Former auction specialist turned antiques dealer, amateur cook and second-hand book obsessive, Luke Honey has been writing The Greasy Spoon blog since 2007: a personal, unashamedly nostalgic and sometimes irreverent take on the link between food and culture. He lives in London with his wife and book-munching whippet. Current enthusiasms include the food of the American South and London Dry Gin.
When was the last time you had a Waldorf Salad? Does anybody make this anymore or has it been consigned to the culinary dustbin of history? According to our trusty friend, Wikipedia, the classic salad was “first created between 1893 and 1896 at the Waldorf Hotel in New York City. Oscar Tschirky, who was the Waldorf’s maître d’hôtel and developed or inspired many of its signature dishes, is widely credited with creating the recipe...In 1896, Waldorf Salad appeared in The Cook Book by Oscar of the Waldorf; the original recipe did not contain nuts, but they had been added by the time the recipe appeared in The Rector Cook Book in 1928.”
We’ve come across Oscar before. The bright spark who also invented- so we are told- Eggs Benedict and Thousand Island Dressing. The original Waldorf Hotel- built in a splendidly over-the-top German Renaissance style- opened in 1893 on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 33rd Street, on the site of the William Waldorf Astor mansion- now the site of the Empire State Building. The rival Astoria Hotel opened in 1897, built directly next door to the Waldorf; both hotels subsequently linked by a 980ft connexion (“Peacock Alley”) to form the new Waldorf-Astoria. The current Waldorf Astoria (from 1931 to 1963 the world’s tallest hotel) can be found at 301 Park Avenue.
I rather like a Waldorf Salad. It’s a simple old thing, really. Sliced or diced apple, celery and chopped walnuts are bound up in a smooth, creamy mayonnaise. But the visual side of the Waldorf Salad leaves much to be desired. Type “Waldorf Salad” into google images, and you will see what I am getting at. Oh the horror! Remind you of anything? There must be a way round this, presentation wise? Some enterprising chef out there. Please.
For the record, here’s a version as published in 1981. It comes from the Waldorf-Astoria Cookbook, so I don’t think anybody can argue with that. But nutmeats?
Waldorf Salad (From the Waldorf-Astoria Cookbook, by Ted James and Rosalind Cole, 1981)
1 cup diced apple
1 cup diced celery
1/4 cup mayonnaise
4 lettuce leaves
2 tablespoons chopped walnuts or pecans
Mix apples, celery and mayonnaise; pile in lettuce leaf on individual salad plates. Garnish with nutmeats.
I'm back. We had a terrific ball at the Battersea Decorative Antiques Fair and Josephine the Pig has found a new home. Sold to a nursery in one of the more salubrious parts of London, you'll be glad to hear. After all the hard work and anxiety, it's always a relief when your stand passes that designer litmus test, you shift enough stock to make a decent profit and new friends sign up for that golden newsletter subscription list.
But back to things gastronomique. Every now and again a book turns up that I rate. I mean I really rate. Please step forward Nina St Tropez. Nina Parker is a London-based chef who ran Bocca Di Lupo's Gelupo. Now as someone whose Desert Island Discs' luxury thing would be genuine Italian Ice Cream (plus a large American 'fridge) this looked promising. The blurb on the back of the book says:
"Classic. Simple. Delicious. This is the food of the South of France. With over 100 recipes inspired by the old-world glamour and elegance of St Tropez, Nina takes us on a journey to discover the culinary secrets of the town."
Mrs Aitch was the one who first alerted me to the book. She'd read about it on that Voguette's wunder website, A Little Bird. Initially, It looked terribly girly. Nothing wrong with this of course, but there are quite a few of these books currently on the market; you know the thing: numerous lifestyle photographs, pretty girls in Cornish-Wared, retro kitchens; hip parties featuring chiselled, good looking people you have a sneaking suspicion might have been hired from a modeling agency; scented candles territory. And quite often with these sort of books, the recipes don't work.
Well I tell you something- Nina's recipes most certainly work, and not only that, they're extraordinarily delicious. We spent August in Cornwall, at a rather wonderful late 50's house in St Mawes, which my parents rent on a regular basis. It has the most marvellous position, right on the water, with it's own private beach and a sub-tropical garden to die for. Reminds me enormously of that house in Bonjour Tristesse. That slightly dubious B move with silver-foxed, aging roué David Niven wafting around on the terrace in a silk dressing grown, Dry Martini in hand. So what could be more suitable to cook from than Nina St Tropez?
