It's a corker

I meant to include an announcement in the title, and then promptly forgot the intention — sorry! You see, there's a giveaway going on. Details are at the bottom of the post, after the recipe.

This is totally happening.

Here we have that unapologetic specimen of salad, the iceberg wedge. Actually, it's burly enough to warrant emphasis — The Iceberg Wedge. Yes, that's better.

I was out with a friend I don't see as often as I'd like, the sort of friend who orders you a French 75 in a bar that's all dark wood and leather and brass, and whose taste you'd trust implicitly. Over the wandering path of our catching up, one of us mentioned iceberg lettuce; imagine my delighted suprise when he boldly declared his love for the stuff, a declaration I immediately cosigned. Besides maybe a backyard burger, I think we agreed that a wedge salad, dressed with bacon and blue cheese and more than a dash of hot sauce, is iceberg's highest praise.

I've got real hopes some of you agree.

Iceberg salads are often maligned, the badum-bum-cha punch line to jokes about terrible cooking. And there's surely fair reason for that, as sure as there's redeeming qualities to The Iceberg Wedge. It isn't refined, it isn't one of those springy salads that gets us ready for summer days. It is watery refreshing, it's old school gung-ho — it is crunch, and fat, and cool, and nose-clearing heat, all set right up to high on the sensory scale. It isn't wimpy, wan or delicate. It's a corker, a real wise guy. It's memorable. 

As you might recall, I held off on bringing up this recipe earlier. I wanted to get the dressing measurements locked in before sending you on your way. There's a trouble in that though; as silly as it sounds, blue cheese dressing is an art more than a science. There are variables to consider and balance, ones that can't be be pinned down to hard and fast rules: the pungency and the moisture of the cheese, the astringency of the particular lemon that's juiced, the consistency of the sour cream. I've abandoned hope of giving exacting quantities, offering instead guidelines to steer you in the right direction. 

If you don't mind, I have a note on the hot sauce to choose. I have a weakness for cayenne-based sauces with blue cheese, specifically Franks Red Hot Sauce, the hot sauce for Buffalo chicken wings — a dish that should always be served with celery and carrot sticks and blue cheese dressing. And no, I don't dip my wings in the dressing. That's just me. But the vinegary sting, that lip prickling heat from the hot sauce after a bite of chicken is so, so great with celery dipped in dressing for a chaser. Here, the iceberg lettuce stands in for the celery and the bacon for the deep fried wings, but the same logic applies. 

And while we're on the topic of hot sauce, — my apologies but I have some heart-held feelings when it comes to the iceberg, scratch that, The Iceberg Wedge — I don't mix the hot sauce into the dressing. I'm not entirely fond of the pinkish shade it dyes everything, but there's also a taste preference; keeping it instead in drips and drabs across the salad perforates the dressing's richness. Again, that's just me. 

Despite my peculiarities of opinion, there's nothing difficult about an iceberg salad. Not much happens in the kitchen, but everything happens on the plate. 

Another point scored for The Iceberg Wedge.

The Iceberg Wedge
You can use the dressing right away but I think it's even nicer after a day in the fridge, which gives the flavours the chance to fully develop. If you choose to wait, you may need to stir in a few drops of water to thin the dressing before use; it thickens quite a lot as it sits. 

But oh, that thickened dressing is especially great on top of one of those backyard burgers. Leave it as is, straight from the fridge, and go to town.

For the blue cheese dressing (makes about 2 cups)
3/4 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup sour cream
1/4 cup well-shaken buttermilk
4 ounces blue cheese, crumbled
1 tablespoon minced chives
Juice from half a lemon
Freshly ground black pepper

For the salad
1 medium sized head of iceberg lettuce
1 recipe blue cheese dressing
5 slices thick-cut bacon, chopped then fried until crisp
Minced chives, freshly-cracked black pepper, and hot sauce to serve

Make the dressing. In a medium bowl, combine the mayonnaise, sour cream and 3 tablespoons of the buttermilk. Gently fold in the blue cheese and chives along with 1 tablespoon of lemon juice. Season with freshly-ground black pepper. Take a taste. If more freshness is needed, stir in a bit more lemon juice. If it needs thinning, add some buttermilk. Keep tasting and tweaking until the dressing suits your taste. Set aside, or if making ahead, cover and refrigerate until use. 

