
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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Peppery watercress, blood orange segments, and slivers of red onion dressed in nothing more than the orange's own juice and good olive oil. A winter salad that earns its place at the table.
January is not a month most people associate with salad, but this is the exception. The blood oranges arrive in the market around the same time the cold properly sets in, and their colour alone is enough to justify the trip: that deep crimson bleeding into ruby, as if someone had stained them overnight. Next to a pile of watercress, dark and peppery and still damp, they look like they belong together. They do.
This is an old combination. The Victorians knew it, serving watercress with orange at winter tables when not much else was green and growing. I don't know whether they used blood oranges or navels, but I can tell you the blood oranges are worth waiting for. They bring a tartness that ordinary oranges don't quite have, and that colour against the dark watercress leaves is something you want on the table.
The dressing is barely a recipe. Juice from the orange trimmings, good olive oil, a flake of salt. The onion goes in thinly sliced and soaked for a few minutes in vinegared water, which tames the bite without killing it. That's it. No mustard, no honey, no garlic. The ingredients are good enough to carry the whole thing without interference.
I make this through the winter months whenever the blood oranges look right at the market. Sometimes it sits alongside a roast chicken or a piece of fish. Sometimes it is the meal, with bread and cheese and a glass of something cold. I wrote it down in the notebook last February: watercress, blood orange, red onion, Tuesday. The rain had been going all day. The salad was the brightest thing in the kitchen.
Quantity
2 large bunches
thick stems removed
Quantity
3
peeled and segmented
Quantity
1 small
peeled and sliced into thin rings
Quantity
a splash
Quantity
3-4 tablespoons
Quantity
from the trimmings
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
to taste
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| watercressthick stems removed | 2 large bunches |
| blood orangespeeled and segmented | 3 |
| red onionpeeled and sliced into thin rings | 1 small |
| red wine vinegar | a splash |
| extra virgin olive oil | 3-4 tablespoons |
| orange juice | from the trimmings |
| flaky sea salt | to taste |
| black pepper | to taste |
Slice the red onion as thinly as you can manage. Drop the rings into a small bowl of cold water with the splash of red wine vinegar. Leave them while you prepare everything else. Ten minutes is enough. This softens the raw heat without losing the colour or the crunch. Drain them well and pat dry.
Cut the top and bottom off each orange so it sits flat, then carve away the peel and pith in strips, following the curve of the fruit. Work over a bowl to catch the juice. Now cut between the membranes to release clean segments. Squeeze the leftover membrane into the bowl. That juice is half your dressing.
To the collected orange juice, add three or four tablespoons of your best olive oil and a pinch of flaky salt. Stir it with a fork. Taste. It should be bright and slightly sharp, balanced by the fruitiness of the oil. If it needs a drop more vinegar, add it. If it's too tart, a little more oil. You'll know when it's right.
Spread the watercress across a wide plate or shallow bowl. Tuck the orange segments in amongst the leaves. Scatter the drained onion rings over the top. Spoon the dressing over everything with a generous hand, letting it pool in the leaves. Finish with a few flakes of salt and a grind of black pepper. Bring it to the table immediately. Watercress waits for nobody.
1 serving (about 190g)
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