 does not seem to have suffered, and so far, neither have my arteries. For best results, choose endive with sleek, tight leaves and no bruises or discolorations, and opt for smaller specimens over large ones.
Rinse the endive, dry them lightly, and remove their outermost leaves. If the root end is brown or looks dried out, trim it lightly. Cut each endive in half lengthwise.
Warm the olive oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add as many endive as will fit in a loose layer, cut side down, and cook until the cut sides are nicely browned, about 4 minutes. Flip the endive, and cook them for a minute or two on the other side; them remove them to a large (9” by 13”) baking dish, arranging them cut side up. Add the butter to the skillet. When it has melted and is no longer foaming, add the remaining endive, and brown them as instructed above and place them in the baking dish. The endive should fit in a single layer in the dish.
There should still be a thin sheen of butter in the skillet. Still over medium heat, add the prosciutto to the skillet, and turn them gently but quickly to slick them with butter. Tuck the strips between, around, and on top of the endive in the baking dish.
Pour the chicken broth into the skillet, and bring it to a boil over medium-high heat. Using a wooden spoon or spatula, scrape the skillet to loosen any flavorful bits; then pour the hot broth over the endive and prosciutto in the baking dish.
Cover the dish snugly with foil, slide it into the oven, and braise the endive until they are very tender when pierced with a paring knife, about 35 minutes. Remove the foil, and baste the endive by spooning over any juices in the pan. If the pan is dry, add 2 Tbs of water. Braise, uncovered, for another 8 to 10 minutes, until the pan juices have turned a caramel color and have almost completely evaporated. Pour over the heavy cream, and bake until it takes on a caramel color, about 6 minutes more. Serve warm or at room temperature, with salt and pepper to taste.
Yield: 3 to 6 servings, depending on what else is on the plate.
Now you have meade me crave endives, must go shopping! ciao!
Count me among the endive (n-dive, on-deeve?) lovers, Molly. I have a < HREF="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1841721522/qid=1137744038/sr=8-1/ref=pd_bbs_1/104-4690082-8910369?n=507846&s=books&v=glance" REL="nofollow">cookbook <>I think you might like. In it, there’s a recipe for braised (!) endive with leeks and white beans on smooky mashed potatoes. Really good.
Molly, my endive love was slow in the making too but strangely it started at a Belgian brasserie in Toronto a few years ago and I’ve been hooked ever since. Alhough I have never braised it, I usually only sautee it for a ridiculous amount of time in butter until it is soft and browned and yummy.. But adding crispy pork of any kind to endive is an idea that I cant resist. I will definitely give this recipe a try.
How do you do it? Each post is better than the last!
Oh dear. I’m beginning to think that Stevens’ book belongs on my bookshelf. I don’t want to have to do it. But I might succumb. Especially if I read about one more incredible recipe of hers. But really especially if described in such lovely terms as you did. Salty slap of prosciutto? 🙂 Perfect.
what an interesting bit of synchronicity writing about endive.the monthly salad at the SF restaurant where i work (and that you often mention in your posts and recipes) has changed to a frisee and endive salad with Gruyere and it has inspired me.before this, i’ve eaten endive as an anemic appetizer with a blop of bad cream cheese in it, or– the other end of the spectrum– as a tasty bite dipped in <>bagna cauda<>, but that’s about it. thanks to the menu at work now, i’ve added endive to my salad bowl.if i find small heads, i can pluck the leaves whole and toss them with other greens and the vinaigrette. or again using them whole, toss them with cut segments or cut cross-sections of blood oranges (which are everywhere now, fortunately) or mandarins, pungent cheese, chopped herbs, and what remains of my good olive oil a friend brought back from Tuscany. pretty simple stuff, but really delicious. the endive’s sweet, gentle bitterness is a nice foil against the oranges and the cheese especially.and all of your writing about braising has finally turned on my curiosity.in winter, i’m a big fan of roasting vegetables– crisp, caramelly edges of anything are tasty. but your posts have sparked an interest in trying it and then comparing it to what i like about roasting. so if i have my choice later at the market, i’ll make my maiden voyage into unknown braising territory with the endive as opposed to celery, fennel, or cabbage. one thing i discovered that i love about endive is its size and scale. it’s easy to work with only a few small heads and not have too many leftovers to deal with, it’s like automatic portion control. halve the recipe, pack the endive into smaller casseroles, (possibly lower the oven temp) and bingo, it’s perfect for one or two. thanks for lauding endive’s praises, i’m with you on this one.
Braising, eh? I’ve only ever eaten endives raw — as a crudité or in a delicate salad. Now I know another way to try them … mmm … with prosciutto and cream, to boot!
Do you have any suggestions for a vegetarian alternative to the prosciutto? I have to join all of your other readers and commend you on your wonderful blog!
That is funny about how you learnt to love them in Paris. I had never had an endive until I was living in France. My host parents served them as waterlogged, squashy squeaky little piles before we would move onto our main meal of meat. I suppose it turned me off of them so much I never dared to order them in any of the restaurants I went to. I probably ought to give them another go. Thanks for the push!
a vegetarian alternative to prosciutto could be Parmesan cheese cut with a vegetable peeler– wide ribbons. if added before braising, i have a feeling the cheese would disintegrate during the cooking process. so, i’m finishing the dish with some cheese slivers on top during the last minutes in the oven or just a <>few<> seconds under the broiler after it’s all done.
Once again, beautiful, my dear. Like you, I’ve fallen in love with braising this winter. Swoony love. Utterly. Fennel, endive, chicken… you name it. And I hear tell of a pork braised in milk….
Molly Precious Molly. Honey, I simply cannot relate to what you’ve done to endive and I’m so tempted to tie it in with the cadaver class I’ve just finished at Bastyr but I shall do the impossible and restrain myself. I’m really writing about the rain. I can help steer you to a bit of brightness among the gloom. If you haven’t yet been to Veil on the flats of Queen Anne on Taylor, make it your next stop. Not only is the food fabulous but the lighting makes you feel sunny all over, inside and out. Veil is draped in veils so the light coming through the many windows is dreamy to start with but the lights are tinted so the bar (where I spend most of my time) is a Cybil-Shepard-in-Moonlighting-pink and the dining room (where there’s a big community table where I saw Osama Bin Laden the other night)is sunrise-sorbet-yellow. Yes, it’s still raining outside but it’s sunshiny inside Veil. I love the New York which they pile up on top of carrots and a slab of spud and there’s some shiny stuff coating everything. It’s really good. It looks like it might be a snobby kind of place (the chef used to work at a Laundry but recently switched careers and now cooks at Veil) but Eric who runs the dining room is a sweetie. He made us feel so welcome our first time there even though we were soaked and wearing workout clothes and due to a knitting disaster, covered with beige peruvian wool which closely resembled cat hair. With all that to comment on, he stayed positive and praised my blood red cashmere scarf with the mink balls on the ends (do you know it? It’s my staple between Thanksgiving and Christmas) and remained silent on the rest of my rather hideous get up. Veil Mol, get yourself to Veil and bask in the glow of the fake golden