We tried out several recipes. More than once. My current numéro un favourite is her take on Fennel, Carrot and Nutmeg Gratin aka Gratin de Fenouil et Carotte à la Muscade. Mein Gott, this is divine, the nectar of the gods:
Fennel bulbs, Spanish onions and carrots are sliced and placed into a mixing bowl. Crushed garlic, lots of gratednutmeg and fresh thyme leaves are added along with a decent slug of olive oil, sea salt and black pepper. Everything is then well-tossed until the vegetables are well coated.
You then take a baking dish and make a layer of fennel and onions at the bottom. A new layer of sliced carrot is placed on top, and the whole thing is finished off with a final layer of fennel and onions. The dish is placed in a hot oven for just over an hour or so. The vegetables will caramelise and get slightly crunchy and charred, but that is all to the good. A mixture of milk and cream is then poured on top and the dish is sprinkled with sourdough breadcrumbs. The gratin is cooked for a further 15 minutes or so, until the top is crunchy and brown.
It's a terrific (and slightly unusual) combination, the nutmeg, carrot and fennel. Works brilliantly. This is currently in my top ten dishes and I am addicted to it. Well done Miss Parker. Your book is a most definite buy.
The Mexican Day of the Dead (Dia de Muertos) takes place from October 31st to November 2nd. Mexican families gather to honour the departed souls of their loved ones. To us, this may seem macabre, but, in reality, the festival is the exact opposite: it's a joyful occasion with much feasting, dancing and merry-making. Private altars are set up laden with colourful sugar skulls, fruit, marigolds, paper cut-outs and presents. It's an extraordinary, spectacular- and fascinating- carnival.
If you're interested in finding out more, there was a marvellous exhibition at the British Museum, The Skeleton at The Feast, and the accompanying book is still available. Malcom Lowry's neglected minor masterpiece, "Under the Volcano" is worth adding to your reading list. There was also an 'iffy' film starring Albert Finney, Jacqueline Bisset and Anthony Andrews.
I've had a thing about Mexican food now for several years. My first authentic taste was at a drive-in gas station in San Deigo. You paid your money, and a tanned hairy arm shot out of a hole in the wall with your food. I seem to remember empadanitas. Utterly, utterly delicious.
So for this year's Day of the Dead, I've dug out two authentic- and simple- Mexican recipes that could be cooked at home. I'm aware that getting hold of Mexican ingredients, in England at least, can be next to nigh impossible, unless you buy from an online Mexican food supplier. But then that's all part of the fun, isn't it? Both recipes are taken from Marilyn Tausend's excellent Mexican.
Shrimp in Chipotle Sauce
Take 20 raw shrimps (in England, prawns) and marinade them in 8 cloves of minced garlic, 1/4 cup of lime juice, sea salt and pepper. Toss, until well-coated and let them stand for five minutes.
Heat olive oil in a frying pan and add a finely chopped onion. Fry for a few minutes until golden. Add two tins of chopped tomatoes to the pan and let them bubble away. Transfer the lot to your Magimix and whizz. Add two tins of chiles chipotles en adabo, 1/2 cup of Coca-Cola and a pinch or two of dried oregano. Whizz. That's your sauce.
Remove the prawns from the marinade and pat dry. Fry them in olive oil (in batches so that they fry rather than steam) and cook until opaque. You'll find that this happens very quickly. Only takes a minute or so. Try not to over-cook them. Return the sauce to the pan and cook to taste- until the sauce thickens. Add the cooked prawns and toss through. Again, you just want to warm through the prawns, you don't want to over-cook them. That's it. Serve with rice.
Coca-Cola may seem like an odd ingredient, but apparently, since the 1940's, the Mexicans have been using it to replace piloncillo- after all, it's really just a caramelised syrup when you think about it. Mexican ingredients are available online from the award winning: http://www.mexgrocer.co.uk
Watercress Salad with Orange, Apple and Avocado
The original recipe used Jicama, rather than apple. Jicama is the Mexican Turnip, although, just to confuse you, it's not related to the turnip family. It looks a bit like a potato. It has a crunch. The chances of finding Jicama in Britain are remote. It just ain't going to happen- so I've substituted apple.
First, you make the vinaigrette. In a small bowl whisk together lime juice, a thinly sliced green chili, sea-salt and white pepper. Pour in 1/2 cup of olive oil, whisking as you go.
Secondly, the salad. This is just slices of orange, fresh watercress and crisp, peeled apple, cut into thin strips. Dress the salad with the vinaigrette, and carefully fold in sliced hass avocados. Adjust the seasoning with sea-salt, if you feel it needs it, and serve.
Here's another simple after-work supper thing I invented last night. I'll say it myself, this was utterly delicious and I would make it again without hesitation. It's vaguely Southern in influence- but more about that in another post.
