
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
A plate of heritage tomatoes at their August peak, sliced thick and dressed with nothing but olive oil, shallot, torn basil, and flaky salt. The less you do, the more it gives.
There are two weeks in August when British tomatoes taste the way tomatoes are supposed to taste. Warm from the vine, split-skinned, slightly imperfect, smelling of the greenhouse and the sun. That's when you make this. Not before.
I brought a boxful home from the market last Saturday. Mixed heritage varieties: some deep crimson and ribbed, some pale yellow streaked with green, a few dark ones almost purple at the shoulder. They sat on the windowsill for a day, and the kitchen smelled of summer. A tomato that smells of something will taste of something. That's the only test you need.
This isn't really a recipe. It's an assembly. A sharp knife, a good plate, some oil, some salt, some basil torn at the last moment. The tomato does everything. Your job is to not get in its way. Slice thickly, season properly, leave it alone for ten minutes, and carry it to the table. There's bread for mopping up the juices, which are the best part. We're only making dinner.
I wrote it down in the notebook years ago: tomatoes, basil, salt, August. That's the whole entry. It didn't need anything else.
Quantity
600-800g
mixed varieties and sizes
Quantity
1
very finely sliced into rings
Quantity
3-4 tablespoons
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
generous handful
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
freshly ground
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| heritage tomatoesmixed varieties and sizes | 600-800g |
| banana shallotvery finely sliced into rings | 1 |
| good extra virgin olive oil | 3-4 tablespoons |
| red wine vinegar | 1 tablespoon |
| fresh basil leaves | generous handful |
| flaky sea salt | to taste |
| black pepperfreshly ground | to taste |
Take your tomatoes out of the fridge at least an hour before you need them. Cold kills flavour, and a cold tomato tastes of nothing. When they're at room temperature, slice the larger ones into thick rounds, about the width of a pound coin. Cut smaller ones in half, or just leave the tiny ones whole. Arrange them on a wide plate or shallow dish, overlapping slightly, mixing the colours and shapes as you go. Don't overthink the arrangement. Scatter the shallot rings over the top.
Whisk the olive oil and vinegar together in a small bowl with a pinch of salt. It doesn't need to emulsify perfectly. Spoon this over the tomatoes, letting it pool in the dips and hollows. You want enough to dress every slice but not so much that the plate is swimming. The tomatoes will release their own juices as they sit, and those juices are the best part of the whole thing.
Crush the flaky salt between your fingers as you scatter it over the tomatoes. Be generous. Tomatoes need salt the way bread needs butter. A few grinds of black pepper. Then tear the basil leaves roughly and drop them across the plate. Don't chiffonade, don't chop. Tear. The ragged edges release more fragrance, and it looks like someone made this for supper, not for a photograph.
Leave the plate on the counter for ten minutes before you bring it to the table. The salt draws the juices out, the oil mingles with them, and the basil starts to perfume everything. Those ten minutes are where the salad becomes itself. When you carry it out, there should be a slick of rosy, oily juice on the plate that everyone will want to mop up with bread. Make sure there is bread.
1 serving (about 200g)
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
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.