As sad as I was to bid farewell to the sweetness of summer lettuces and greens, I have to say I started drooling at the prospect of the bitter bite of the hearty chicories that would soon be filling market stalls and greengrocers' shelves. As versatile as brassicas in everything from salads to soups and stir-fries, the split heads can even take the char from a grill, griddle or broiler.

Right now is the peak moment to check out the rainbow of colors and textures available from local farms—and you'll find the best prices on them at the farmers' market! It's a task I'm completely signed up for, obviously, and fortunately my Stoneboat Farm CSA includes them in its shares almost every week.

If you happen to be averse to the intensity of chicory's bitterness, you can take a page from Nostrana's Chef Cathy Whims and soak the chopped leaves in ice water for a couple of hours ahead of time.

Lately I've been enjoying winter salads by chopping them into salads with a variety of other seasonally appropriate greens and condiments. One green in particular that seems to beautifully complement chicory's bitterness is deep green lacinato kale, sweetened as it always is this time of year by the frosts that cause the plants to flood the leaves with sugars to keep them from freezing. I also love that it adds a dark contrast to the chicory's bright colors, and its bubbly texture adds a soft crunch to the mix.

The variations are endless: I've thrown in crushed hazelnuts, green onions, sweet peppers, chopped beets, capers, dried cranberries—you name it, I've probably tried it. And a sprinkling of grated parmesan or crumbled blue cheese is not a bad idea, either. I like a creamy dressing (see below) but a classic Caesar dressing, a sweet mustard vinaigrette or even a fig and balsamic dressing would all do this salad justice.

"A Few of My Favorite Things" Chicory Salad

For the dressing:
3 Tbsp. mayonnaise
1 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
2 Tbsp. rice vinegar
1 clove garlic, pressed in a garlic press
1 Tbsp. white miso
Herbs, finely chopped (I like dried or fresh tarragon or thyme, as well as chopped chives)
1 tsp. honey (optional)

For the salad:
Radicchio or chicory leaves, chopped into 1" pieces
Lacinato kale, chopped into 1/4" chiffonade
Condiments like crushed hazelnuts, slivered green onions, chopped sweet peppers, chopped beets, capers, etc.
Grated parmesan or crumbled blue cheese (optional)

For the dressing, combine ingredients in a small bowl and stir until smooth.

Combine salad ingredients in appropriately sized salad bowl, drizzle with dressing of your choice and toss.

I've been ashamed to admit it, but every spring for years now I've been mocked by the sorrel I planted five or six years ago. Just three little plants, stuck in the dirt at one end of the raised beds that Dave built in the one sunny spot in our very shady yard. Every spring, like clockwork, they push out new leaves, joining the previous ones still hanging around that apparently kept it alive through some brutal winter temperatures and several days of six-inch-thick ice.

The plants have grown larger every year, and for all those years I did my level best to figure out what to do with the abundance of leaves, once trying to pan fry them like other greens, which turned them into a mass of grey, gooey mush, or another time stirring them into a potato-leek soup that made the color and the goo less noticeable.

Chopping a few leaves into a salad was okay, but adding much more than four or five leaves, and their tangy, citrus-y bite overwhelmed the pleasant sweetness of the other greens. A pesto using half sorrel and half of another herb like spinach or parsley or basil worked, pepping up its flavor and giving it a lively greenness. But any of the above only used a smidgen of what the prolific plants were producing.

My epiphany came with my recent adaptation of a sweet red wine vinaigrette that I came up with to dress the lighter, more delicate spring salad greens, a change from the creamy vinaigrettes and Caesar-type salad dressings I use for winter's salads.

Would a sweet dressing counterpoint the bite of the sorrel? Only one way to find out, and my family is always my go-to for experiments, since I can trust their honesty and forthrightness even if it's on the order of "What have you done???"

My first attempt was a simple one, just a chiffonade of sorrel with green olives and crushed hazelnuts with that sweet dressing—it got an enthusiastic thumbs-up around the table. The second (top photo) was more hearty, with the sorrel chiffonade topped with leftover roasted asparagus, tetsukabuto squash and roasted pumpkin seeds tossed with the dressing. Another success!

So I'm passing it on, and with the well-entrenched plants furiously producing new leaves in a pitched battle to defeat the army of snails and slugs chewing holes in them. I'm getting ideas about trying it with a gremolata of hard-boiled eggs, capers, and parsley, among other ideas. Wish me luck!

Sorrel Salad with Sweet Red Wine Vinaigrette

For the dressing:
1/4 c. extra virgin olive oil
2 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
1 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
2 Tbsp. honey
1 tsp. dried Italian seasoning (or a combo of basil, thyme, rosemary and marjoram)
1 small clove garlic, crushed
1 tsp. sea salt

For the salad (see story for more suggestions):
3-4 c. sorrel, cut into chiffonade
1/4 c. hazelnuts, crushed
8 Spanish anchovy-stuffed olives, chopped
1/4 c. raisins or currants (optional)
Salt to taste

Put all dressing ingredients in a small lidded jar. Shake.

In a salad bowl combine sorrel, hazelnuts, olives and raisins (or whatever ingredients you're using). Pour 3 Tablespoons of the dressing over the salad and toss. Add salt and fresh ground pepper to taste, adding more dressing if desired.