Chop up a handful of shallots and sweat them in butter and oil. Next, add chopped up bacon bits. I'm currently rather keen on the slightly tacky American bacon, Oscar Mayer, produced by that sinister corporation, Kraft- it's the sort of bacon you get in diners. I'm sure it's been chemically dried, cured, or treated in some way, as it's guaranteed to go crispy every time you can cook it. You can almost eat it raw too, a bit like cured ham.
Add some finely diced red peppers and a minced red chili or two to the mix. Next, drain a tin of butter beans and add to the pan. If you can be bothered to cook fresh butter beans before hand, so much the better- but I do find that tinned (and pre-cooked) beans and pulses are really almost as good as the dried version, if not, to be frank, the same. Isn't it a case of the Emperor's New Clothes here?
Add a nugget of butter, warm through, and set aside. Make a simple dressing: a teaspoon of white sugar, a splash of sherry or white wine vinegar and lots of lovely groundnut oil, sea salt and white pepper. Spoon the dressing over the bean mixture and garnish with finely chopped spring onions and flat-leafed parsley.
Check the seasoning. I sprinkled over a teaspoon of my latest discovery; a dried sweet smoked paprika, thyme and garlic mix which you can buy in small plastic tubs from the dreaded Sainsbury's. These flavours work brilliantly together. Another thing I can eat raw, in Neanderthal fashion straight from the container; it's finger lickin' divine.
I thought this dish was especially good. The sweetness of the red peppers, dressing and chili contrast nicely with the buttery beans and the crunchy, raw, but finely chopped spring onions and the salty, smoky bacon. You could, of course, serve it cold, but I think your guests might prefer it if it was gently warmed through.
In the spirit of creativity and experimention, I've come up with this idea for a simple, but I hope, delicious rice salad. It would be briliant for a summer buffet, or served as a side dish. I know it's not exactly summer yet- or even really spring: as I write I'm looking out on to a cold, wet and miserable London Saturday morning.
I was playing around with flavour combinations the other day, and discovered that prawn and leeks make an excellent match when combined with the aniseedy tastes of fennel. Here's how to make it:
Chop up some leeks (giviing them a rinse and removing the tougher outer skin bits first) and sweat them gently in a saucepan with some butter. It's probably going to work best if the leeks are chopped up into small pieces. I also find that leeks go brown very quickly, so you need to watch these like a hawk. Try and keep that lovely, fresh verdant green colour. You could of course parboil the leeks first (plunging them very quickly into boiling water and rinsing off under a freezing cold tap) which should help to set the colour.
Into the hot pan goes some fennel seeds and then some good quality prawns. I used smallish frozen prawns, which, of course, are pre-cooked, so just need heating through after they have been defrosted. Check the seasoning and add sea salt and black pepper. Set to one side.
Boil rice in the usual way. I used Uncle Ben's Long Grain rice, which has had the starch removed, and won't go mushy. This is a good thing. Combine the rinsed rice with the leeks, prawn and fennel seeds. Mix in a simple vinagrette (a third olive oil, groundnut oil, a splash of wine or cider vinegar or lemon juice could be just the ticket) and serve cold. A garnish ('orrible word!) of chopped dill would work well with the fish and fennel.
Like so many others with slightly macabre sensibilities, I have a near obsession with The Titanic. And I've had this for as long as I can remember, long before all the recent media hype and the James Cameron blockbuster of 1997.
I've got a very real problem with the latter: am I alone in thinking that this film is an example of the worst possible taste? A very tragic real-life disaster, in which over a thousand people died, is reduced to a simplistic, anachronistic teen romance, fermented by a trite, retarded script; the Titanic's passenger list reduced to "them" and "us": "them" being the 'orrible upper classes- all cruel snobs with phoney Oxford accents and twirling waxed moustaches, and "us" being the brave, true, noble, kind, hard-working, down-trodden working class, on their way to create a Brave New America- except that they don't, 'cos they all drown at the expense of the cowardly toffs who dress up in drag to get to the life-boats before the women and children.
An interesting historical fact by the way- before we all get too revolutionary here- is that around double the amount of men in Third Class survived when compared to the poor old burghers in Second Class who suffered, I think, the worst survival rate of all, a terrifying 8.33 per cent.
And then there's all that bizarre cruciform spread-eagled arm waving stuff going on in the film, Leonardo and Kate at the bows of the great ship, offset by corny Irish folksy flutey music (why does modern day Hollywood have a thing about this? Although I'll grudgingly admit that the Titanic was made in Belfast) and the wailings- nay, shrieking- courtesy of the Franco-Canadian diva, Ms. Celine Dion.
A Night to Remember, 1958
No, I don't like "Titanic". Instead, have a look at William McQuitty's excellent A Night to Remember, directed by the late Roy Ward Baker and starring Kenneth More and a very young Honor Blackman (aka Mrs Gale). Yup, it's in black and white, yup, it was made in 1958. Yup, it requires a bit of effort to watch. Yup, it's got Kenneth More with a plummy accent, and it's all very Stiff Upper Lip. These are good things.
