Singapore Slaw

A couple weeks ago, a bunch of us went to a newish restaurant in town. Within days of the restaurant's grand opening, word of its 19-ingredient Singapore Slaw had spread like wildfire. If there was a gold medal for slaw affection, I'd have it. So naturally, I needed to go check it out.

I'd pretty much planned my meal in advance. I'd have an app of crudo or sushi, and the slaw as my main. But from the moment we sat down, I know we'd met trouble. We sat down, and the waitress asked if we'd been to the restaurant before. "Yes," I said. I always lie about these things: saying "no" inevitably subjects you to a treatise on "what you're about to experience," or "how many dishes the chef recommends per person" (yes, we know the chef would like us to each plunk down 100 smackeroos, but it's just not in the cards tonight, thanks), or, worse yet, which dishes we "absolutely must try" and which ones are "terrible and should be removed from the menu." Ask and you shall receive, I suppose. I always say I've been to the restaurant before. Unfortunately, my companions were the wholesome, truthful types, and they revealed that it was our first time. Ten minutes later, we'd been coerced into ordering a slaw for the table while we mulled our orders.

I felt I couldn't, in good conscience, be the girl who eats the same salad as an app and a main. I ordered the next-best thing on the menu (way too rich, not particularly delicious) and secretly stewed. The slaw had been salty and a bit sweet, crunchy and nutty and fresh and truly addictive. I was determined to have more.

On the way home, I was already running through my mental rolodex of possible ingredients. Definitely fried rice or bean thread noodles; definitely carrots and cucumber; maybe some sort of radish; definitely some toasted nuts, definitely some pickles. As for the dressing, who knew? salted plum was the main ingredient, but the rest I could only guess: miso? mirin? rice wine vinegar, probably.

I started playing around with the vinaigrette; I figured once I had a sufficiently addictive dressing, it would matter much less what I drizzled it on. Hell, a good dressing can make a salad of just cabbage taste otherworldly.

Just when I thought I couldn't quite get the proportions, I saw a Washingtonian mag feature in which the chef from said restaurant makes the dressing. Washingtonian offers a recipe, but some ingredients mentioned in the video aren't listed in the recipe -- so it's only quasi-reliable. But you know what? It doesn't matter. Armed with some tips from the video, I went back to work -- and what I'm sharing today is a recipe that'll make any old bowl of cabbage taste rockin'.

This is one to bookmark for those hot summer days when nothing but slaw will do. I know I'll be making it for the fourth (fifth?) time soon.

Singapore Slaw Serves 6

1 head Napa cabbage, quartered lengthwise and thinly sliced 3 green onions, both white and green parts, thinly sliced on the bias 
2 ounces bean thread or rice vermicelli noodles, broken into pieces
 (it's hard to control how they break) 1 large English cucumber, julienned
 1 large carrot, peeled and julienned
 1 small jicama, peeled and julienned
 1 daikon, peeled and julienned 1/2 pickled red onion (see recipe below) 2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds 
1/4 cup chopped roasted hazelnuts 2 shallots
, thinly sliced 
2 tablespoons pickled ginger

Salted-plum dressing (see recipe below)
 Vegetable oil for frying
 Salt as needed



Set a large plate or platter next to the stove, and line it with 2-3 layers of paper towels. Set a large pot over medium-high heat, and add about 3 inches of oil to it. When the temperature of the oil reaches 400 degrees, deep-fry the shallot slices until very crisp and golden, about 30-45 seconds. Remove with slotted spoon and transfer to the lined plate and salt lightly. With the oil at the same temperature, quickly deep-fry the vermicelli, a handful at a time, for 2 seconds, or until they curl. They will pop pretty violently, so be prepared. Remove the vermicelli from the oil, place on a paper towel, and salt lightly.



To serve: Put the cabbage, scallions, cucumber, carrot, daikon, red onion, and pickled ginger in a large salad bowl. top with a big pile of the vermicelli noodles. 

Sprinkle the salad with the sesame seeds, hazelnuts, and fried shallots. Drizzle with salted plum dressing at the table, and use salad tongs or spoons to crush down the noodles and toss the salad.

Pickled Red Onion

 1/2 red onion, peeled, halved, and thinly sliced 1/2 cup rice-wine vinegar
 1/2 teaspoon salt 2 teaspoons sugar



Place the onion in a medium bowl. In a small saucepan, bring the vinegar, water, and sugar to a boil. Season the mixture with the salt, and continue boiling for another 5 minutes. Pour it over the julienned onion while still hot, and let it sit for 1 hour.



