The Greatest Greens: There’s a method to making
even the simplest salads shine.
24 Photograph by Linda Xiao Food stylist: Maggie Ruggiero. Prop stylist: Sophie Leng.
When I was 16, at a pizzeria at the end
of a strip mall in Norcross, Ga., I worked
as a garde manger. I had just been pro-
moted from dishwasher and was newly
in charge of assembling salads to order
from an array of decrepit vegetables that
were stored in a walk-in fridge, which
was kept a few degrees too cold: iceberg
lettuce that was frozen in spots, pale
tomatoes with powdery edges, canned
black olives and raw red onions, thin-
ly sliced with a very blunt knife. The
oil-and-vinegar dressing came in a little
container on the side, as did a couple
of pepperoncini. This salad was not the
star menu item at the restaurant, as evi-
denced by the many plates that came
back with dirty napkins and used sil-
verware stacked atop the clunky iceberg
swimming in vinegar.
11.14.
Eat By Eric Kim
Washed, dried,
chilled and
not overdressed:
Green salad
with dill vinaigrette.
I think of that salad every time I eat a
bad one, and every time I eat a good one
too. Green salads are a lot like broccoli or
brussels sprouts: A mediocre experience
can turn you off the stuff. But a great ver-
sion of anything can be mind-altering. I’ll
always remember the Little Gem Caesar I
ate at Mustards Grill in Napa, Calif. Here
were some of the freshest leaves I’d ever
eaten, their vegetal beauty staying with