The Times today ran an article entitled "The other last supper". The byline said: "...inspired by the final Titanic meal, chefs around the world are serving variations of its first-class menu". Again, although fascinating, isn't this just a little dubious? Not the Times article, which was interesting, but the idea that restaurants all around the world are staging "Last Dinner on The Titanic" banquets?
In the spirit of all this fun, one of my more recent second-hand buys has been, yes, you guessed it Last Dinner on The Titanic...Menus and Recipes from the Great Liner, by Rick Archbold and Diana McCauley, with a forward by Walter Lord. Walter Lord, by the way, wrote the book on the Titanic disaster, which I would recommend without hesitation.
So why not amuse and entertain your boss and his lady wife by inviting them to a Titanic dinner party? If they're first class guests you could serve them eleven courses, consisting at a glance of: Oysters à la Russe, Poached Salmon with Mousseline sauce, Vegetable Marrow Farci, Chậteau potatoes, Asparagus Salad with Champagne-Saffron vinagrette (I like the sound of this one), and Waldorf pudding. If your guests warrant the second class menu, there's a choice of Baked Haddock with Sharp Sauce, Curried Chicken and Rice, Turnip Purée, Wine Jelly and American Ice Cream. Steerage gets, amongst other things, Roasted Pork with Sage, Vegetable Soup, Green Peas and Plum Pudding with Sweet Sauce.
Here's the recipe for the Asparagus Salad with Champagne-Saffron vinagrette (courtesy of "Last Dinner on The Titanic"):
Snap off the woody ends of the fresh asparagus stalks, and chuck them away. Plunge the asparagus into salted boiling water and cook them for 3 to 5 minutes until tender. Drain them under cold water- which will help to set the colour and will stop them cooking.
Meanwhile, soak some saffron strands in a few teaspoons of boiling water, and let it stand for a few minutes, until the saffron softens (you'll find that the water turns yellow). Stir in about a tablespoon or so of champagne vinegar, half a teaspoon of smooth Dijon mustard and a good pinch of white sugar. Whisk until smooth, and drizzle in three tablespoons of olive oil, until it forms an emulsion. Season with salt and white pepper. Toss with the asparagus and red and/or yellow peppers, finely diced. Arrange on a plate with a selection of designer lettuce leaves- those things in plastic bags you can buy from the supermarkets.
Remember this old favourite? Otherwise known as the Russian Salad, it was invented by Lucian Olivier, a Belgian chef who ran the fashionable Hermitage restaurant in Moscow during the late nineteenth century. Olivier's salad, apparently, became quite a cause célèbre with le gratin; and enjoyed the patronage of the grand matrons of Muscovite Society. The Hermitage restaurant closed down in 1905, and Lucian Olivier died at the relatively young age of 45. If you're so inclined to pay your respects, he's buried in the Vvedenskoye Cemetry. And the closely guarded secret recipe for his famous salad went with him to the grave. Or did it?
What's in it, I hear you ask? That's a very interesting question and much open to debate. There's quite a bit of stuff about it on the net; the subject's almost becoming a sub-culture in its own right. The original recipe included all sorts of exotic lovelies: grouse, veal tongue, caviar, crayfish tails, capers and even smoked duck- this was a fabled dish from Pre-Revolutionary Russia after all; nothing like that awful Heinz Russian Salad thing that came in a tin, and looked suspiciously like Oskie the Cat's sick.
Nicholas II and Alexandra, in 17th century fancy dress for the Winter Palace Ball, St Petersburg, 1903.
Anyway, a certain- and enterprising- Ivan Ivanov, a sous-chef at the Hermitage restaurant, plucked up enough courage to steal the recipe. Look upon his dastardly plan as a late nineteenth century pension pot. Now Olivier prepared the wretched salad himself- and only by himself. No other chef was allowed anywhere near him while he made it. Fortunately he was suddenly called away to deal with some emergency. While Oliver was gone, Ivan sneaked into the kitchen and managed to work out, at the very least, how the secret dressing was made.
Ivan left the Hermitage and went to work for Moskva, a local restaurant with an inferior clientele. A few weeks later, low-and-behold, a new salad appeared on the Moskva menu- the "Capital Salad" which, most suspiciously, looked and tasted very much like the original Olivier salad from the Hermitage restaurant. Naughty old Ivan.
The story goes that Ivan then sold the recipe to various publishing houses. One of the first printed recipes for Olivier salad, by Aleksandrova, appeared in 1894. It included grouse, potatoes, gherkins, lettuce leaves, crayfish tails, capers and aspic. All bound in a Provençal dressing.
