Recipe Archive
Salads here are treated as complete dishes, from bright greens and grain bowls to composed plates where dressing, texture, and balance carry the recipe.
590 recipes
A cooking platform built around craft, culture, and the stories behind what we eat.
Chef Takumi
Spring nuta is a quiet composed salad: sweet wakegi, tender squid, and sumiso sharp enough to wake them without covering them. Blanch briefly, dry carefully, dress at the last moment.
Chef Dimitra
Crete's stamnagathi is spiny chicory boiled short and dressed simply, olive oil and lemon sharpening its clean bitterness while the stems keep their bite.
Chef Dean
The iconic steakhouse opener: a shatteringly cold wedge of iceberg crowned with creamy, tangy blue cheese dressing, smoky bacon lardons, sweet tomatoes, and enough honest indulgence to remind you why this classic never goes out of style.
Chef Takumi
Nasu no nibitashi is summer eggplant at its most generous: fried just enough to collapse into silk, then left to drink a clear soy-dashi broth.
Chef Elsa
Crispy golden breaded chicken torn over warm potato salad and tender Vogerlsalat, the whole thing drizzled with dark green Steirisches Kürbiskernöl that turns this Styrian composed salad into a proper meal.
Chef Elsa
Warm waxy potatoes dressed in hot beef broth and cider vinegar, scattered with crispy Speck and Vogerlsalat, finished with a generous pour of Styria's ink-dark Kürbiskernöl and a handful of toasted pumpkin seeds.
Chef Elsa
Paper-thin cucumbers dressed sharp with Apfelessig and finished with a swirl of dark Steirisches Kürbiskernöl, the nutty, ink-green oil that makes everything it touches unmistakably Styrian.
Chef Elsa
Speckled Käferbohnen in a sharp vinegar Marinade, finished with a generous pour of dark Steirisches Kürbiskernöl. The salad that anchors every Styrian Brettljause and proves legumes need nothing but honesty.
Chef Elsa
Extrawurst strips and thin-sliced onions dressed with cider vinegar and drizzled with Styria's dark, nutty Kürbiskernöl. Cold, simple, and so purely Styrian you can taste the postcode.
Chef Dean
Sun-ripened stone fruits sliced over tangy honey-lime yogurt, scattered with golden toasted almonds and torn mint leaves. This is California farmers market cooking at its purest: exceptional ingredients that need nothing more than a sharp knife and good timing.
Chef Dean
Three layers of Midwestern genius: a buttery pretzel crust shatters beneath tangy whipped cream cheese, crowned with ruby strawberry gelatin. This church potluck legend deserves its place at your holiday table.
Chef Fai
No sugar. No paste. Just bamboo, lime, fish sauce, dried chili, and khao khua. Isan's sup tradition strips Thai food to its bones and proves the system still holds.
Chef Juliana
You think all that chopping means this isn't for you. Wrong. Soak the triguilho, chop the greens, dress it bright, and you've solved the fresh corner of the pê-efe.
Chef Zohra
Green peppers charred until their skins blister, tomatoes cooked down in olive oil, garlic, cumin, and paprika. Taktouka is the salad you scoop with bread before the main dish ever arrives.
Chef Fai
The forager's tam. Whatever the forest and garden give you goes into the krok: eggplant, bamboo, herbs, snails. The four pillars hold the chaos together. Isan's wildest pounded salad, and the proof that principles work even without a recipe.
Chef Fai
Tam is a technique, not a recipe for papaya. Young jackfruit proves it: boiled, shredded, pounded in the krok din until the fibers drink the dressing whole. The four pillars hold no matter what goes in the mortar.
Chef Fai
Fresh corn kernels pounded in the krok din, the natural sweetness of the corn doing half the four-pillar work. Less palm sugar, more lime. The tam technique carries anything, and seasonal corn might be its sweetest proof.
Chef Fai
Green mango brings its own acid to the mortar before the lime even arrives. Sour on sour. The four pillars still hold, but here the sour pillar runs the show. Tam at its sharpest.
Chef Fai
Shattered crispy pork belly meets the four pillars in a clay mortar. Fat is the fifth element nobody talks about, the one that carries every other flavor to your tongue and refuses to let go.
Chef Fai
The stall meal that taught me Thai food is a system: pounded papaya dressed by the four pillars, fried mackerel flaked in by hand, sticky rice on the side. One plate, every principle.
Chef Fai
The same mortar, the same four pillars, the same technique. Swap green papaya for ripe tropical fruit and the system still holds: fish sauce for salt, palm sugar for sweet, lime for sour, chili for heat. Tam ponlamai is the proof.
Chef Fai
Same mortar, same technique, same four pillars. Swap the papaya for chewy fermented rice noodles and you've got tam sua: proof that the system works with any ingredient you throw in the krok.
Chef Fai
Same mortar, same four pillars, lighter punch. Cucumber bruised just enough to drink the dressing, sharp with lime, salty with nam pla, barely sweet. The tam you make when Bangkok is 38 degrees and papaya feels too heavy.
Chef Jeong-sun
A composed salad of clear mung bean jelly, seasoned beef, dropwort, egg threads, and gim, named for political harmony and built on clean knife work.
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