Erica De Mane

Still Life with a Pitcher, Glasses, and a Bowl of Salad, by Ernest Lefebvre, 1850–1889.

Recipe below: Salad of Chicories with an Anchovy Vinaigrette and Butter Croutons

Often when I’m not eating a good green salad I’m thinking about one. I’m drawn to leafy green plants. I always was, even as a little kid. I like tearing the leaves with my hands. I like eating them raw. And I get pleasure from washing a salad, watching the dirt fall through water to the bottom of the sink and then lifting the leaves from the top without disturbing the grit. That’s a job well done.

I serve a green salad at the end of a meal, when I feel it’s most needed, both as a digestivo and as a way of drawing out the evening for more talk and a little more wine. That’s a good time to ruminate with old friends, to get nostalgic about something that wasn’t much even when it happened. And when after a long, nice meal at a friend’s house I see a simple green salad brought to the table, a calm comes over me. In our uncivilized world, the gesture of giving a little more is so welcome. As long as the cook doesn’t add too much vinegar, I’m happy.

I eat a green salad after just about every evening meal. I like gentle salads, I like biting ones. Slowing down and settling in, especially after a few hours of cooking, soothes my psyche. I’m no longer hungry, but now I can savor the fruitiness of a really good olive oil, or the bitterness of chicory.  I dress the salad at the table—a ritual that says: Don’t go yet. There’s a fresh savory plate here. Let’s see where it takes us.

I never miss the opportunity to serve a green salad after pasta with lamb ragù, or beef stew, or whole grilled sea bass, or roast chicken. It’s pretty much mandatory. To my thinking, the best part of any roast chicken dinner is the salad, drizzled with a bit of the chicken cooking juice.  Add a finish of fine olive oil and a few drops of vinegar, and we’ve gone full circle with the meal. Sometimes I like to sauté up the chicken’s innards and toss them into the salad, too. Here’s a short video to show you how I like to make a salad with roasting juice.

Chicory, arugula, escarole, and dandelion were the salad greens of choice for my mother. Bitter was where it was at for Italian-Americans back then. I still often return to the chicory family for my leaves, especially in winter, when they’re in the best shape. I mix escarole with hits of red Belgian endive or Treviso radicchio, whose streaks of dark red make for a beautiful combination. I also love to make a gentler salad with Boston lettuce or butter lettuce alone. It depends. I mostly don’t like to add tomatoes to my green salads. I find that they muddy the beauty.

The elements of a righteous vinaigrette are good oil, salt, an acid (not too much), sometimes black pepper, and maybe a touch of garlic or mustard. I mix the vinaigrette at the table, eyeballing it, since I know where I’m going. So many salads, so many vinaigrettes in my life. If you’re using a wooden salad bowl, it’s nice to make the vinaigrette right in the bowl and then lay the leaves on top, tossing gently but thoroughly, so everything gets evenly coated. There’s nothing like a well-seasoned wooden salad bowl. I have a crazy big one, a long boat, really, that belonged to my grandfather Erico, who I sadly never met, though I was named for him. I’ve heard that he cared greatly about his food.

Here’s a salad with a little anchovy in it.

Salad of Chicories with an Anchovy Vinaigrette and Butter Croutons

(Serves 4)

2 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 thick, dry slices of country bread, cut into 1-inch cubes, using most of the crust
Salt
1 large head of escarole, the tough outer leaves saved for sautéing, the rest torn into pieces
2 red Belgian endives or 1 Treviso radicchio, separated into leaves
Freshly ground black pepper

For the vinaigrette:

1 small fresh garlic clove, lightly crushed with the side of a knife
About ½ teaspoon fresh lemon juice
About ½ teaspoon rice wine vinegar
About 5 drops colatura, or 2 oil-packed anchovies, well chopped
About 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Melt the butter in a sauté pan over medium heat. When it’s hot, add the bread cubes, and sprinkle them with a little salt. Sauté them, stirring frequently, until they’re golden and crisp all over, about 3 to 4 minutes.

Put the escarole and the endive or radicchio into a large salad bowl. Grind on a few big turns of black pepper.

Mix all the ingredients for the vinaigrette together in a small bowl. Taste to balance out the oil and acid.

Toss the salad with the vinaigrette. Add the croutons, and toss again gently. Serve right away.