Here's my take on Salad Olivier, based on a recipe from the fanastic Taste of Russia by Darra Goldstein. It will serve about eight people. "A Taste of Russia" is one of my favourite cookery books. It rediscovers the cuisine of Pre-Revolutionary Russia; the food from the days of the Romanov Tsars. It's a terrific book.
In a large bowl, mix: 225g cooked potatoes (cut into dice), a large cooked carrot (cut into dice), two apples (chopped into dice), one peeled orange (membranes removed, and cut into chunks), two spring onions (chopped), and 120g peas.
Mix in 225g of cooked chicken (which you have previously chopped up into bite-sized pieces.
Make a dressing: Press three hard-boiled egg yolks through a sieve into a small bowl. Mix in two dollops of olive oil and stir, to form a smooth emulsion. Add two tablespoons of cider or wine vinegar and eight tablespoons each of mayonnaise and soured cream. Season, and pour over the vegetables and the chicken, keeping some of the dressing back.
Let it chill in the 'fridge overnight. To serve, form the salad into a neat mold or mound, and pour over the remaining dressing. Garnish with fresh dill. You could of course, for a more piquant taste, ditch the orange and include diced gherkin. An authentic addition. I think it would work.
You may have had céleri rémoulade in France- it's that ubiquitous (but delicious) salad dish you'll find in charcuteries up and down the land; frankly, not dissimilar to the American coleslaw. The "celeri" bit is shredded celery root. The "remoulade" is a mustard-flavoured mayonnaise or dressing.
Celery root is also called celeriac. They're those knobbly, bulbous, earthy things which look a bit like large turnips. Making céleri rémoulade is straightforward enough:
Take a large, sharp knife and slice off the brown, knobbly skin. You'll find that the celeriac turns yellow with exposure to air, so you will need to work relatively quickly. Cut the celeriac into large chunks and then shred it in your food processor. I've finally mastered the art of working mine, and like to shred things very thinly, so that you end up with delicate, tiny strands. It's very satisfying for some reason.
Dump the shredded celeriac into a bowl, and immediately mix in some fresh lemon juice and sea salt. This will stop the celeriac from turning yellow, in effect, keeping it white in colour.
Now for a bit of conjecture. How to make the rémoulade dressing? Some recipes call for a simple mayonnaise, seasoned with salt and pepper, and flavoured with a large dollop of Dijon mustard. And that's what I used the last time I made céleri rémoulade (adding a tablespoon of boiling water to the mayonnaise to lighten the colour and give it a lift). But to be completely honest, even then I found my home-made mayonnaise to be too rich, too thick, even slightly cloying in taste, swamping the subtle taste of the celeriac.
In his excellent blog, Living the life in Saint-Aignan, Ken Broadhurst suggests that to achieve that genuinely authentic charcuterie taste, half the dressing should be made from the mustard-mayonnaise and the other half from crème fraiche. This might well be the solution.
I've also noted that Julia Child used an eggless mayonnaise, by slowly dripping boiling water into a dollop of warm mustard (so that it forms an emulsion), and then adding the oil (in the usual way) bit by bit, finishing it off with a tablespoon or so of white vinegar, and a seasoning of white pepper and salt. This eggless "mayonnaise" is then mixed in with the shredded celeriac, with chopped parsley and sour cream added to taste. I like the idea of this version.
By the way, I found that the céleri rémoulade improves if left over-night to marinate in the 'fridge. The lemon, salt, and mustard helps to "cook" the celeriac and removes that raw taste.
Hands up who doesn't love a Waldorf Salad? Named after the Waldorf Hotel in New York, it's supposed to have been invented in the 1890's. By the maitre d'hotel, Oscar Tschirky- who also laid claim to that tantalising breakfast dish, Eggs Benedict. The original Waldorf Hotel was on the site of what is now the Empire State Building, and demolished in 1929.
Anyway, it's a simple old thing, and easily made from a combination of sliced celery, diced apples (I leave the skin on), walnuts, and raisins.
You bind the salad with mayonnaise (or just possibly a simple dressing) and serve it on a bed of peppery lettuce leaves, as the whim takes you. Nothing more, nothing less.
Recently, I find that I'm looking for increased simplicity in food. I've said this before, and there's no guilt in saying it again. Classic dishes, cooked properly (using the correct techniques) and presented simply- and not too much of it, either. Less is more. The dreaded garnishes are out too: nothing worse than those two ridiculous chive snippets placed at jaunty right angles to each other on top of a dish, forming a cross- I'm sure you know what I'm getting at. The sort of thing you see in "gastro-pubs", where it's all about poncy presentation, rather than flavour and technique. In fact, I'm currently rather in favour of ditching garnishes all together. Nothing More, Nothing Less.
