My Big Giant Dinner Salad

Or, what I make when I need a reset

Did I tell you I finally made it to L’Appartement 4F to try their famous croissant? Well, make that three croissants — the almond and chocolate were obviously non-negotiable, and man oh man, that pistachio-dusted one covered with rose petals was just too beautiful to resist. Paralysis of Choice seemed be the theme over the next few days when I found myself at Peter Pan Donuts in Greenpoint “for a snack” but ended up carting away a half-dozen old-fashioned, toasted coconuts, and jellies; then the next day, at the place around the corner from my apartment that has warm, made-to-order onigiri. (You try picking just one!) For a graduation party at the famous Bar in New Haven, I started with a slice of the Red Pie and then…what was I going to do…not have a slice of their signature Mashed Potato-Bacon (don’t knock it til you try it) and the White Clam Pizza that my friend Ali basically credits with launching her pizza obsession and, uh, marriage? In between the bacchanalia, there was all the eating that somehow feels obligatory in New York as soon as the weather gets nice: a bowl of cheesy cacio e pepe eaten al fresco on a bustling, golden-hued leafy corner, the post-dinner walks with Abby to Van Leeuwen for a Black Cherry Chip dripping with hot fudge, a chilled, horsekiller-of-a-martini at Cafe Luxembourg. OK, that last one might not be summer-specific per se, but you get the idea. It was a big week of eating and indulging and let me tell you, I regret nothing, but…

By the time Sunday rolled around, I was craving a reset in a major way. And for these occasions, my brain almost always defaults to a recipe I think of as My Big Giant Dinner Salad. It’s the kind of meal that I haven’t even thought to share because 1) it feels very obvious and 2) it’s one of those no-recipe recipes that allows for broad interpretation — and I’m sure there are people out there who, like me, suffer from paralysis of choice and just like to be told exactly what to do.

But here’s the thing: Even though I make the salad pretty regularly, it feels wildly different each time because I am usually rotating in whatever vegetables are inspiring me at the moment (though rarely straight-up lettuce, which makes it feel somewhat unique) and, here’s the important part, tossing it with what I think of as a statement dressing — something bold, funky, spicy. It’s the dressing that takes my Big Giant Dinner Salad from good to great.

The recipe isn’t so much a recipe as it is a three-step formula, which goes like this: