Salads Are Hot!
Or, at the very least, warm. Especially if you cook them.
A QUESTION WE GET A LOT here at the Department of Salad is a variation on: But doesn’t including [insert random ingredient here] kind of defeat the entire purpose of salad?
In my mind, after I envision my head falling off, my imagined response is What has led you to believe that salad must have a purpose? Does a hotdog have a purpose? Does soup?
The implication of such questions, which usually concern a delicious (and possibly calorie-dense or rich) ingredient like blue cheese or bacon or cream, is, of course, that salad is “diet food.” That it is meant to cure something. That it has to be unenjoyable, like medicine.
If I didn’t brush off these kinds of queries and go about my day, I’d find myself stewing, offended by the idea that any mortal could ever execute the job of legislating salad. (But if it has to have a purpose, my opinion is that it is to make people happy and to be delicious. Totally achievable!)
But human beings insist on building little fences around all things rather than just allowing them to exist as they are, which reminds me of the Rick Danko song, Small Town Talk. I love this serene acoustic version from Boz Scaggs.
When I get questions about the very idea of what salad even is, I answer in terms of what a salad can be, an idea I have written about extensively. And sometimes a salad is a salad simply because you say it is.
Thankfully, I am usually able to dismiss hostile challenges to the ineffableness of salad and continue pursuing my original and true mission: To explore the kaleidoscopic beauty of salad until the day I die—which I hope will not be for decades—or the day I am replaced by a robot—which, quite frankly, could happen any minute.
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All of which is to say that in spite of the constant assault on salad, I am able to operate in a calm state of assured peace of mind, living the life of a joyous pilgrim.
But that came to an abrupt end just a few weeks ago—however temporarily—when I was a guest on Dan Pashman’s extremely popular, James Beard award-winning, long-running podcast, The Sporkful. You can listen to the episode by clicking below, if you missed it.
But until you do, I can tell you that I was stumped by a question I could have sworn I’d pondered thoroughly at some point over the last four years, during the life of this very specific newsletter.
We discussed the parameters of salad, and at some point I piously announced that anything can be a salad, which is something I do all the time, as if I were in charge of salad (I’m not). Pashman, a rigorous man who recently published a terrific and inventive cookbook that takes on what pasta dishes can be, Anything’s Pastable: 81 Inventive Pasta Recipes for Saucy People, sort of jokingly asked if spaghetti and meatballs could be a salad. (By the way: I wrote about his book and included a delicious recipe for his stupendous Raw Heirloom Puttanesca with Fish Sauce and Calabrian Chili, in this issue.)
It went like this:
Emily Nunn: Anything that you can eat can be a salad.
Dan Pashman: So is spaghetti and meatballs a salad?
Emily Nunn: Okay. Now, see ...
Now, I’ve said before that I draw the line at hot pasta salads—hot pasta salad is just pasta. But Pashman continued his violent attack on my fragile world view.
Which went like this:
Dan Pashman: Right. [LAUGHS] So what’s the example of like a warm salad that doesn't veer into being some other dish?
Emily Nunn: Like a warm mushroom salad.
Dan Pashman: But it sounds like the idea — a warm salad is kind of an exception. I mean, there's not that many things that would be served warm that you would say are a salad.
Emily Nunn: You know what? I'm going to have to get back to you on that because I think I could probably find hundreds of them.
I did not turn up hundreds of warm salads. Which surprised me because despite the fact that it’s not the direction my mind automatically takes when you say the word “salad,” I do love warm salads and have featured a few, including from my friend and cookbook idol Diana Henry (one of which you can find here), and in my very first issue of the Department of Salad (a warm lemon quinoa, spinach, and shiitake mushroom dish that I’ve eaten again and again, and which you can find here).
But, again, I didn’t find hundreds, and I couldn’t think of 50. Or 20.
During my search, I got excited and confused when I came across what I assumed to be an actual warm pasta salad—I’d finally found one! But it turned out to be a pasta dish based on Caesar salad ingredients. And it was really, really, really good. So even though it’s not a salad, it has the elements of a famous one, so I’m going to blow my mind and yours and send you that pasta recipe later this week.
And then I recalled two dishes from two of my favorite books, the British cookbook River Cottage Great Salads, by Gelf Anderson, and Vegetable Literacy, by the great veg-centric chef and cookbook author Deborah Madison. I’d marked both with a little piece of paper poking out of the pages, but never tried either one of them. I’d like to thank Dan Pashman for the inspiration to finally do so. I feel like these two recipes are firmly warm salads, and do not veer into being some other dish.
Lucky us! They’re both absolutely divine.
The first one, which is completely cooked, has a good bit of richness and comes together in a single pan; it serves two, so you could devour it from one big plate with two forks or bring the pan to the table with some bread for a light supper. The second one, which is only partly cooked, is lighter than the first but still entree-worthy, thanks to a bit of cheese and a really satisfying mix of flavors and textures. I’d advise keeping both recipes pinned to the fridge door, because they’re easy and fast—and also luscious enough to demand repeat performances. Trust me. Trust meeeeee!