I'm keen on lighter dishes, too. It's interesting that Scandinavian food is currently all the rage. Mrs Aitch gave me a signed copy of the Noma cookbook for Christmas, which was a terrific present: it's all ligonberries and wild flowers served up on stone palettes. I like this a lot.
So I've come up with my own version of a light Swedish dressing. It's water based and there's no oil in it. I suppose it is fat-free, though as it's also packed with salt and sugar, I would have thought that one evil has been ruled out by another. Or vice versa. But it's definitely light and delicate in taste, and I think your guests will love it; especially the girls.
I tipped several tablespoons of white sugar into a small pan and then spashed a rather expensive balsamic white wine vinegar we happened to have in the cupboard over the sugar. You'll need to experiment here: I found that I needed to use quite a bit of sugar (and less of the vinegar) to end up with a balanced taste.
Warm the pan, so that the sugar dissolves in the vinegar and forms a syrup. You want to thicken it up, but you definitely don't want to caramelise it. Cook it very gently for a minute or so. As there's going to be no oil in the dressing, this syrup, in effect, replaces the oil and needs to have body. Remove the pan from the heat.
Add a few pinches of salt, and a generous squeeze of fresh lemon juice. Whisk in several tablespoons of water and serve cold. You could also steep the dressing in fresh dill for a few hours before serving, which I think would taste delicious.
I suppose there's something a bit tacky about the ubiquitous Thousand Island Dressing. It's that thick, slightly synthetic pink stuff which comes in jars, served alongside burgers and dubious salads. But like other classic foods, it's got an interesting history. There are various theories. Here's one of them:
A certain George LaLonde Jr., fisherman of Clayton, Upstate New York, hosted guided fishing parties, which included a group "shore" lunch as part of the day's attraction. It was at one of these fishing lunches, that the actress and cookery writer, Miss May Irwin, first tasted the "unusual" (then un-named) dressing, made to Mrs LaLonde's own special recipe.
May Irwin liked it so much that she asked for the recipe, named it "Thousand Island Dressing", and passed it on to the owner of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, George C. Boldt, who in turn, instructed his famous maitre d', Oscar Tschirky to serve it in his restaurant.
Have you noticed how Oscar Tschirky seems to crop up every time I write about American food history? Tschirky sounds like a bit of a live-wire, and seems to have been credited with not only the creation of the Veal Oscar, but also the Waldorf Salad and Eggs Benedict. Either that, or he was a brilliant self-publicist. Anyway.
I've trawled the net for the original recipe- and of course, as with so many "classic" dishes, there are many different versions. Here's my reasonably authentic take on it. If any readers (especially from the Thousand Islands area of Upstate New York) want to give us their own "proper" recipe, please hit that comment button now.
Make a good mayonnaise, preferably using grapeseed oil and a touch of olive oil. Mix in a generous spoonful of tomato ketchup, a dash of Worcestershire Sauce, a teaspoon of white sugar, a dash of white vinegar, a pinch of ground cloves, a dollop of sweet pickle or relish, chopped black olives, a small diced red bell pepper, some chopped chives, and a sprinkling of chopped hard-boiled egg white. Season to taste with sea salt and white pepper.
Caesar Salad is one of those classic dishes that has been over-tweaked, bastardised, and generally ruined by self-indulgent chefs over the years. The best Caesar Salad is the original Caesar Salad.
It was invented by Caesar Cardini in 1924. Cardini was a chef working at the Hotel Comerical in Tijuana- the Mexican town a few miles from the Californian border. During Prohibition, large parties of Americans used to cross the border in search of booze. The story goes that Cardini created the salad when a large party of hungry Americans turned up for the Fourth of July celebrations. He had run out of food, so made do with what he had left over.
Julia Child, the great food writer, apparently telephoned Cardini's daughter to get the authentic recipe- and came up with this. And who are we to argue with either of them?
First, you need two small heads of Romaine lettuce, preferably organic. Tear the lettuce into large shreds. Add two coddled eggs. Coddling is a technique where you only boil the eggs in their shell for one minute, so that you end up with a runny yolk. Add half a teaspoon of sea salt, and freshly ground black pepper; the juice of two lemons, ten drops of Lea & Perrins' Worcestershire Sauce, half a cup of fresh grated Parmesan cheese, and half a cup of garlic oil. Garlic oil is just a good quality Virgin or Extra Virgin olive oil, infused by some garlic cloves for a day or so.
Toss the salad, so that the ingredients combine with the runny egg yolk, and lettuce leaves are well coated. Finish off the dish with some freshly prepared croutons. This is just deep-fried bread- cut into cubes. For some reason, slightly stale bread makes better croutons. You've probably noticed that I haven't added anchovies to my Caesar Salad. I have a strong hunch that the original recipe didn't include them, and I've tried to keep it authentic.