To make the salad, discard any saddish-looking outside leaves from the lettuce. Cutting through the core, halve the head lengthways. Then cut each half into half the same way, so you end up with quarters, each with bit of core attached. Place the wedges on individual plates or on a platter, family style. Pour some of the dressing over the wedges, then top with the bacon. Garnish with minced chives, a cracking of black pepper, and as much hot sauce as you dare, passing the remaining dressing alongside. 

Best eaten immediately, serving 4.

Notes:

• If you can time things such that the bacon is still warm, with some of its fat still sizzling when it's scattered on the salad, that's the way to go.
• Green garlic can be used instead of, or in addition to, the chives.

*******

I truly appreciate the response to my work in UPPERCASE and all the recent kindness regarding my nominations over at Saveur. And so in thanks, I got together with Janine to offer two copies of UPPERCASE magazine's latest issue  for a giveaway! The contest is open to anyone; simply leave a comment here if you'd like to be considered. (Please provide a way to contact you - through your own website or email address. If concerned about privacy on the latter, the information is only visible to me when entered in the contact email field of the comment form. It will not be made public.)

Entries will be accepted until at 11:59 p.m. on Friday, April 20, 2012.

Hooray and best of luck!

Essential in the enjoyment

It's the new year. We're one week in and I'm still getting my footing. The bang of fireworks at midnight seven days ago acted as my starter's pistol - the get-go for the clipping pace the days have taken. 

I don't know if I can still wish you a happy year, there must be an expiry date on the phrase, just as I don't know if I should be this bouncy over a January salad.

But I am. Smitten with radishes and celery and apple. And I do wish you grand times ahead.

What started me on salads was when we slipped away to Montreal way back in November - even though their first snow had fallen and our cheeks were rusty with the bite of a sharp wind, leafy, green and perky salads were often the unexpected boon at mealtimes. Some peppery, some mild, with shaved fennel and Grana Padano, or a humble jumble of tiny greens in a film of dressing with pickled shallot. In the morning, served with our eggs, there were last September's tomatoes dried and preserved in oil.

The last night was one where the sidewalks were slick with ice and I (firmly) held a gentlemanly arm to maintain my footing. Finally tucked into the warm restaurant, I was playing that game where you scout the menu by taking inventory of the plates of others when I saw a salad -  a tangle of mixed cabbages and carrot, nothing more than a coleslaw really - and it was, somehow, exactly what I wanted. 

It made sense, really, that in the winter we need some crunch to enliven both our palate and spirits. It is no news that I am a fan of comfort food; braises and slow roasts are often my favourite meals. Against those rich, unctuous gravies and stews a salad brings all that the dish is not - the piquancy of vinegar and punch of freshness resets the taste buds and brightens the meal through contrast. Each becomes essential in the enjoyment of the other.

And while we might not think of it, cold winters, those bitterly frosty days, are dry. Skin is chapped, lips are chapped, hair is flyaway and frizzy. I find myself, a person not usually one to keep a carafe by the bed, stumbling awkwardly and squintingly into the kitchen to gulp down glasses of water in the morning. A salad gives a meal an aspect of watery crunch, which is to say it refreshes without the stumbling and the stubbed toes.

The salad we have here is a more recent entry into our canon, inspired by the collected lessons of our trip. I'll offer it up in terms as one should offer to a friend, without quantities or much by way of specification. The salad is best because of its combination. There is a balance of the different sorts of crispness between the supple celery and the assertive radish; the apple falls between the two.

My only true instruction is to slice everything, save the parsley of course, as thinly as you can muster. Shaved wafer thin is where I'd aim, as the textures and flavours seem at their best as such, with it all coming off as ravishingly addicting. Wet, but not sodden, and that sounds funny I know. 

With baguette and butter it makes for an ideal lunch, only gaining in appeal when eaten indoors, at the table, by the window, with a snowy landscape on the other side.

Radish, Celery and Apple Salad

Ingredients
A bunch of radishes, sliced thin
An apple, something crisp and sweet, sliced thin
A stalk of celery, sliced thin
A generous handful of flat-leafed parsley, stems removed
Juice from half a lemon
Mild honey
Extra virgin olive oil
Sea salt and freshly-ground black pepper

In a medium bowl, toss together the radishes, apple, celery and parsley. Squeeze over a bit of lemon juice, a fine drizzle of honey, and a larger splash of olive oil. Toss gently, so that everything is well coated, then add a sprinkle of sea salt and a good grind of pepper. Toss again and taste for seasoning. 

Serves 2, I'd say.