Chopped Salad

Sometimes, I steal recipes.  This can happen in a completely innocent way.  For example, I may be perusing a cookbook or cooking magazine in a bookstore, and I stumble upon an enticing photograph or recipe.  The idea may simply stick with me, and lead to my own version of the aforementioned image, visual or verbal.  My previous post is prime example of this borrowed creativity.  I saw an idea that I liked, and put my own spin on it.  Other times, it is a little more malicious.  I might, say, take a picture of a photograph, or quickly type up a note on my phone, documenting a simplified version of a printed recipe.  Admittedly, this is sort of awful of me. 

This past weekend, I engaged in the latter type of activity.  I saw a recipe for the loveliest chopped salad, with two types of cabbage, fennel, olives, chicken, and an oregano vinaigrette.  Hunkered down on the floor of Barnes and Noble, tucked in an unassuming aisle, I jotted down a list of ingredients on my phone, and a few notes on the vinaigrette, while occasionally taking a nervous glance over my shoulder.  “I will make it my own,” I told myself, trying to rationalize my inappropriate behavior.  I had spent over an hour looking at the cookbook from which I stole the recipe.  There were quite a few additional recipes that caught my eye, but I only stole one.  Later that evening, I found myself wishing my notes on the vinaigrette were more thorough, but I figured that served me right, and I was not even feeling the proper kind of remorse, given the crime. 

The next day, I went back to Barnes and Noble on an unrelated errand.  As I was getting ready to leave my apartment, I suddenly realized I would get another opportunity to take a look at the now fuzzy vinaigrette assembly; I found myself involuntarily picking up the pace in excitement over spending a little more time with the cookbook.  I took care of my first task; I immediately sidled up to the cookbook section, and then blew another hour sitting cross-legged on the floor, with the cookbook nestled in my lap.  I suddenly heard a voice in my head, saying “BUY THE COOKBOOK.”  It was as if I became Pluto in an old Disney cartoon, and a mini-me angel tapped me on the shoulder, guiding me towards the right thing.  And I am now engaging in a bold-faced confession, hoping that it will entitle me to blog about the recipe with a (sort of) clean conscience.

Seriously though, in spite of my questionable moral compass, this chopped salad is very tasty.  I am not a big salad eater; they tend to be too crunchy and not rich or savory enough.  With that being said, I’ve got to hand it to Jeanne Kelley, author of SaladFor Dinner because her book truly lives up to its title.  She takes a genre of food known for leaving diners wanting more, and renders it worthy of calling it a satisfying dinner.  Her recipes, categorized by their protein, are all well-rounded, full flavored, and filling meals.  Granted I have only made this Chopped Salad, but I can tell that there are quite a few other recipes that will live up to its prowess.

Now about this Chopped Salad… it’s utterly divine.  Crunchy green and red cabbage, sweet fennel, and red onion are offset by the heartiness of plenty of shredded chicken breast, all kissed with a bright Oregano Vinaigrette.  This strong foundation is then highlighted by a wide array of salty, savory morsels, that elevate it from a glorified slaw into a balanced and thoughtful main dish.  Briny green olives and peppery parley leaves run throughout the salad.  And as if that weren’t enough, the salad is then garnished with feta and prosciutto (I know, it makes me swoon, too). 

When I initially read the recipe, I thought, “Why green olives?  Why not Kalamata?”  Shopping for the meal, I even paused at the olive bar, eyes darting between the bins of green Mt. Athos olives and Kalamata, questioning what I felt to be an otherwise brilliant recipe.  I made a last minute swerve to the left, and counted out my 10 green olives, upped from Kelley’s six.  I’m willing to defend my choice on this particular judgment call, but I have to say that the Kalamatas would have been a grave mistake.  The color and the firm texture alone make green olives worth their salt in this context, and I think the brinier, milder flavor is the perfect compliment.  As for the prosciutto and feta, I’m pretty sure those two ingredients speak for themselves, and  they truly yield a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. 

Another strong selling point for the delectable Chopped Salad is that is one of the few in the history of salads that actually holds up as a decent leftover, and that is because it made with cabbage instead of lettuce or baby greens.  Tossed in dressing, it retained its immaculate crunch over a couple of days, only deepening in flavor.  I kept the prosciutto and feta separate (they were a garnish, after all).  Please note, I did not add any salt to this recipe, besides in the preparation of the dressing and the chicken.  The smorgasbord of salty flavors is adequate without actually salting the dish.  My favorite salty element?  The prosciutto, no question.  The sweet, meaty flavor and toothsome texture definitely add a certain “je ne sais quoi,” and the color is the icing on the cake.  The recipe written below is true to how I made it, including a few minor tweaks that veered slightly from the original text; however, I stuck to Kelley’s overall vision because she gave me no reason not to. 

