Food wraps can be found, in one incarnation or another, anywhere in the world that people eat. They include Mexican wraps held together by tortillas of flour and corn, and Asian spring and egg rolls, the contents of which are contained by rice paper or egg noodles. Middle Eastern pita flatbreads are filled with gyro meat and falafel. Italian cannoli pastry is filled with sweetened ricotta cheese and other goodness, while the pasta is stuffed with savory cheese and ragu.
Part of the reason for the ubiquity of wraps is that they can be made with so many different ingredients and allow such an endless variety of perfectly optimized bites. Consider the fish taco, in which the corn tortilla packages a symphony of flavors leveraged against the fish: Creamy sauce, crunchy cabbage, fruity salsa. All of the basic flavors: sweet, salty, sour, and the dark and mysterious newcomer, umami. And fat, of course, the uncrowned king of flavors that amplifies them all.
Wraps allow you to set up one winning combination after another, with no ceiling on the possibilities. The fact that the wrappers themselves are usually made of supple, yummy processed carbohydrates hardly hurts the cause. But there are many kinds of plant leaf out there that are bendy and tasty enough to use as wrappers as well. The shining example in this department would be the nori seaweed sheets that bind sushi together, a successful mouthful if there ever was one.
The salad bites that I’ve been rocking lately have been Mediterranean-themed, built upon the sturdy stems of Italian radicchio.
One thing about radicchio, or any chicory leaf for that matter, is that you have to be OK with bitter. And you should be OK with bitter. It is good in more ways than just beer, and coffee, and chocolate. Cultivating an appreciation for bitter plants is like exercising a muscle. It can be done, and makes you healthier.
I have a garden full of Italian chicory plants of all shapes and colors, as well as romaine, an honorary chicory. But when it’s time for wrapping, the one I reach for most often is the Rossa di Treviso, an elongated variety with lanky, fleshy leaves that stay crispy when stuffed or dipped. I fill them with the likes of tomato, onion, cheese and perhaps a chunk of salmon, wrapped and dipped in a marinade before chewing.
Some notes on bitter leaf wraps:
As with many fresh leaf wraps, they are best done one at a time, just when you are ready to eat it. They don’t always hold together well, especially after you have overloaded them with stuffing, and should be brought to your mouth quickly.
The cheese should be dense and bold, like feta or provolone picante, or perhaps shavings of Romano or Grana Padano. Whenever buying Italian cheeses, look for the DOP designation.
If I’m wrapping fish I use mayonnaise instead of cheese (grape seed oil Vegenaise, to be specific). If I don’t have salmon, pickled herring works well. As do anchovies, or a dab of anchovy paste.
If I do have salmon, and I do a lot these days because it’s in season, I bake it slowly with a sweet rub to balance the bitter of the radicchio. Rub it with a mix of two parts brown sugar and one part salt, with a splash of maple syrup if you’ve got it, and then bake at 215 for about a half hour, until some milky juice starts weeping from the tight, glazed orange flesh. Allow to cool, and break it apart into chunks.
Don’t forget the sliced onion.
Capers don’t hurt.
Tomatoes should be cut so they easily give up their juices. Without a cut surface, a tomato won’t absorb the vinaigrette.
Speaking of which, I use my wife’s radicchio dipping dressing: ∏ cup XVOO, ∑ cup soy sauce, 1⁄3 cup vinegar (half white balsamic, half balsamic).
As you dip, you may have to add more oil, as it hangs out on top and coats each leaf as you remove it (bummer, I know). You decide on a dip-by-dip basis how much dressing to use.
You can also marinate the onions and tomatoes in the dressing before adding them to the wrap, and skip the dip altogether.
Put the wrap in your mouth, chew, and enter a flavor warp. Rinse with water or wine, and repeat.
And that, for lack of a better ending, is a wrap.
Ari LeVaux writes a syndicated weekly food column that’s appeared in more than 50 newspapers in 25 states. Ari can be reached at flash@flashinthepan.net.
