David Tanis Market Cooking

Alas, I grew up on only one kind of salad: a sad naked wedge of iceberg lettuce, with bottled dressing on the side. It’s not that other lettuces didn’t exist—just not in our household. The only variation was that, occasionally, the iceberg was chopped or sliced. And salad was always something in a shallow bowl to the left of the dinner plate, served with the meal rather than as a course of its own. My horizons expanded when we visited my aunt, who served the most delicious salad of mixed lettuces with sliced cucumbers and radishes. She made her own simple dressing with oil and vinegar, right in the bowl. It was easy for even my young taste buds to discern the difference; watching her prepare a salad was an early lesson in cooking.

If I was salad conscious as a boy, it’s fair to say I’m now salad obsessed. I’m absolutely enamored of salad, from the most tender Bibb lettuce leaves with a delicate dressing to forceful, bitter leaves like dandelion and radicchio, which pair so beautifully with anchovy and garlic in a highly seasoned dressing.

I’m jealous of anybody with even the smallest vegetable garden. To me, one of the most heavenly cooking experiences is going out and cutting a head of lettuce (or gathering a bowlful of snipped salad leaves) just before a meal, for the most alive-tasting, freshest salad imaginable. Lacking a garden, you have to be vigilant in selecting your salad greens wherever you find them, the goal being to find lettuces that feel and taste freshly picked.

Obviously the freshest offerings will be at the farmers’ market or farm stand, but even there quality can vary from stall to stall and time of day (get there early!). In the supermarket setting, don’t settle for grab and go. Prewashed salad mixes in a plastic bag or clamshell are generally less than ideal (to put it politely), and they may not contain the mix that is actually wanted. And washing your own salad greens can be relaxing, a pleasure, not a chore—or am I living in an alternate universe? My preference is to buy a variety of medium-sized heads of lettuce and make my own mix, which may include small red or green oak leaf, curly endive, Little Gem, and small Bibb lettuces. I also may use arugula, herbs, watercress . . . anything that’s fresh, leafy, and vibrant.

When you’re choosing large lettuces like romaine, in addition to general appearance and the perkiness of the leaves themselves, check out the root ends to gauge freshness—they should look freshly cut, juicy, and pale green, not brown.

Most lettuce heads need a little cleaning up. This means you may need to jettison the tough outer leaves to the compost bin or save them to use as cooking greens. It is the tender unblemished leaves that you want for a good salad.

Ultimately, my obsession (and hopefully yours too) is about not only the freshness of the salad leaves, but also the care taken in seasoning and dressing them. Always use a light hand. You’ll be much happier.

Tender Lettuce Salad with Crème Fraîche Dressing

An old French custom is to dress tender lettuces lightly with cream and lemon, rather than with oil and vinegar. (Unfortunately, in France and many parts of Europe, this has devolved into commercial “salad cream,” a sad, thin, mayonnaise-based dressing in a squeeze bottle.) Butter lettuces like Buttercrunch, Boston, and Bibb or similar soft, broad-leaved heads are the ones to choose for this salad, though the slightly crisper Little Gem lettuces would also be good.

Put ½ cup crème fraîche in a small bowl, add 1 teaspoon strong Dijon mustard, a pinch each of cayenne, salt, and pepper, ½ teaspoon grated lemon zest, and about 1 tablespoon lemon juice, and beat with a fork to combine. The consistency should be like heavy cream; thin with a little cream or milk if necessary.

Be ruthless in removing the lettuces’ tough outer leaves. Wash and gently dry the lettuce leaves (you’ll need 4 large handfuls) and put them in a wide salad bowl. Sprinkle very lightly with sea salt and drizzle with about 3 tablespoons of the dressing. Dress the salad quickly with your hands, using your fingers to help coat the leaves lightly, then add a little more dressing if needed. Sprinkle with chopped dill, chervil, or chives if desired. Makes 4 servings

Mixed-Leaves Salad

It’s an absolute pleasure to eat a green salad that is well made, dressed perfectly, and in balance, but it takes a good cook to do it. You must develop a feeling for the taste and texture of the greens. For certain salads, you may want the delicious flavor of the oil to predominate, so you use only a few drops of lemon juice. Other salads, especially those with soft or fragile leaves that should be dressed very lightly, need a dressing with more acid so the salad tastes bright. Also consider that some vinegars are sharper than others and sometimes the garlic is more pungent.

Though so-called baby lettuces are trendy (and not to dismiss them), I usually prefer a midsized lettuce, one that has been allowed to grow long enough to acquire some vigor, that won’t wilt immediately upon contact with the dressing, with leaves about 4 inches in length. At the market, look for Lollo Rosso, red romaine, red or green oak leaf, frisée (curly endive), watercress, mâche, or arugula, or for Merveille des Quatre Saisons, deer tongue, salvius, Tango, or other regional varieties. A beautiful mix is the ideal, but a vibrant green salad made with only one type of lettuce can also be perfect.

Make a basic vinaigrette with 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar, 1 tablespoon sherry vinegar or Banyuls vinegar, 1 smashed garlic clove, salt and pepper, and 6 tablespoons olive oil: Whisk these together in a bowl or shake the mixture in a jar. For an emulsified vinaigrette with more body, add ½ teaspoon Dijon mustard.

