216 recipes. Page 3 of 9
Salad recipes with vegetables, fruit, and grains
Charred until deep brown, Korean daepa (a thick green onion similar to a leek) loses its sharp bite and turns soft and sweet inside. With tender potatoes and a dressing of doenjang, lemon juice, and honey, it makes a salty, earthy potato salad with no mayonnaise in sight.
Ham, turkey, cheddar, hard-boiled eggs, and cherry tomatoes go onto a bed of romaine in neat, separate rows, enough protein to make the chef salad an American main course rather than a side. The honey mustard dressing waits on the side, so the lettuce stays crisp to the last bite.
Cheongpomuk, a soft, translucent jelly made from mung bean starch, is cut into batons and tossed in chojang, Korean sweet-and-sour chili sauce. Crisp apple, cucumber, and red cabbage play against the jelly's smooth, bouncy texture, and the apple's sweetness rounds off the chili heat.
Chia seeds soaked in lemon juice and water swell into soft, jelly-coated beads that pop gently through a yuja citrus dressing. Silken tofu gets no seasoning of its own and relies on the dressing's tangy sweetness and touch of soy, which means each spoonful should hold both tofu and dressing. Left in the fridge for about 30 minutes after mixing, the chia dressing turns noticeably chewier.
A dressing of nothing more than lime juice and olive oil cuts cleanly through creamy avocado. Golden pan-seared chicken breast supplies lean substance, romaine and cucumber bring crunch against the soft avocado, and cherry tomatoes add a sharp, juicy note. Sliced hot, the chicken loses its juices to the cutting board and turns dry, and a rest on a plate before cutting prevents that. Avocado works the other way: it browns as it sits and is sliced only just before the dressing goes on. The result is a simple American-style salad that eats as a full meal, and lemon stands in well when there is no lime.
Grilled chicken breast turns the classic side salad into a full meal. Pressing the thick end flat before cooking gives the breast one even thickness, and the thin edges stay juicy while the center finishes. The chicken is cut in moderately thick pieces, since very thin slices lose heat and moisture fast and turn chalky. The dressing skips anchovy and relies on mayonnaise, lemon juice and garlic, and the croutons go on at the end without any toasting.
Rinsed quickly under cold water, quinoa loses its natural coating of bitter saponins and tastes clean and nutty. Cooled quinoa, seared chicken breast, romaine, cucumber, and bell pepper come together under a lemony Greek yogurt dressing, and the result eats more like a grain bowl than a side salad.
Korean garlic chives (buchu) are far sharper and more pungent than Western chives, and this side dish keeps them raw to hold on to that bite. Doenjang, a fermented soybean paste, clings to the flat leaves so every mouthful carries its salty depth, while vinegar lightens the finish and chili flakes leave a gentle heat. A 30-second rinse in cold water is enough, and longer soaking dulls the aroma. It is made right before the meal and belongs next to a bowl of rice.
Fried thick tofu (atsuage) and toasted white sesame are ground together into a thick dressing that clings to shredded daikon and carrot. The grinding goes on until no flecks of the tofu skin remain, which is what makes the coating smooth enough to wrap the fine shreds. It resembles shiraae, the Japanese tofu-dressed salad, in its nutty richness, but vinegar and Japanese mustard make it tart with a little nasal heat. Wringing the salted daikon and carrot out firmly in two or three goes keeps the coating thick after the vinegar is added and lets the vegetables keep their crunch. Thin diagonal slices of blanched snow peas add green against the white and orange.
Firm tofu, crumbled by hand and fried in olive oil until its moisture cooks off, turns into dry, nutty granules that sit on the greens like a savory topping. Chopped chonggak (young radish) kimchi brings sour, fermented crunch, and the gochujang-yogurt dressing delivers its heat wrapped in a creamy tang.
Finely cut romaine and red cabbage, with carrot and bell pepper in small dice, let one forkful pick up all five vegetables at once. Size is most of the work: if the carrot pieces run large, they take longer to chew and the bite falls apart into separate flavors. With only olive oil, lemon juice and salt for dressing, the slight bitterness of red cabbage and the sweetness of corn come through plainly. Leaves need drying well, since any water left on them thins that light dressing fast. None of the vegetables goes limp quickly, and the dressed salad keeps its crunch in the fridge as a make-ahead meal.
Chwinamul, a leafy Korean mountain green, gets only a 20-second blanch and an ice bath; left longer in boiling water, it loses both its herbal bitterness and its bright green color. Julienned apple and cucumber bring sweetness and juice, and thin red onion, soaked first in cold water, adds a sharp edge that keeps the plate light. The dressing loosens doenjang (Korean soybean paste) with lemon juice and thickens it with perilla oil into a nutty, tart coating rather than anything soup-like, and a salty doenjang can be thinned with a little water. The apple is cut last, after everything else is ready, to keep browning down. It sits somewhere between a seasoned namul side dish and a fruit salad, tastes clearest served cold, and is most fragrant with freshly harvested spring chwinamul.
