In the early 1980s, when radicchio was just appearing in restaurants like Chez Panisse and Fourth Street Grill in Berkeley, I had a vegetable seed company. Le Marche Seeds International sold European and Asian seed varieties, supplying some of the pioneering organic market growers of the era as well as home gardeners who wanted to grow, for example, radicchio, a leafy vegetable in the chicory family.

One spring, my partner and I decided to take a quick trip to Italy to visit our seed supplier there to see what we could learn about radicchio. Our supplier was located in Cesena, near the radicchio-epicenter town of Chioggia, just 25 miles south of Venice, where the vegetable originated hundreds of years ago.

After an initial greeting and a cup of espresso, our colleagues drove us out to vast, sandy fields on the Adriatic coast, where radicchio heads stretched as far as you could see. We stood in the field, looking down at the heads around us, all covered in frost-nipped, dark brown, molding leaves, and worried.

“Pull the outside leaves away,” we were told. So we bent over the closest head and gently pulled back the slippery leaves, which had served as protection against the chilly temperatures. Beneath was a perfect, bright magenta and white head of radicchio.

Our stay included a visit to a huge warehouse on the edge of Chioggia, where bins of newly harvested radicchio were waiting to be shipped out across Italy and Europe and to the United States.

That night at dinner, we were each brought a bowl of torn radicchio leaves, accompanied by a bottle of olive oil and several lemons. We followed our hosts’ lead, pushing the leaves to the side, putting some olive oil in the bowl, squeezing in fresh lemon and finally adding a little salt before turning the leaves in the mixture.

The natural bitterness of the leaves, tamed by the oil and balanced by the citrus, all bound together with salt, was magical. A little bread for dipping, a glass of white Veneto wine, and the salad quickly disappeared.

In recent years, radicchio has gone from an exotic, niche winter vegetable to an American staple, ubiquitous in bagged mixed salads and sharing space in the produce aisle with romaine and other mainstream greens.

Credit for this is due in part to the perseverance and vision of Joe Manchini of Watsonville-based J. Marchini Farms, who pioneered commercial radicchio growing in the U.S. in 1989, and of Italians Lucio Gomiero and Carlo Boscolo who teamed with Salinas Valley growers to produce radicchio in the 1980s under the label European Vegetable Specialties, now Royal Rose.

Today, the two companies are among the world’s largest radicchio producers, growing radicchio year-round. They primarily grow strains of Chioggia radicchio, the classic round magenta head we see in local markets. They also grow Castelfranco, whose pale yellow leaves are flecked with crimson, as well as the long, oval heads of Treviso. The leaves of Treviso are magenta, like Chioggia, but with much wider white ribs.

But it’s in the Bay Area wintertime farmers markets that you might find the varieties of chicories that proliferate in Italian markets, particularly those of the Veneto in northern Italy where radicchio originated.

You’ll likely spot Chioggia and Treviso types grown by small farms, such as Santa Cruz County’s Dirty Girl and Marin County’s Star Route Farms and Marin Roots. But these farmers are also experimenting with different varieties, such as Tardivo Treviso, a late variety of Treviso which has long, twisted white stalks edged with thin magenta leaves — it looks like a large sea anemone or octopus.

A striking pair of pinks, Chicory Rosa, with flaring white-ribbed, pale pink leaves, and Verona Pink, with pink-hued leaves in various shades, make appearances. Look too for Pan di Zucchero — which translates to Sugar Loaf — with its long oval head of tightly curled, pale green leaves.

Most unusual of all is Puntarelle, whose heavy, clumped cluster of dark green stalks needs special treatment. Puntarelle is particularly cherished by the Romans, and I’m very fond of the salad that takes the city’s name: Puntarelle alla Romana. The vegetable’s tubular stalks are trimmed from the woody base, then cut into thin slices to soak in ice water for an hour or more. Drained and dried, the succulent, curling thins are tossed with an anchovy dressing. (Puntarelle’s flavor is actually rather mild. It’s the dressing that’s pungent. If you would like to make it milder, use less garlic and anchovy.)

All these chicories can be treated more or less the same culinarily. Generally speaking, the lighter the color of the chicories, the milder the flavor. Their most common use is in salads — and a radicchio riff on Caesar salad is my winter go-to. Served with some good bread, it can be a meal in itself.

But radicchio is also excellent grilled or sauteed, especially the firm-headed ones like Treviso and classic Chioggia. Grilling radicchio is not only easy and quick to do, it is delicious. The slightly charred, slightly smoky flavor of the grilled vegetable pairs especially well with grilled steak. And radicchio risotto is a specialty of the Veneto. Here, it’s finished with Taleggio, a creamy cheese that balances the desirable, slight bitterness of the radicchio. Serve this as a first course or as a main, accompanied by a simple green salad and crusty bread.

Buon appetito!