Great salad secrets

ON SUMMER days, or whenever our
extended family gets together, my
job is to be on Salad Patrol.
It's the result of two things - a
childhood being forced to eat iceberg
lettuce topped by soggy and
tasteless tomatoes, followed by
teenage years when I realised that
the girl who cooked the meal decided
the menu. With this revelation,
our family's eating habits
changed instantly, as my overworked
mum cheerfully handed
over the cutting board and I began
to explore the idea that Kraft Italian
dressing was not necessarily the
height of sophistication.
There is something deeply satisfying
about making a beautiful
salad - the perfect combination of
colours, flavours and textures, the
crisp crunchiness of in-season ingredients,
the way they should be
chosen to complement a meal, the
use of unexpected ingredients to
surprise and delight. I love the tang
of fresh herbs, a good vinegar and
quality olive oil. But mostly I love
the speed that salads can be created
so that when catering for the
hordes, within an hour you have
three or four bowls sitting sparkling
on a bright, clean tablecloth with
people walking past and saying:
"Wow, they look delicious."
The salad obsession began during
a period of weight watching by my
husband and I, spreading to the rest
of the family one Christmas.
We engaged everyone in the idea
of a celebratory lunch that did not
leave us feeling fat and bloated.
"But I hate salad," Dad said. "It
makes me feel cold inside."
"I promise you'll like these ones,"
I said. "If you don't, I'll cook you
some peas."
The turkey was stuffed with
couscous made with stock, cranberry,
spring onions, pinenuts, sage
and parsley. We had a baked vegetable
salad with a tahini dressing as
the first dish and a rocket, pear and
parmesan salad as second. A green
bean, mushroom and vine-ripened
tomato salad with a dressing made
of coriander, soy sauce, ginger and
garlic added deep colour to the
table, while a potato salad, to cater
for the traditionalists, used the
Christmas ham and had a dijon
mustard and sweetened mayonnaise.
Lunch was a huge hit. There
was no call for peas. And we all had
room for pudding.
Salad Patrol has since become a
ritual in my family. The morning
after the day-long drive to my
parents' home, Mum and I sit up in
her bed together, recipe books
spread across the bed.
She gives me a rundown on what
she's got in the fridge and freezer
and, notebook in hand, we flick
through the books looking for
inspiration. It's rare we follow a
recipe to the letter but something
will "look nice", or a substitute ingredient
will already be in the
fridge, and so we mix and match
ideas, decide the menu and write up
a shopping list. With this plan of
action we hit the local supermarket.
There is something utterly indulgent
about needing two shopping
trolleys and lugging the bounty
home to spread across the pantry,
two fridges and an Esky or two. But
we are feeding 12 or more.
And then the creations begin
with the contents moving from
fridge to chopping board to bowl, to
sit on the table awaiting the feast.
There is always an abundance of
sous chefs to slice and dice, tasters
abound and the table is miraculously
set by anyone not in the kitchen. Dad
and the boys are in charge of
barbeque and bar fridge. On Salad
Patrol, everyone has a job - it's my job
not to do everything but steer the
action - and ensure there's not a
limp lettuce or soggy tomato in sight.

First published in the Sydney Morning Herald, January 13, 2009.