Wander through any Roman market and you’ll see bins overflowing with leafy greens year-round. Many are varieties of chicory, all sold under the universal label “cicoria.” In Roman kitchens, they receive nearly identical treatment: trimmed, blanched, wrung out, then cooked again in extra-virgin olive oil infused with garlic and chile. In the colder months, another form of chicory appears on the same stalls: puntarelle.

Puntarelle is a variety of catalogna, a type of chicory with long, serrated leaves cultivated primarily in Lazio, the central Italian region of which Rome is both capital and chief consumer. While the spiky outer greens are stripped away—sometimes discarded, sometimes cooked—it’s the pale, tender, hollow stalks at the center that Romans prize. These shoots aren’t leaves but immature flower stems that form when the plant senses it’s time to reproduce. As temperatures drop and daylight shifts, the chicory begins sending up these tightly packed shoots in preparation for flowering, a process known as bolting. Romans intercept that transformation, harvesting the plant just as it starts to change course. The result is something not quite a stalk and not quite a sprout that’s crisp and built for crunch.

You’ll occasionally see a market shopper buy a whole head of puntarelle to prepare at home. More often, though, Italians rely on pre-prepped puntarelle—stalks that have been forced through screens (some improvised, others using the official TaPu-branded cutters) to form thin ribbons. Plunged into ice water, the stalks undergo a kind of transformation: They crisp up, curl into spirals, and take on a translucent glow. Once drained, they’re ready to be sold. A few handfuls per person is all you need.

For all its winter market presence, puntarelle isn’t exactly versatile. Romans don’t roast it, bake it into tarts, or turn it into soups. They make one thing: puntarelle alla Romana. Calling it a recipe feels reductive—it’s more of a ritual. The stalks are drenched in a garlic-and-anchovy vinaigrette sharpened with vinegar and mellowed with extra-virgin olive oil. The result is savory, bitter, and pleasantly balanced. The puntarelle’s subtle bite reins in the punch of the dressing, pulling everything into focus.

Though deeply rooted in Roman food culture, puntarelle hasn’t quite crossed over abroad. It hasn’t even spread widely across Italy, though you’ll find varieties cultivated in the Veneto and Puglia, where they’re often served atop fava bean purée. Stateside, you might spot it at farmers markets and Italian specialty stores in New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle—but it often arrives untrimmed, its treasure hidden behind thick, rugged leaves. You have to know what you’re looking for. 

Thankfully, a small group of Pacific Northwest growers and enthusiasts has taken on the role of chicory evangelists, teaching chefs and consumers alike how to recognize and prepare puntarelle. In Oregon, Lane Selman’s Culinary Breeding Network bridges the gap between plant breeders, farmers, chefs, and eaters, creating a collaborative space where flavor—not just yield—drives crop development. Through tastings, field trials, and regional events like Chicory Week, the network has spotlighted the complexity and appeal of bitter greens. By connecting the dots between seed and plate, Selman has helped spread the chicory gospel, turning what was once a niche taste into a celebrated part of the American winter pantry. It’s a slow, seasonal process—one that depends on farmers and chefs to champion puntarelle and other chicories at markets, restaurants, and events, gradually introducing home cooks and diners to their bold, uncompromising flavors year after year. Here’s what to do with puntarelle if you find it at your local supermarket or farm stand.

Pound some garlic and anchovies (the amount depends on how bold you want the flavor) with a mortar and pestle, then whisk in vinegar and olive oil until the mixture emulsifies into a punchy, creamy vinaigrette. Toss the raw puntarelle ribbons with the dressing and serve as a starter or side. You can blitz the dressing in a food processor or blender instead—and many do—but nothing beats a good old-fashioned mortar and pestle.

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Blanch puntarelle ribbons in boiling water generously seasoned with vinegar, salt, and sugar. Dry them thoroughly, then transfer to a jar with a few parsley sprigs and cover with extra-virgin olive oil. Set aside for a few hours to marinate, then serve at room temperature with garlic-rubbed toasts. 

Blanch the leaves in salted boiling water, then drain, wring out excess moisture, and cook in extra-virgin olive oil with garlic and chile flakes until soft. 

Scatter puntarelle alla Romana atop a thin-crust Roman-style pizza, cut into wedges, and serve.

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