Chicory

Chicory is the wildflower of roadsides and old fields — its piercing sky-blue daisy flowers open in the morning and close by early afternoon. The flowers appear in succession along tall, branching stems from midsummer into autumn, the whole plant with a spare, angular quality. It is too short-lived in the vase to be worth cutting; its real value is elsewhere.

In the landscape it earns its keep without any help. The deep taproot pulls it through drought and breaks up compacted clay, so it thrives on poor ground where little else will, and the long bloom season makes it a reliable nectar source for bees and other pollinators well into autumn. Left to its own devices it naturalises into open meadow and roadside plantings, where the morning blue is hard to match. It is vigorous enough to be considered a weed, so site it where it can spread without crowding more delicate plants.

Its most famous use is in the cup. The roots, roasted and ground, brew into a dark, slightly bitter drink that has stood in for — or stretched — coffee for centuries. The association with the American South dates to the Civil War, when Union blockades cut off the coffee supply and households turned to roasted chicory to make their beans last. The habit stuck, and New Orleans coffee is still traditionally cut with chicory, served as café au lait alongside beignets. Beyond the root, the young leaves are edible, eaten as a bitter salad green, and the plant is the wild ancestor of cultivated radicchio and Belgian endive.