Salted Plum Dressing 4 umeboshi (salted plums), pitted, or 4 teaspoons umeboshi paste 4 tablespoons rice wine vinegar 5 tablespoons mirin 2 teaspoons sesame oil 2 tablespoons grapeseed oil 2 tablespoons water



Put all ingredients in medium bowl and either whisk with a fork till combined, or blend using an immersion blender.

Spring Salads

Back in March, when I posted the fourth or fifth consecutive recipe calling for raw fennel, I started to get guilt pangs. Readers, you must have thought I'd gone mad with all that fennel! Truth be told, I'd only recently come to love the vegetable, and once I discovered how delicious it was, the wheels started turning and wouldn't stop. Fennel was everywhere.

Well, those days are behind us now. I have one lonely bulb of fennel in the fridge, and while I do plan to use it in a salad, I promise not to bore you with yet another fennel recipe. No no. Today is about salads that celebrate Spring produce. When there're asparagus to discuss, who wants to talk fennel?

That's what I thought.

Today, we're talking salads. Some scream spring, with asparagus tips and pickled ramps. Others are studies in simplicity: my favorite was this weekend's fix, a big bowl of butter lettuce with a spicy-sweet horseradish dressing from food52 and some butter-toasted breadcrumbs. I've shared a couple recipes below, including that wonderful horseradish dressing. It calls for bottled horseradish, but I made my own (yes, we already know I'm crazy, no need to dwell) and, well, let just say that my allergies are gone, my nose nice and clear.

But recipes aside, folks: just take a look at what's in your fridge. Are there asparagus? Great. Saute, blanch, or roast them until tender but still firm. Chop. Into the bowl. Do you have any lettuce? Arugula? Cabbage? Toss it in, too. If it's cabbage, slice it really thinly, or just let it sit in a couple teaspoons of lemon juice or vinegar, some olive oil, and a couple pinches of salt for about 10 minutes. It'll soften right up. Radishes would be lovely, as well. Don't shy away from fruit, either. A sliced pear does wonders for a bowl of arugula and some pickled ramps. And between you and me, I'll be first in line at the farmers' market when the tomatoes sweeten up. They're great in any salad, anytime.

Horseradish Dressing adapted from Linz @Different Kind of Human, via Food52

1 lemon 3 tablespoons creme fraiche 3 tablespoons plain whole milk yogurt 1 tablespoon honey 2 tablespoons prepared horseradish 2 tablespoons dijon mustard 1 pinch salt 1 pinch freshly ground pepper

Linzarella has you zest the whole lemon, but squeeze only half of it. I'm a sour lover (you know that), so I used the whole lemon and wasn't sorry. If you're nervous about how much to use, combine everything else in a jar, add half the lemon juice, and then taste and adjust accordingly. This dressing is yet another new staple.

Butter Lettuce Salad with Horseradish Dressing serves 2 as a main, 4 as an appetizer

2 heads butter lettuce, cleaned 3 radishes, thinly sliced (not pictured) 1/2 cup bread crumbs 1 tablespoon butter 1/3 cup horseradish dressing (recipe above)

Tear lettuce into large bite-sized pieces. Toss into salad bowl or plate individually. Sprinkle radish slices overtop.

In a small frying pan, add butter and heat on medium. When butter is melted and has started to bubble, add breadcrumbs and distribute with a wooden spoon. Cook, stirring occasionally, until bread crumbs have evenly browned. Remove from heat.

Dress salads with horseradish dressing as desired. Sprinkle breadcrumbs overtop, and serve immediately.

Caesar Salad

In this age of micro greens and heirloom radishes, homegrown basil and truffle vinaigrette, is there anything more retro than caesar salad? It's an all-romaine salad -- no baby spinach! -- with croutons, anchovies, and a thick, eggy, garlicky yellow dressing coating the leaves all but delicately. You may as well be sitting at Listrani's an old-school red tablecloth Italian joint that's been around at least since I was a kid. The waiter always says "Bongiorno!" and then carries on the rest of the conversation in English. You order spaghetti with red sauce or eggplant parmesan -- the two lunch specials -- and start, of course, with the house caesar. It's mighty retro.

I'm normally one for ultra-green salads dressed with a very light hand. But lately, I've had an inexplicable craving for good old Caesar salad. Tomatoes haven't yet come back to the market yet, and the cucumbers aren't quite crisp, so it's nice to have a salad whose ingredients are all available right now, that requires little improvisation or substitution, and whose main ingredient isn't fennel. (Not that I don't love fennel.)

Let's face it: when spring vegetables return to the market, we'll probably all forget about Caesar. That's why now is the perfect time to make this standby.

Note: It may be Passover around here, but posts will still magically appear on NDP as I work through a very large backlog of recent cooking projects. Stay tuned!