Put 4 large handfuls (about ½ pound) of washed salad leaves (make sure they are dry, or the dressing will be diluted) in a wide shallow bowl. Sprinkle very lightly with salt and toss the leaves with your hands. The challenge now is to dress the salad perfectly. Be miserly with the dressing—it’s better to dress twice than to risk the sad sight of a salad’s death-by-drowning. Makes 4 servings

Washing and drying lettuce: Lift the salad leaves from the water, allowing the grit to sink to the bottom of the basin. Drain well in a colander, giving the colander a good shake. (You might prefer to use a salad spinner, but I find this method most effective.) Since water is the enemy of a good vinaigrette, blot the washed lettuce leaves and carefully roll them up in a kitchen towel. Refrigerate for up to 2 days in the towel, in a loose-fitting plastic bag.

Romaine Leaves with Lemon and Parmesan

This is a bright, crisp, and satisfying salad. You can use supermarket organic hearts of romaine to make this salad year-round, but seasonal locally grown romaine will make the salad that much better. A whole romaine head has lots of outer leaves that are not salad worthy, though, so I save them for cooking (they’re delicious chopped and cooked in butter or olive oil).

Wash the romaine leaves in cool water, then drain well. To dry the leaves, place them in one layer on kitchen towels, then stack the towels, roll them into a cylinder, and refrigerate. (Or use a salad spinner if you prefer.)

To make the vinaigrette, put the lemon juice in a small bowl and whisk in the mustard and garlic. Whisk in the olive oil and and season with salt and pepper. The dressing will be quite tart, but the flavor of the oil should be evident too.

Put the romaine leaves in a wide salad bowl. Sprinkle very lightly with salt, then drizzle on half the vinaigrette. Toss quickly with your hands to coat the leaves. Taste a leaf and adjust the seasoning, also adding more vinaigrette as necessary. With a sharp vegetable peeler, shave Parmesan curls or shards over the salad. Add a little freshly ground pepper and serve immediately. Makes 4 servings

To make a warm version of this salad, first halve the romaine hearts lengthwise. Paint the cut sides lightly with olive oil and grill briefly over coals (or under the broiler), just until the cut sides are charred and slightly softened. Arrange one heart on each plate and spoon the vinaigrette over them. Add shaved or grated Parmesan, some garlic toast, and an anchovy fillet or two to each salad.

Herb Salads

Above: A platter of tender fragrant salad herbs, ready to be nibbled raw or dressed. Left: A garlicky salad of Italian flat-leaf parsley.

Although you might think of an herb salad as something froufrou served in a restaurant where the cooks use tweezers, it absolutely can be a nice thing at home.

There are many approaches. One is to offer a gorgeous pile of delicate herbs and lettuces simply presented on a platter with no dressing at all, as is common in Vietnamese and Persian cuisines. The fragrant herbs are meant to be nibbled on as a refreshing accompaniment to the meal. The herb mixture may include tiny tender lettuce leaves, parsley sprigs, pale celery leaves, basil leaves, dill fronds, cilantro sprigs, baby mizuna greens or baby spinach, young arugula, chervil sprigs, tarragon leaves, hyssop leaves, borage flowers, and more.

Another way is to dress a small bowlful of tender leafy herbs in the lightest possible way—with a teaspoon of buttery olive oil, or perhaps a nut oil, massaged ever so gently with your fingertips, followed by a little salt and a few drops of lemon or lime juice. In any case, the salad should be barely dressed, nearly naked.

Sometimes even an herb salad can have a forceful personality. For instance, I like to dress a handful of flat-leaf parsley leaves lightly with a garlicky citrus dressing and a light dusting of grated pecorino cheese or Parmesan. This sort of zippy parsley salad tastes good scattered on a pizza or over a steak.

Mixed Chicories with Anchovy, Garlic, and Lemon

Chicories are sturdy cool-weather salad greens, though to call them greens is a little misleading. The most common in the produce section of the supermarket are the round-headed radicchio di Chioggia, mostly crimson with white veins, and ivory-hued pointy-leaved Belgian endive. At the farmers’ market, you may encounter other colorful radicchios, like the oxblood red elongated Treviso and the curlicue Tardivo, or other chicory family members, such as pale speckled Castelfranco, escarole, and frisée. With all chicories, whether raw or cooked, a slight pleasant bitterness is expected.

For a beautiful mixed chicory salad, tear radicchio or Castelfranco leaves into rough 2-inch pieces or slice them into wide ribbons and put them in a salad bowl. Add some frisée (just the pale tender center leaves) and the leaves of 2 or 3 Belgian endives. You’ll need 4 large handfuls (about 6 cups). Make an assertive dressing with 2 garlic cloves and 4 anchovy fillets pounded together, 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard, 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar, 1 tablespoon lemon juice, and a little salt. Whisk in 6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil and some freshly ground pepper.

Season the leaves lightly with salt and drizzle with 3 or 4 tablespoons of the dressing. Toss well and leave the salad alone for about 5 minutes. Then toss again, taste, adding a little more dressing if necessary, and serve. Makes 4 servings

Note: This dressing is also good with dandelion greens (another type of chicory) or any crisp lettuce leaves.

For a simpler chicory salad, sprinkle the leaves with coarse sea salt and dress lightly with a flavorful extra virgin olive oil. Distribute among individual salad plates. Drizzle a small spoonful of aged balsamico over each portion.

Dandelion Greens with Mustard Dressing

For the best dandelion salad you want the leaves to be relatively small and tender—the large dandelion bunches you see in the supermarket are often better cooked (though you could use just the top 6 inches of them for this salad and save the tougher bottoms for cooking). Of course, you can forage for young wild dandelion under the right conditions. If you can’t get dandelion, use sturdy spinach leaves, mizuna, or frisée.