It's July, it's holiday time, and I'm thinking "South of France". What better than a Salad Niçoise? By the way, Niçoise, if you've ever wondered, means 'from Nice".
Like other famous dishes, there's lots of different ways out there to make this salad; and as usual, the way that you make it, is better than the way your neighbour makes it.
I reckon that the classic Salad Nicoise has the following ingredients: lettuce, tinned tuna fish, cooked green beans, black olives, tomatoes, baby new potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, anchovies, and just possibly capers. The whole shooting match is then tossed in a garlicky French dressing. I make sure that the beans are crunchy, and slightly undercooked, and the so-called "hard" boiled eggs have a soft yellow yolk.
I'm currently rather keen on a rather nifty new way of serving this dish. Instead of mixing it all together in a salad bowl, try arranging the ingredients separately on a long white serving plate (the sort of plate you would serve a salmon on). You can then either dress the thing with the viniagrette, or as I do, place a dollop of mayonnaise at the end of the dish. An aioli (ie garlic mayonnaise) would work beautifully here.
This method looks stunning visually, and picky guests (lots of them around these days, I'm afraid) have the choice of avoiding the anchovies or the capers, or anything else they don't like the look of. Good idea, what?
Often, simplicity is the key to the best things in life. This afternoon, I would like to argue the cause for the Green Salad. When was the last time you had one? There's been a recent tendency for salads to be dressed up with quartered tomatoes, raw red peppers, sweetcorn, mushrooms; and other similar ingredients. And there's also the nasty habit of a salad being served as a first course. A complete "no-no" by my book.
So here's how I make The Greasy Spoon's Green Salad, which I serve alongside a main course. I avoid those pre-package salads you can buy in the supermarket. They're always bitter, bland, and of course, fiendishly expensive.
Instead, I'll buy a lovely loose lettuce, and wash it myself. I bought an interesting variety the other day (the name of which typically, I've forgotten), which had a delicious peppery taste. Next, I add fresh watercress (again, for the peppery taste), some chopped spring onions, and some fresh lemon thyme. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.
To make a simple vinaigrette, I just mix a tiny bit of a smooth French mustard with some lemon juice, and a bit of salt, and then add a dash of olive oil, and finish it off with a lighter walnut oil. I'm also a huge fan of grape seed oil.
Make sure the salad is well-drained, and then lightly toss the salad in the vinaigrette using your fingers. The secret is to make sure that you don't swamp the salad with the dressing. The leaves should be lightly coated in the oil. Easy isn't it?
This is an interesting green and white coloured rice salad that I invented a week or so ago, and it worked out surprisingly well.
I steamed some cod fillets. Once they were cooked, I removed the skins, and seasoned them with my latest foodie discovery, Smoked Maldon Salt. Next, I cooked some Uncle Ben's Long Grain Rice with some star anise and two cloves. I once had an argument with the owner of the Kennington Tandoori, who claimed that Uncle Ben's was a poor quality rice. Well! I like it for this sort of recipe, because it has less starch, and each grain remains clean and intact. I bet my bottom dollar that in a blind tasting, he wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
I flaked up the salty cod, and mixed it in with the cooked rice. Then, I added some crispy streaky bacon, fried until crisp, some chopped avocado (sprinkle some lime or lemon juice on it immediately to stop it going black), and a green chili sliced into small strips. Then it's an easy matter to add chopped spring onions, and some chopped parsley or coriander.
Mix it all together gently. Finally, add a dressing: I used a light oil, mixed with a white wine vinegar, and lime juice. Season with sea salt and pepper. You could also add some prawns, but, as always, the best thing, in my opinion, is simplicity...
Fed up with rich Christmas food? Then the famous Caesar Salad could be the answer to your prayers. Caesar Salad is one of those classic dishes that has been over-tweaked, bastardised, and generally ruined by self-indulgent chefs over the years.
The best Caesar Salad is the original Caesar Salad. It was invented by Caesar Cardini in 1924. Cardini was a chef working at the Hotel Comerical in Tijuana- the Mexican town a few miles from the Californian border. During Prohibition, large parties of Americans used to cross the border in search of booze. The story goes that Cardini created the salad when a large party of hungry Americans turned up for the Fourth of July celebrations. He had run out of food, so made do with what he had left over.
Julia Child, the great food writer, apparently telephoned Cardini's daughter to get the authentic recipe- and came up with this. And who are we to argue with either of them?