Chopped Salad (slightly adapted from Jean Kelley’s Salad forDinner):

Serves 4

3-4 cups very thinly sliced green cabbage

2-3 cups very thinly sliced red cabbage

12 ounces shredded cooked chicken breast (cooked in the same way at the previous post)

1 fennel bulb, trimmed and very thinly sliced (about 1 cup)

1/4 cup red onion, very thinly sliced, tossed with a few tablespoons of fresh lemon juice

1/2 cup fresh Italian parsley leaves

10 good quality green olives, pitted and chopped

3 ounces thinly sliced prosciutto, torn into pieces

4 ounces feta, crumbled

Oregano Vinaigrette

3 tablespoons red wine vinegar

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

1 teaspoon dried oregano, crumbled

2 teaspoons Dijon mustard

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1/8 teaspoon crushed red pepper

1 garlic clove, lightly smashed

1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil

Whisk all ingredients for vinaigrette together except oil and garlic.  Gradually whisk in oil.  Add garlic clove, and allow dressing to sit for 30 minutes.  Allow garlic clove to continue sitting in dressing, but don't eat it.

In a large bowl, combine both cabbages, fennel, onion, parsley, olives, and chicken.  Add enough Oregano Vinaigrette to lightly coat, and toss well.  

Divide salad on dinner plates and garnish with prosciutto and feta, and an additional drizzle of vinaigrette and freshly ground black pepper.

Chicken Tagine with Fennel and Olives

If you are a loyal reader (which, of course, you are), you may remember a slightly disastrous encounter with a recipe for chicken sausage with fennel and lentils.  The purpose of that recipe was to experiment with fennel, and the results were boring, and lacking asthetic appeal.  However, in January’s issue of Bon Appetit, I found the answer to my fennel prayers: a chicken tagine with fennel and olives (a tagine is essentially a North African style of braising.  For more information, see my glossary).  Honestly, the title alone had me weak in the knees, and further investigation validated my initial sentiments.  This recipe has some of my favorite ingredients, which happen to be a perfect counterpoint to the fragrant, sweet fennel. What could better balance its anise flavor than salty, briny, meaty, green olives?  The remaining ingredients only augmented my high expectations, and rightfully so: cumin, paprika, lemon, and cilantro.  And all of those delicious elements come together in a lush sauce that pairs perfectly with couscous.   

In addition to the enticing recipe, Bon Appetit provided me with an entire article on fennel, exposing me to all sorts of coveted fennel facts.  For example, fennel is currently in-season.  As if this perfect recipe isn’t enough of a reason to run out to your nearest fennel provider, the “in-season” factor should give you added incentive.  Fennel also happens to be a heavyweight when it comes to nutrition.  I found this surprising:  usually we associate brightly colored vegetables with high nutritional value.  But, apparently, the perfectly pale fennel bulb is packed with fiber, potassium, and vitamin C, amongst other anti-oxidants.  Additionally, anethole, the substance accountable for fennel’s distinctive licoricy flavor, has anti-inflammatory properties, and who couldn’t use that?

Chicken Tagine with Fennel and Olives (adapted from Bon Appetit’s recipe)

1 ½ pounds boneless, skinless chicken thighs

1 tablespoon olive oil

2 medium-sized fennel bulbs, halved, cored, and cut into thin slices

2 teaspoons cumin

½ teaspoon paprika

½ teaspoon hot pepper flakes

Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Juice of one lemon, divided

2 cup reduced sodium chicken stock
Salt and pepper, to taste

½ cup coarsely chopped green olives, packed in brine

½ cup chopped cilantro, plus extra for garnish

§  Heat olive oil over medium-high to high heat for 2-3 minutes, or until very hot.  Place chicken thighs in pan.  If the pan is hot enough, this should be very noisy.  Leave undisturbed for about 5 minutes, or until nicely brown.  Flip and cook on other side for 2-3 minutes.

§  Remove chicken from pan and set aside.  Remove excess fat from pan, leaving about 2 tablespoons (this can be done carefully with a paper towel)

§  Add fennel to the pan, allow to cook for about 5 minutes, or until it starts to brown.

§  Add chicken back to the pan.  Add stock, half of lemon juice, spices, and salt/pepper.  Stir to combine.

§  Bring mixture to a boil, and then reduce to a simmer, and cover.  Cook for 15-20 minutes, or until chicken in cooked through.

§  Add olives, and increase heat to allow sauce to reduce for about 5 minutes.

§  Add remaining lemon juice and cilantro.  Serve chicken, fennel, and sauce over couscous and garnish with extra cilantro.

