
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.
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Created by Chef Thomas
Crisp cabbage, sweet carrot, and sharp red onion in a mustardy dressing that reminds you why you should never buy coleslaw from a supermarket shelf again.
The smell of a barbecue carries. You catch it over the fence, through an open window, from three gardens down. Smoke and charcoal and something sweet catching on the grill. But the thing that makes the plate work, the thing nobody talks about, is the coleslaw sitting quietly in a bowl at the end of the table.
I don't know when coleslaw became something to apologize for. Somewhere between the plastic tubs and the all-you-can-eat buffets, it lost its nerve. The shop-bought sort is sweet and flabby, swimming in a dressing that tastes of nothing in particular. It sits on the side of the plate like an afterthought. It deserves better.
Proper coleslaw is a different thing entirely. The cabbage should crunch. The carrot should taste of carrot. The dressing needs sharpness and mustard heat, enough to stand up to a charred sausage or a piece of chicken still hot from the grill. It takes twenty minutes to make, most of that spent shredding, and it is better than anything you will ever unwrap from cling film.
I make this every summer when the barbecue comes out. I make it for the potluck at the village hall and for the plate someone brings round when there's a new baby on the street. I wrote it down in the notebook years ago, just three words: cabbage, mustard, crunch. That's still the whole recipe, really. The rest is just detail.
Quantity
half, about 500g
finely shredded
Quantity
2 large
peeled and coarsely grated
Quantity
1 small
peeled and very finely sliced
Quantity
4 heaped tablespoons
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
small handful
roughly chopped
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| white cabbagefinely shredded | half, about 500g |
| carrotspeeled and coarsely grated | 2 large |
| red onionpeeled and very finely sliced | 1 small |
| good mayonnaise | 4 heaped tablespoons |
| Dijon mustard | 1 tablespoon |
| cider vinegar | 1 tablespoon |
| runny honey | 1 teaspoon |
| fine sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
| flat-leaf parsley (optional)roughly chopped | small handful |
Quarter the cabbage and cut out the thick core. Lay each quarter flat side down on the board and shred it as finely as you have the patience for. Thinner is better here. You want ribbons, not chunks. A heavy, sharp knife does this best. Take your time with it. The shredding is the recipe, really. Everything else is just dressing.
Grate the carrots on the coarse side of a box grater. You want proper shreds with some texture, not the fine mush you get from the small holes. Slice the red onion as thinly as you possibly can, then halve those slices so they separate into fine little crescents. If raw onion hits you hard, soak the slices in cold water for five minutes and drain them well. It takes the sting away without losing the flavour.
In a small bowl, stir together the mayonnaise, mustard, cider vinegar, and honey. The mustard should be Dijon, not English. English mustard will blow your head off; Dijon gives warmth and a gentle bite. The vinegar lifts everything. The honey rounds it. Taste it. It should be sharp enough to cut through the richness of the mayo, with a mustardy heat at the back. Adjust until it tastes like something you'd want to eat off the spoon.
Tip the cabbage, carrot, and onion into a large bowl. Pour the dressing over and toss everything together thoroughly with your hands. Your hands, not a spoon. You need to work the dressing into the shreds so every strand is coated. Season generously with salt and pepper. Taste it. More salt than you think. The cabbage absorbs it. If you have parsley, scatter it through now. Cover and let it sit in the fridge for at least half an hour before serving. It needs that time. The cabbage softens just slightly, the dressing settles in, and the whole thing comes together into something that tastes like it was always meant to be one thing, not a collection of ingredients.
1 serving (about 150g)
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