First, you need two small heads of Romaine lettuce. Tear the lettuce into large shreds. Add two coddled eggs. Coddling is a technique where you only boil the eggs in their shell for one minute, so that you end up with a runny yolk. Add half a teaspoon of salt, and freshly ground black pepper; the juice of two lemons, ten drops of Lea & Perrins, half a cup of fresh grated Parmesan cheese, and half a cup of garlic oil. Garlic oil is just a good quality Virgin or Extra Virgin olive oil, infused by some garlic cloves for a day or so.
Toss the salad, so that the ingredients combine with the runny egg yolk, and lettuce leaves are well coated. Finish off the dish with some freshly prepared croutons. This is just deep-fried bread- cut into cubes. For some reason, slightly stale bread makes better croutons. You've probably noticed that I haven't added anchovies to my Caesar Salad. I have a strong hunch that the original recipe didn't include them, and I've tried to keep it authentic.
A German style Christmas market has come to town. I haven't been yet, but all sorts of stalls, fairground rides, and ice-rinks have gone up in Hyde Park. And for once, it's suddenly cold and frosty here in London. Every Christmas I make a German or Scandanavian style Herring Salad. I was given the recipe by my great uncle whose family originally came from Cologne. He treated the enterprise as a work of art, and "built" up the salad over three or four days; however I recently ran into a Swedish girl at a cocktail party who insisted that it needed to be made quickly- and then finished off immediately. I'm going to go with my great-uncle on this one, as the vinegars in the salad should act as a preservative.
Want to make it?
This is how I do it: You will need a large mixing bowl. Chop up some herring. You are supposed to use salted herring, but I use Scottish roll-mops- which are herring marinated in vinegar and spices. Add some diced cooked potatoes, peeled diced apples, diced gherkin, chopped celery, chopped anchovies, and ham- chopped up into small pieces. Mix it all around. Throw in a handful of capers, and some diced cooked beetroot.
The beetroot will make the salad go an interesting bright pink colour. Next, mix up a vinaigrette. That's just a small dollop of mustard mixed with sugar, and wine vinegar to form an emulsion, with oil added slowly. I suggest you use a light oil, such as sunflower oil, rather than olive oil for this one. Olive oil is too Mediterranean in style and flavour. Finish off the salad with lots of chopped dill, and chopped egg white. It's delicious.
A few months ago I went on a trawl of the Parisian antique markets at Porte de Clignancourt, the last stop on the Metro. If you haven't been there yet, you must go. The quality and range of things for sale is good, and the stands are arranged with Gallic elan. All was dandy, apart from one desperate furniture dealer who tried to flog me a third division bureau, which she insisted had been made by the ebiniste Reisner for none other than Louis XVI. Well.
To escape this outrage, we stopped off at a small unpretentious bistro. One of the dishes they came up with was this simple chicken salad. It was delicious, and the slightly unusual curried vinaigrette worked surprisingly well.
Up until then, I had been slighly suspicious of the use of curry in French cooking, thinking that the French didn't really understand how to use it properly. You will find Sauce Indienne in French cuisine, and usually they just stir in uncooked curry powder into a mayonnaise or a bechamel sauce. The Indians (and Brits!) know that they need to cook the spices first- to bring out the full flavour and get rid of that rather bitter taste.
Anyway, here's my adapted version of what I had that day- and I think it works. Try it out for yourself. First, I chopped up some organic chicken breasts into thick slices. You could also chop them up into chunks. Brush some honey over them, and season them with a generous amount of salt and pepper. Shove them under a grill.
Now you need to make the curry vinaigrette. In a small bowl add a dollop of curry paste (I used a Madras paste- may have been too strong), Dijon mustard, lemon juice, and a tablespoon of sugar.
Next, slowly pour in some good grapeseed oil. As you stir it around, you should end up with a thickish emulsion, a bit like a sloppy mayonnaise.
On the serving plate, arrange some fresh crunchy lettuce. Place the grilled chicken, which should be nice and golden in colour, yet not over-cooked. Drizzle the vinaigrette over it. You could of course add other salady ingredients (the Parisian version had tomatoes), but I'm currently a fan of all things simple (and all things green) when it comes to salad, so I just added some chopped tarragon, which worked well with the chicken. Season again with Maldon salt, and pepper, and squeeze a bit of fresh lemon juice over the salad. Bon Appetit.
Hands up who doesn't love a Waldorf Salad? Named after the Waldorf Hotel in New York, it's supposed to have been invented in 1893 by the maitre d'hotel, Oscar Tschirky- who also laid claim to that tantalising breakfast dish, Eggs Benedict.
Anyway, it's a simple old thing and easily made from a combination of sliced celery, diced apples (I leave the skin on), walnuts, and raisins.
You bind the salad with mayonnaise (I will be initiating you into the secrets of how to make this in a later post), and serve it on a bed of lettuce, as the whim takes you.
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