Comments:  I had dangerously high expectations for this recipe, and it somehow managed to exceed them.  The above recipe includes a few minor revisions, compared to the original, and I wouldn’t alter this preparation for anything.  This dish is perfectly balanced.  For those of you who are weary of fennel’s strong anise flair, braising it in this fashion manages to mellow, but not drown out, the flavors.  The cumin lends a touch of smokiness; the hot pepper flakes add a little kick; the lemon brings its usual bright acidity; and the cilantro is an appropriate accompaniment, and not the least bit overpowering, as it sometimes can be.  The original recipe actually calls for a full cup of it, but I added only a half-cup, and it was still enough to make a difference in the flavor, but not so much that it becomes the only flavor.  Even after eating for multiple days in a row, I was mournful over the final serving.  If you are looking for something delicious, but a little unexpected for dinner, chicken tagine with fennel and olives will cure you of this craving.   

Sausage and Lentils with Fennel

I won’t try to dress it up: this was not my finest hour in the kitchen.  Before I even went to the market to get the ingredients, doubt whispered quietly in my ear about this recipe.  But I ignored it, and walked straight into this culinary mess anyway.  For a while, I’ve wanted to make something with fennel. So when I found this recipe on Epicurious.com, it sounded perfect: a lovely sauté of vegetables and lentils, served with sausage.  I love French lentils, those green little beauties, and with a chicken sausage substitution, this sounded healthful and unlike anything I’ve made in the past. 

Then I read the reviews: many were positive, but with a lot of changes to the original recipe, and there was a small, but conspicuous percentage of bad reviews, most accusing the dish of being boring.  I hoped I wouldn’t feel this way, but after making it, I agree with latter.  Not only was the end result boring, but the process of cooking this dish was a mess.  I don’t know if it was the altitude, my ancient stove, or my own ineptness, but every single step took an inordinate amount of time to complete.  I don’t mind a long leisurely recipe, in fact, I love it, but this was just a jumble of too many pans, and an unpleasant feeling of doubt. Every thing felt either rushed or uncertain.  For two hours. 

Usually, cooking is a feast for the senses: ingredients smell and look good, they sizzle, simmer, and transform into something delectable.  This sensory experience was mundane at best. I just knew my trials and tribulations would not trigger a great, big, involuntary “MMmmmm” at the first bite.  My suspicions were unfortunately realized.  The dish itself was edible, but nothing special.  I added a ton of parmesan cheese to it, which was a modest improvement.  Even after 40 minutes, the lentils were cooked through, but still not tender the way I wanted them.  And the fennel, which I was so excited about, was lost in its surroundings, the sea of boring.  I did have a little success with the leftovers: cooking the lentils and sausage in marinara and tossing it with pasta and parmesan, but this does not validate the initial struggle.  Below is the recipe as it came from Epicurious.com, with my feeble contributions denoted by italics. 

1 cup dried lentils (preferably French green lentils; 7 ounces)

4 ½ cups cold water  (or one can reduced sodium chicken stock, and 1 ¼ cups water)

1 ½ teaspoons salt

1 medium (3/4 -pound) fennel bulb (sometimes labeled "anise"), stalks discarded, reserving fronds

3 ½ tablespoons olive oil

1 medium onion, finely chopped

1 carrot, cut into ¼ -inch dice

2 cloves garlic, minced

½ teaspoon fennel seeds (optional, according to Psycho Cooker)

1 ¼ pounds sweet Italian sausage links (I used one pound of hot Italian chicken sausage)

3 tablespoons chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley

½ teaspoon black pepper

1 tablespoon red-wine vinegar, or to taste

Extra-virgin olive oil for drizzling

§  Bring lentils, water, chicken stock, and (½ teaspoon salt if you’re not using stock) to a boil in a 2-quart heavy saucepan, then reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, until lentils are just tender but not falling apart, 12 to 25 minutes (or 40+ minutes if you’re inept, like me).

§  While lentils simmer, cut fennel bulb into ¼ -inch dice and chop enough fennel fronds to measure 2 tablespoons. Heat 3 tablespoons oil in a 3- to 4-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat until hot but not smoking, then stir in onion, carrot, fennel bulb, (fennel seeds,) and remaining teaspoon salt. Cover pan and cook, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are very tender, about 10 minutes.

§  Meanwhile, lightly prick sausages in a couple of places with tip of a sharp knife, then cook sausages in remaining ½ tablespoon oil in a 10-inch nonstick skillet over moderately high heat, turning occasionally, until golden brown and cooked through, 12 to 15 minutes (or 20 minutes, plus 5 minutes in the microwave out of paranoia regarding salmonella). Transfer to a cutting board.

§  Drain cooked lentils in a sieve set over a bowl and reserve cooking water. Stir lentils into vegetables with enough cooking water to moisten (¼  to ½ cup) and cook over moderate heat until heated through. Stir in parsley, pepper, 1 tablespoon vinegar, and 1 tablespoon fennel fronds. Season with vinegar and salt.

§  Cut sausages diagonally into ½ -inch-thick slices. Serve lentils topped with sausage and sprinkled with remaining tablespoon fennel fronds. Drizzle all over with extra-virgin olive oil.