Caesar Salad adapted from The New Best Recipe

Garlic Croutons: 2 large cloves garlic , peeled and pressed through a garlic press 1/4 teaspoon table salt 3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 2 cups 1/2-inch white bread cubes (from a baguette or country loaf)

Dressing: 1 large egg 4 tablespoons lemon juice from 1-2 medium lemons 1.5 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce 1/4 teaspoon table salt several grinds black pepper 2 small cloves garlic , pressed (1/4 teaspoon) 4 flat anchovy fillets, minced 1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

2 medium heads romaine lettuce (large outer leaves removed) or 2 large romaine hearts; washed, dried, and torn into 1 1/2-inch pieces (about 10 cups, lightly packed) 1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese

For croutons: Adjust oven rack to center position and heat oven to 350 degrees. Mix garlic, salt, and oil in small bowl; set aside for 20 minutes. Spread bread cubes out over small baking sheet. Drizzle oil through fine-mesh strainer evenly onto bread; toss to coat. Bake until golden, about 12 minutes. Cool on baking sheet to room temperature. (Croutons should be stored in an airtight container.)

For the dressing: Bring water to boil in small saucepan over high heat. Carefully lower whole egg into water; cook 45 seconds. Remove with slotted spoon. When cool enough to handle, crack egg into small bowl with all other dressing ingredients except oil; whisk until smooth. Add oil in slow, steady stream, whisking constantly until smooth. Adjust seasonings. (Dressing may refrigerate in airtight container for 1 day; shake before using.)

Place lettuce in large bowl; drizzle with half of dressing, then toss to coat lightly. Sprinkle with cheese, remaining dressing, and croutons; toss to coat well. Divide among individual plates; serve immediately.

Fennel and Apple Salad

If you're like me, the snow isn't the only thing that's making you crawl the walls a bit this February. White stuff or not, it's pretty hard to find a good lookin' salad in these parts. Restaurants are peddling beets and potatoes with a very erstwhile passion, with nary a leaf in sight. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but the greens are endangered these days. And snowpocalypse didn't help; at some point, a friend pulled out a bowl of lettuce, and someone at the table actually squealed with enthusiasm. If you're listening, internet, I could really use some salad.

But I'm not here to complain. I'm writing because, at least temporarily, I've found just the thing to hold me over. This fennel and apple salad fresh and crunchy, dressed with a punchy shallot-lemon vinaigrette. (I love lemon, and shallots are, quite simply, the difference between ehh and amazing in so many things.) Best of all, unlike some winter salads, with their candied nuts and their cooked squash and their big hunks of cheese, it's not at all heavy. It's truly an antidote to the bitter cold outdoors, and a loud and clear answer to those wilted greens I've been seeing everywhere. It's absolutely lovely as is, right out of the bowl. For picture purposes, I mounded it atop a bed of (not wilted) greens, which helped balance the tang of the lemon and added a nice third dimension to the finished dish. I could also see finishing this with something sweet -- pomegranate seeds, perhaps. Or, if you're making this in the dead of winter as I did, supremed clementines or blood oranges. One last alternative: to make this salad even more substantial, I'll be making it for brunch on an upcoming Sunday and serving it with black olives alongside charred tuna and hard-boiled egg segments for a creative play on salade nicoise. And those are just a couple options. I know there are some mighty creative cooks lurking around here: if you've got an idea for this salad, be sure to leave it in the comments.

Fennel and Apple Salad adapted from Bon Appetit

Note: I mentioned this in the post, but I want it documented in the recipe for those who print it out alone. This salad lends itself to many possible variations, and as home cooks, it's our opportunity, dare I say our responsibility, to play around here. Feel free to eat this as is, just out of the bowl. For a more formal presentation, cushion a mound of the salad atop a bed of salad greens (arugula or watercress might be nice) and top with some pomegranate seeds or clementine or blood orange segments. For something more substantial, serve with charred tuna, hard-boiled eggs and black olives for a take on salade nicoise. Those are my ideas; what are yours?

For the dressing:

1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil 1/4 cup fresh lemon juice 1 shallot, minced 1/2 teaspoon (packed) grated lemon peel 1/2 teaspoon salt, more to taste freshly cracked pepper 2 large fresh fennel bulbs, trimmed, halved, very thinly sliced (preferably using a mandoline) 2 8-ounce Fuji apples, halved, cored, cut into matchstick-size strips

Whisk first five ingredients in a bowl. Taste and adjust salt content, then add freshly cracked pepper to taste.

In a medium bowl, combine fennel and apple. Add half the dressing and taste. Add more as desired. Serve immediately.