A simple green salad in the middle of the table is an omnipresent part of a Spanish meal, just as a filled fruit bowl appears at the end. Generally enlivened with a few thin slices of red onion, some wedges of tomato, and a handful of olives, the salad is dressed with only extra-virgin olive oil plus some drops of vinegar (ideally nutty sherry vinegar). This year-round accompaniment—so familiar, so stable—is to be stabbed at with a fork from the platter rather than served on individual “salad plates.” (If the table is long, each end gets a platter.)
But in summertime, with salad greens vibrant and tomatoes bursting with sweetness, comes the desire to use the salad as a base for a first course or even a light meal. Bucked up with preserved white asparagus, fresh cheese, and maybe some cold cuts, whatever can be rummaged in the pantry or crisper drawer of the refrigerator, salads really begin to find their voice.
Or voices. Spanish salads go far, far beyond the lettuce ones in the center of the table. Across the country, traditional salads are prepared by combining such disparate ingredients as high-quality tinned bonito del norte tuna and small cooked white beans (see page 55); bitter curly endive in a robust sauce of garlic, dried red peppers, and almonds (see page 47); shredded salt cod with tomatoes and onions (see page 54); and even, a favorite of mine, flakes of just-grilled salt cod with orange segments and black olives (see page 53). All of these are inevitably given a generous dousing of extra-virgin olive oil. Perhaps one of the very few that doesn’t get olive oil is the heavenly combination of cold wedges of melon (or fresh figs split in half) with slices of dry-cured jamón (see page 57).
I’ve put the classic Spanish gazpacho in this chapter with salads because it is really just that, a puréed salad (as opposed to a “soup”). Fresh and refreshing, it’s ideal for those scorching summer days that blanket much of the country. Salmorejo (page 62) is gazpacho’s thicker, richer, and more filling cousin that is eaten all year round.
The more elaborate salads tend to be first courses, but with slices of jamón or cured cheeses, some good bread—ideally rubbed with tomato and soaked in olive oil (see page 68)—and a cold bottle of Mahou or Alhambra beer on a still-warm evening, the last of the light draining from the sky, they make a wonderful dinner unto themselves.
