
Chef Thomas
A Ploughman's Salad
The old pub ploughman's, shaken loose from its board and laid across butter lettuce with a sharp mustard dressing, for the kind of lunch that feels like you've given yourself the afternoon off.
A cooking platform built around craft, culture, and the stories behind what we eat.

Created by Chef Thomas
Bitter chicory leaves carrying sharp apple, crumbled Stilton, and toasted walnuts, dressed with cider vinegar and honey. A winter salad that earns its place at the table when the garden has shut up shop.
January. The garden is bare and the salad drawer in the fridge is a reproach. Lettuce at this time of year tastes of water and good intentions. But chicory doesn't care about the cold. It arrives at the market in tight, pale heads, crisp as anything, with a clean bitterness that wakes you up the way summer leaves never need to.
This is the salad I come back to when the days are short and the evenings call for something that isn't another braise. Bitter chicory, sharp apple, the salty crumble of Stilton, and walnuts toasted until the kitchen smells like warmth itself. A cider vinaigrette pulls it all together, the vinegar's sharpness cutting through the cheese, the honey softening the edges just enough. It takes fifteen minutes. It feeds four. It looks like you tried harder than you did.
I make it through the winter months and into early spring, when the chicory is firm and good and there's still a wedge of Stilton in the fridge from Christmas. At our table it sits alongside cold meats or a bowl of soup, or sometimes it is the whole meal, with bread and butter and nothing else needed. I wrote it down in the notebook last December: chicory, apple, Stilton, walnuts. Cold night. Candles. Right food, right evening.
Quantity
3 heads
a mix of white and red if available, leaves separated
Quantity
2
such as Cox's or Braeburn
Quantity
150g
crumbled into rough pieces
Quantity
75g
Quantity
small handful
leaves picked
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
3 tablespoons
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
a squeeze
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| chicorya mix of white and red if available, leaves separated | 3 heads |
| sharp eating applessuch as Cox's or Braeburn | 2 |
| Stiltoncrumbled into rough pieces | 150g |
| walnut halves | 75g |
| flat-leaf parsleyleaves picked | small handful |
| cider vinegar | 1 tablespoon |
| Dijon mustard | 1 teaspoon |
| runny honey | 1 teaspoon |
| extra virgin olive oil | 3 tablespoons |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
| lemon juice | a squeeze |
Put the walnuts in a dry frying pan over a medium heat. Shake the pan now and then and keep watch. You want them golden and fragrant, smelling of warm, toasty oil, which takes three or four minutes. The moment they start to colour, tip them out onto a board. Walnuts go from toasted to burnt in the time it takes to answer the phone. Roughly chop them once they've cooled enough to handle.
Whisk the cider vinegar, mustard, and honey together in a small bowl or jam jar. Add the olive oil in a steady trickle, whisking as you go, until it comes together into something thick and glossy. Season with salt and pepper. Taste it against a chicory leaf. You want sharpness first, then a trailing sweetness from the honey. Adjust as you like. A recipe is a conversation, not a contract.
Trim the base of each chicory head and separate the leaves. Keep them whole if they are small. Halve the larger outer leaves lengthways. Quarter the apples, cut out the cores, and slice them thinly. A squeeze of lemon over the apple slices stops them browning, but don't drown them. You want the lemon as a whisper, not a shout.
Arrange the chicory leaves on a wide plate or shallow bowl, not piled, but spread so each leaf is visible. Tuck the apple slices among them. Crumble the Stilton over the top in rough, generous pieces, not too small, you want it to hold its own. Scatter the toasted walnuts and parsley leaves. Spoon the dressing over everything, letting it pool in the chicory boats and catch in the crevices. Don't toss it. This salad looks better left where it falls.
1 serving (about 220g)
Culinary guides, cultural storytelling, and the editorial depth that makes cooking meaningful.
Discover Culinary Explorer
Chef Thomas
The old pub ploughman's, shaken loose from its board and laid across butter lettuce with a sharp mustard dressing, for the kind of lunch that feels like you've given yourself the afternoon off.

Chef Thomas
Double-podded broad beans and sweet peas, dressed simply with torn mint, lemon, and good olive oil. The kind of bowl that tastes the way a June garden smells.

Chef Thomas
Celeriac cut into pale matchsticks and dressed in sharp mustard and crème fraîche, the sort of thing you make on a Sunday and find yourself eating from the bowl with a fork on Tuesday.

Chef Thomas
Floury potatoes dressed in sharp, mustardy homemade salad cream with spring onion and white pepper. The potato salad of village fetes, garden tables, and Saturday evenings that stretch on until the light goes.