I must admit something embarrassing. Whenever I think of chicken salad, I think of the recipe for Waldorf salad that a customer keeps screaming at Basil Fawlty: chicken, apples, celery, and walnuts! I have that frantic scene locked in my head. Chicken salad = Fawlty Towers. Except, I went back to see that scene again to write this headnote (and get a little comic relief) and realized there's no chicken in a Waldorf salad. Oops. Well, this one's still great.
You have got to make this salad. Everyone that has tried it at my table, leaves with a recipe for making it at home and then repeats it incessantly. That’s how good it is. It will completely change the way you think about salads. Green, red, ivory and yellow. Smooth, juicy, firm and crunchy. Chunky all over and each chunk with a different flavor and texture that makes you want to keep on eating eat although you may be so full.
Sally relates to beans like no one else I know. I am convinced her last wish will be for a bowl of beans. She's somehow even trained her kids to crave them. She claims, "This recipe is my midweek savior, the kids scarf it directly from the pan."
Ingredients
From Salads: Beyond the Bowl by Mindy Fox (Kyle Books; 2012). Reprinted with permission.
A particular favorite around Marrakech and in the south, this cooked salad offers a delightful contrast of cold sweet carrots, earthy cumin, and fresh parsley. It’s even better when prepared a day ahead and left overnight to chill and the flavors to fully meld. Set out alongside a bowl of Marinated Olives to nibble on as an appetizer, or serve as part of a spread of salads.
Those addictive Southeast Asian noodle salads usually star Asia’s crisp, sweet/tart green papaya or mango. So why not use our own summer peaches or nectarines? When they’re firm and slightly underripe but still fragrant, they’re ideal for salads like this.
You think tomatoes do a lot for a salad? Wait until you taste what cantaloupe or other melons can achieve. Why we don’t use them this way all the time is a mystery.
Straight from 19th-century American cookbooks, these big chunks of ripe beefsteak and green tomatoes (use more red ones in a pinch) get bathed in a warm, garlicky, sweet-sour dressing.