Dijon vinaigrette pulls everything together without overwhelming the more delicate flavours.
Still slightly warm from the oven. Standing at the kitchen counter. Wondering why it took me so long to buy chicory in the first place.
I kind of want to try this with blood oranges when they're in season. Or maybe pears. Though honestly, the shine muscats were pretty spectacular. For a first date with chicory, I think it went rather well.
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