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Remembering the Perfect Green Salad

February 16, 2013 •

Ever since my stu­dent days in Paris I’ve pre­ferred home­made dress­ings, espe­cially vinai­grettes. There’s some­thing about the utter sim­plic­ity of a French vinai­grette that appeals to me. Any Parisian bistrot that prides itself on la bonne cui­sine will serve a mem­o­rable vinai­grette à la mai­son. But the salad I remem­ber best was served to me in the Loire Val­ley.

Bruce and I made our first trip to the Loire Val­ley in the early 1980s before mov­ing to Cal­i­for­nia. There, in a val­ley stud­ded with fairy tale cas­tles, with vil­lages still pocked with bul­let holes and ruins from World War II, I fell in love with vinai­grette all over again.

We were vis­it­ing the region in early May, at a time when our home in New Hamp­shire was still mired in mud sea­son, with dirty snow­banks and chilly weather; spring seemed impos­si­bly far away from our New Eng­land home.

Spring gen­er­ally arrives in France in April. By the time we arrived that May, young ten­der leaves of what we call “Boston let­tuce” had emerged as the chief ingre­di­ent in green sal­ads. The alter­na­tive, which we also enjoyed, was wilted pis­senlit (dan­de­lion greens) served with a mus­tardy vinai­grette and some ren­dered lar­dons (pork) as a coun­ter­point.

I still remem­ber that amaz­ingly sim­ple green salad: let­tuce leaves, a sim­ple vinai­grette, and per­haps a sprin­kling of a few wal­nuts. Noth­ing else. We may have enjoyed a glass of Sancerre, but I remem­ber less about the wine from that occa­sion.

The freshly har­vested let­tuce had been cul­ti­vated in soil laden with lime­stone, which per­haps accounted for its dis­tinc­tive min­eral fla­vor. I don’t know if I’ve ever enjoyed a green salad as much as that one in the Loire Val­ley…

Try­ing to recap­ture that moment through the per­fect green salad is some­thing I look for­ward to every spring. Here in Seat­tle the hardy for­sythia, cherry trees and cro­cuses are begin­ning to blos­som in west­ern-fac­ing gar­dens with lots of sun expo­sure. This makes me hope that spring is only weeks away.

Today I shared a recipe for lemon shal­lot vinai­grette with my mother, as a wished-for har­bin­ger of spring. When­ever I taste this vinai­grette, it brings me back to that Loire Val­ley trip: to mem­o­ries of cas­tle tours, see­ing the actual wooden box where Joan of Arc hid her­self so she could be brought secretly to a meet­ing with the French dauphin. I remem­ber our bike rides along the river, exer­cis­ing to work off the food we’d con­sumed the night before. We’d get lost and then find our­selves at a lit­tle café or a hole in the wall (lit­er­ally) in the lime­stone cliffs where we would sam­ple the local Touraine wine (quite spritzy).

Maybe this year we’ll taste a green salad with fresh let­tuce that’s served at the per­fect moment — young, ten­der, crisp and imbued with the min­er­al­ity of its soil. The per­fect dish for loca­vores…

About This Blog

Reflec­tions on life, travel, books, and yoga. Think­ing out loud about the pur­suit of mind­ful­ness and well-being.

Learn­ing how to recover from the loss of a beloved spouse, and then to find a trans­for­ma­tive path for­ward.

About Me

Semi-retired marketing exec, transitioning from a career in high tech. Now "managed" by two Tonkinese cats. Missing travel and friends on the West Coast. Avid reader and foodie. Staying active with long walks, biking, kayaking and yoga.

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