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*RECIPE: Tuscan Kale (Cavolo Nero) and Peach Salad with Cashews and Blue Cheese, from River Cottage Great Salads
Serves 2
The original River Cottage recipe notes how “the deep earthy flavor” of Tuscan aka Cavolo aka dinosaur kale is “counteracted by the sweetness of the peach and the saltiness of the cheese”—and I could not agree more. If you cook this dish in a decent-looking pan, you can just bring it straight to the table from the stove without transferring it to a platter, especially since it just serves 2 people.
Swaps: Substitute an apple or pear for the peach when the fruit isn’t in season; both work well.
8 ounces Tuscan Kale (aka Cavolo or dinosaur kale), thick stalks removed, leaves roughly torn into pieces
1 ripe peach, halved, pitted, and sliced
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 garlic clove, sliced
2 ounces cashews (I used roasted salted)
5 ounces good blue cheese (River Cottage suggests Benleigh Blue or another good crumbly blue cheese—or an ash-covered goat’s cheese)
Salt and pepper
Place a large saucepan over medium heat and add the olive oil. When hot, add the garlic and the cashews and cook, stirring, until the garlic takes on a little color.
Add the kale and peach slices to the pan and turn up the heat to high. Cook briefly, stirring constantly, until the kale starts to wilt down. Remove from the heat and season with salt and pepper to taste.
Transfer the salad to a warm platter, crumble over the blue cheese, and serve.
*RECIPE: Warm Cauliflower Salad with Cheddar and Caraway, slightly adapted from Vegetable Literacy
Serves 4 or so
In the note for the original recipe (which calls for goat Havarti —substituting a good cheddar is really the only change I’ve made), Deborah Madison recommends that you keep the cauliflower florets small and that you dress them while still warm, even if you don’t want to eat the salad until later. I love this dish warm, cold from the fridge, and room temperature—I’ve eaten gobs and gobs of it—but I highly recommend serving it warm, because the heat amplifies the flavor of the cheese, which plays so nicely with all the wonderful flavors and textures here. To serve it warm, though, you really do need to follow the recipe so that you have everything prepped and ready to toss with the warm steamed cauliflower.
1 cauliflower, broken into small florets
Mustard-Caper Vinaigrette (method below)
3 stalks celery, finely diced
1 small handful celery leaves, slivered
1 small bunch green onions, white parts and an inch of the firm greens, thinly sliced
½ cup small cubes good cheddar cheese (or goat Havarti or goat cheddar)
2 teaspoons caraway seeds, toasted in a dry skillet
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
Fresh lemon juice
Put the cauliflower florets on a steaming rack over boiling water, cover, and steam for about 6 minutes. Taste a piece. It should be barely tender, as it will continue to cook in the residual heat.
While the cauliflower is cooking, make the vinaigrette. When the cauliflower is ready, toss it in a shallow bowl with the vinaigrette. Add the celery, celery leaves, green onions, cheese, and caraway seeds and toss again. Taste for salt, season with pepper, and add lemon juice if the flavor needs sharpening. Serve warm or at room temperature
Deborah Madison’s Mustard-Caper Vinaigrette
Makes about ½ cup
Deborah Madison’s original recipe uses 2 teaspoons Dijon mustard and 1 teaspoon coarse mustard. I just used a tablespoon of Dijon.
2 tablespoons aged red wine or sherry vinegar, or lemon juice
1 large shallot, finely diced
1 clove garlic, minced
Sea salt
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
⅓ cup olive oil
Freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons snipped chives
1 tablespoon chopped parsley
3 tablespoons capers
Combine the vinegar, shallot, garlic, and ¼ teaspoon salt in a jar with a tight fitting lid. Let stand for 10 minutes, then add the mustard and oil and shake vigorously until emulsified. Grind in a little pepper, then stir in the chives, parsley, and capers. Taste and adjust the seasonings as needed.
🥬 🥬🥬 🥬That’s It! We’re done here! We’ll see you soon with a recipe for authentic Aloo gobi. I’m kidding—it’s going to be salad.
🥬🥬🥬 ONE MORE THING: Please remember that while you may receive The Department of Salad as an e-mail, all issues of the newsletter—along with any corrections, the archive, and our Fancy New Recipe Index—are always available at the Department of Salad website. (You can always search “The Department of Salad” or go directly to emilyrnunn.substack.com.) All the recipes from all the newsletters will be there for you. To search the Index, simply use the search function (command F) that produces a search bar in the upper-right-hand corner of the page.
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You write the best opening paragraphs of any newsletters I regularly read. Wait - I'm not saying the rest of your newsletters aren't as good! I just think the openers are *particularly* amazing...
I'm ending this comment now before it gets me into trouble.
Salad is always hot! And you, too Emily, are a kind of high priest (priestess ?) of this classic tradition. Only a self starving philistine would suggest that salad must have a point and that point must be denial and sacrifice. ( The question of point or purpose can be asked of everything and typically generates either a Platonic/religious response, or a cynical insistence that nothing matters at all and there is no point. So dull!)
Salad-like chocolate—exists for its full and fabulous self.
And of course there’s a long tradition of warm salads. German warm potato salad. Grilled romaine leaves as salad. Warm lentil salad. Winter spinach salad with something grilled and pot liquor. Fried chicken salad. Sizzling tofu and greens salad or similar greens either a perfect fried egg.
Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds—and the salad world is filled with alteration.
Emily—you are the best. Please, please put all your thoughts and recipes into (another) book.