Smoked mackerel already carries smoke and oil, and it takes only blanched chwinamul greens, cooked lentils and a Dijon, cider vinegar and honey dressing to turn it into a full salad. Because the flesh flakes apart easily, it goes on last in large pieces.
Shaved thin and soaked in cold water, fennel turns into crisp, anise-scented ribbons that catch the juice from orange segments. Bitter-edged arugula and sliced almonds fill in between the sweet and the sour. The dressing is only olive oil and white wine vinegar, so each raw ingredient comes through clearly. The salad is tossed only at the last moment, because fennel left sitting in vinaigrette goes limp and crunch is the whole point of the dish. Citrus and fennel wake the palate rather than dulling it, which is why the salad comes before rich meat or fish courses.
Chicken, hard-boiled egg, avocado, bacon and cherry tomatoes are laid in stripes across the romaine and only tossed together at the table.
Shredded under 0.2 cm and chilled for at least 30 minutes, the cabbage and carrot soften just slightly and soak up a mayonnaise dressing. Cider vinegar and Dijon mustard lighten the mayo, and the sugar is kept to a teaspoon so sweetness never takes over. This is the side that goes next to barbecue, fried chicken or a pulled pork sandwich, where its cold crunch cuts the grease. A little red onion adds color and some pungency.
Couscous never boils for this salad: boiling water is poured over, the bowl is covered, and five minutes of standing does the cooking. Texture is decided afterward. Lifted apart with a fork, the grains stay light and separate; pressed or stirred, they clump into a sticky mass. Cucumber, cherry tomatoes and roughly chopped parsley add juice and freshness, and a lemon and olive oil dressing seasons it lightly. Let the steam escape completely first, or the vegetables soften. With parsley making up so much of the bowl, it eats more like tabbouleh than a heavy grain salad, and couscous that holds its texture at room temperature travels well in a lunch box or to a picnic.
Poached at a bare simmer and torn along the grain by hand, the chicken breast comes out in moist strands that mix easily with romaine and thin strips of bell pepper. A hard boil would dry it out; instead the heat goes off and the lid stays on so the meat finishes gently through the center. Plain yogurt with mustard and a little honey makes a creamy dressing without any oily sauce, while corn and boiled egg add sweetness and richness. Toppings go on in separate sections and get tossed only at the table. The dressing is kept on the side because poured on early it draws water from the romaine and pepper and leaves them limp.
On Crete, dakos piles grated ripe tomato, juice and all, onto a hard barley rusk, putting bread and salad on one plate. The rusk slowly drinks in the tomato juice, leaving a soft, moist center and an edge that still crunches. That is why the rusk gets only a light sprinkle of water on top, as a long soak would take away the crisp rim altogether. Crumbled feta adds salt against the tomato's acidity, while black olives and dried oregano rubbed between the fingers bring aroma. Islanders eat it as a summer starter or a light meal on its own, and the riper the tomato, the better it tastes.
Spring dallae, a wild Korean chive with a pungent bite, meets tangerine segments, blanched shrimp and fluffy cooked millet, with a yuja marmalade (Korean citron preserve) and white wine vinegar dressing that tames the shrimp's faint fishiness and brings the chive aroma forward. Rinse the dallae and use it right away; a long soak washes out its scent.
Tapped with the back of a knife and torn lengthwise by hand, deodeok (a Korean mountain root) splits into chewy, fibrous strands, but pounded too hard the fibers crush and the chew is gone. A gochujang and vinegar dressing thickened with ground perilla seed gives it a nutty finish, and julienned apple softens the root's bitterness with sweet juice.
Deodeok, a Korean mountain root, has an earthy smell and a gentle bitterness, and orange segments and arugula answer it with acidity and a peppery bitterness. The root is pounded and seared in the same pan as the chicken tenders, glazed with soy sauce, and a light dressing of lemon juice, soy sauce, olive oil and honey lands somewhere between Korean and Italian.
Rubbing bellflower root with salt, rinsing it, then blanching it for just 3 minutes takes away bitterness while keeping a firm crunch. Julienned Korean pear brings cool sweetness to a sharp, spicy dressing of gochugaru (Korean chili flakes) and vinegar. A teaspoon of fish sauce gives the seasoning depth, and sesame oil goes in last so its aroma stays on top. The pear loses juice and softens the earlier it goes in, so the root is seasoned first and the pear folded in at the very end. It is best eaten while both are still crisp, when bitter root, sweet pear and sharp dressing shift from one to the next in each bite.
Bellflower root and chestnuts both come into season in autumn, and this salad puts the lingering bitterness of lightly blanched root next to the soft, crumbly sweetness of cooked chestnut. Julienned Korean pear adds cool juice, and a cider vinegar dressing thickened with plenty of ground perilla seed ties everything together with a nutty, toasty aroma. Quartering the chestnuts lengthwise keeps them in chunky pieces that stand out, yellow against the white root and pear.