Three Impressive New Salads

There is nothing wrong with a nice Caesar salad. In fact, one might argue that too much about it is right. Its combination of high-crunch roughage and toasted croutons dressed with a layer of what is essentially lemony, anchovy-and-cheese-enriched aioli makes it possibly too versatile. After making its way onto every menu in America, lending its name to any kind of salad imaginable, and fueling a mania for Caesar wraps, Caesar pizza, Caesar pasta, and Caesar martinis (of course), there’s nothing left for this Caesar to conquer. It’s still good, but Cae-Sal overload has become predictable for diners and limiting to chefs.

Thank God, then, for the kitchens that dare to stray. Waldorf might be the second-most famous salad by name, but the actual audience that appreciates a mix of walnuts, apples, and mayonnaise is relatively limited. Chef Andy Quinn found himself drawn to it for another reason. “Waldorf salad is a New York dish,” he said. “Caesar salad isn’t.” Accepting the challenge he set for himself, he developed one for the wood-fired menu at Oriana. It doesn’t look the part of the original, starting with its foundation of bitter red endive leaves. The Oriana Waldorf is dressed with Meyer-lemon vinaigrette and stacked, concave side up, so that each leaf cups its fair share of von Trapp Farmstead blue cheese. The fruit-and-nut contingency is tweaked with candied pine nuts and thin-sliced dates, while slivered celery, purple shiso, and orange zest contribute more eccentric vibrancy. “If it goes into the middle of the table, everyone can stick a fork in and get a bite of everything in one bite,” says Quinn, though the salad is — if company allows — best eaten as a handheld.

You will need a fork for any Cobb salad, which is all about visual bounty. Surprisingly, the best example I’ve found is on the second floor of the Kimpton Era hotel in midtown, hiding out at Bar Rocco. Cubes of poached chicken breast, boiled egg with a tender yellow yolk, and salty, smoky bacon are enough to make it a full meal. Most important, the crunchy, fresh produce, including half of a firm but ripe avocado, a small cluster of cherry tomatoes on the stem, and a handful of watercress add heft to romaine that stands up to the light layer of gorgonzola-dolce dressing. It’s a worthy protein-maxxing Happy Meal that — shockingly — warrants its $29 price.

Rocco DiSpirito is the chef and namesake at Bar Rocco, where this impressive Cobb is on the menu.
Photo: Eric Medsker

Gigi’s in Greenpoint has been mired in chicken-price discourse, but its two salads have escaped similar scrutiny. One is made with chicory, the other with frisée. They are both intended as proper side salads, a “dish” that is simple enough in its construction that — like a martini — it can inspire endless debate about the “best” way to make one. At Bed-Stuy’s Badaboom, chef Klaus Festerling swears by mixing Champagne vinegar, olive oil, shallot, and thyme dressing a day ahead for the mix of green leaf hearts, little gems, and frisée.

A classic salade verte does not, by definition, need to be “simple.” For the $17 house salad at Arthur, which opened in Greenpoint in April, chef Kevin Finch prefers Salanova lettuce from Poughkeepsie Farm Project. “It is really, really delicious,” he says. “There are a lot of different shapes and it has a really good structure,” which gets rounded out with whatever herbs are in season (it included tarragon, chives, parsley, basil, and multiple types of mint on a recent night). Sliced shallots soaked in cold water add crunch without astringency, as does a generous pinch of fleur de sel added to the mixing bowl before everything is lightly tossed. The one thing that will never show up in Arthur’s salad is olive oil. “In my opinion, it ruins salad dressings,” Finch says. He dresses the greens with shallot-infused grapeseed oil leftover after cold-frying shallots used for other dishes. The roasted flavor in that oil, along with nutty sherry vinegar, imparts cooked depth to the raw, sweet greens that no amount of grated Parmesan could replicate.

The not-as-simple-as-it-seems salad from Arthur.
Photo: Courtesy of Arthur