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Vinaigrette!


darkstar965

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We really enjoy salads in our house and make them all the time as I guess many people do. And, I've long loved the huge variety of ingredients and flavors one can get from a nearly infinite number of freshly-made vinaigrettes. Years ago, I decided I'd never again buy bottled dressings. Too easy to make better ones, save in small jars, shake to re-emulsify and enjoy even when time is very limited. Great ones can be inspired by nearly all cuisines and regions of the world. And, emulsification is just cool, though not even always required.

I have a few vinaigrette recipes I use often. But, I'm also always on the lookout for new ideas.

Tonight I found a new recipe for a vinaigrette I'd more-or-less made before. A fairly classic French recipe with anchovy and lemon. It was really good but that's not what motivates this topic.

In addition to being interested in what vinaigrette formulations others like, I thought interesting to share a bit of prose that caught my eye. It prompted me to think about vinaigrettes a little differently and I just really enjoyed a characterization I hadn't before considered. Some of you may even be able to identify the well-known food writer who penned this?

"There are two kinds of vinaigrette makers. Those who add honey, agave or some sort of sweetener to button up the acidity and tone down any strong flavors, and those who embrace the vinegars and uncouth garlic, and let it all hang out. I'm firmly in this latter group. I like a masochistic salad with bitter greens and an assertive dressing. I like to know I'm eating salad, damn it, and that the dressing is my master."

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Some of you may even be able to identify the well-known food writer who penned this?

"There are two kinds of vinaigrette makers. Those who add honey, agave or some sort of sweetener to button up the acidity and tone down any strong flavors, and those who embrace the vinegars and uncouth garlic, and let it all hang out. I'm firmly in this latter group. I like a masochistic salad with bitter greens and an assertive dressing. I like to know I'm eating salad, damn it, and that the dressing is my master."

Amanda Hesser.

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Amanda Hesser.

Wow! I need to stay far away from any guessing games here whether restaurant dishes or quotes. That was really fast. :-)

Did you use the same recipe? It's a good one and, as with any, can just adjust proportions and seasonings to taste.

Link with recipe here. She wrote this for a non-Food52 blog.

http://joannagoddard.blogspot.com/2012/06/best-french-vinaigrette-youll-ever-have.html

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Did you use the same recipe? It's a good one and, as with any, can just adjust proportions and seasonings to taste.

I've made her recipe and I definitely agree with her stance on dressings -- I like mine acidic and not sweet.  I've been making my own simple vinaigrette for probably more than twenty years and it fits her definition.  It contains 5 simple ingredients: EVOO, lemon juice, garlic mashed with salt, and freshly ground black pepper.  The usual ratio of oil to vinegar/lemon juice is 2/3 to 1/3.  I increase the acidic portion to achieve that tart note she's talking about.

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I've made her recipe and I definitely agree with her stance on dressings -- I like mine acidic and not sweet. I've been making my own simple vinaigrette for probably more than twenty years and it fits her definition. It contains 5 simple ingredients: EVOO, lemon juice, garlic mashed with salt, and freshly ground black pepper. The usual ratio of oil to vinegar/lemon juice is 2/3 to 1/3. I increase the acidic portion to achieve that tart note she's talking about.

Ratios are just one of several variables I've always found interesting. By "2/3 to 1/3," I'm assuming you mean 2:1. One of the first vinaigrettes that convinced me to stick with them was a David Rosengarten recipe and called for roughly 3:1 but eventually increased the acid percentage for better/more assertive flavors. The Rosengarten one didn't stipulate any emulsification. You'd dress the greens with EVOO first to coat and then with whatever vinegar/citrus and seasonings or shallot, etc.
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I've always liked my vinaigrettes heavy on the vinegar.  It's funny this came up here.  I was just having a conversation with some people yesterday about how much vinegar we like in our vinaigrettes.

I think my enjoyment of the heavy vinegar goes back to childhood.  At home we ate salads only occasionally and mostly with bottled French/Catalina/Russian dressing.  Our most frequented restaurant, however, was an Italian place where the house salad (which was basically chopped iceberg lettuce, onion, and tomato) came dressed with an amazingly vinegar-y vinaigrette.  I wasn't allowed to order my own salad, since my parents thought it was too big for me to eat in addition to the spaghetti and meatballs I always got, but I'd beg for some of my mother's salad just to get that crunch and blast of vinegar.  Such a funny memory.  I suspect their method of dressing was pouring on a little oil and then hitting the salad with vinegar, rather than going the emulsification route, but there's no way of knowing now.

Other than occasionally following a specific recipe, I usually freestyle the making of vinaigrette.  Sometimes it's just oil and vinegar. Other times I'll add a little lemon juice (especially if I have a lemon out I squeezed some of for something else).  Sometimes I put in a bit of prepared mustard.  If I'm going the Julia Child route and mixing the dressing in the bowl, I'll use herbs and dry mustard in the mix.

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I've always liked my vinaigrettes heavy on the vinegar. It's funny this came up here. I was just having a conversation with some people yesterday about how much vinegar we like in our vinaigrettes.

I think my enjoyment of the heavy vinegar goes back to childhood. At home we ate salads only occasionally and mostly with bottled French/Catalina/Russian dressing. ...

Love that recollection, Pat. Mine is somewhat similar. I also grew up in a household where all the dressings came from bottles. Seven Seas or, if something fancier, I remember a brand called "Marie's" that was sold from the refrigerated case at the supermarket. In addition to your three flavors, we also would get blue cheese. I'm not sure I ever loved those salads.

It was in high school or shortly thereafter that I first had (or, more likely, really noticed) a salad with more interesting ingredients (frisée! Capers! Arugula! Sundried tomato! Hard-cooked egg! Anchovy! Nuts! Different kinds of radish! Avocado! Etc.) and a different kind of "dressing." It wasn't just glopped on top. It was on all the greens. It had great flavor. That was either at an expensive Mediterranean restaurant or maybe my first trip to Paris. When I then did some research and learned how easy it was to do, I was hooked. It was all quite relevatory; such a relatively simple thing.

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My sister's family owned the Silver Tree a restaurant, a big Italian restaurant that was on Deep Creek Lake.  You got a salad with your entree.  They had the best house vinaigrette that was very tangy. I normally got mine with dry blue and house, which I copied from my Dad.  At home it was bottled salad dressing, I can't even remember the brands or type.  I can remember a time when raspberry vinaigrette was really in fashion.  Now I rarely buy a dressing, they are just disappointing in taste.  I did buy some miso carrot ginger dressing from Whole Foods recently.  But I never add sweetener to my vinaigrette.  I am normally throwing something together before work with whatever is handy.  I normally use a 2:1 ratio, but I eyeball it so there are always variations, especially if I am really rushing.  

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That's interesting. Do you remember anything else about that? By "dry blue," do you mean just crumbled blue cheese?

Yep, blue cheese crumbles.  It was probably a version of a "Greek" dressing, they were Italian/Greek.  I could probably get the bulk recipe, but I think nostalgia makes everything taste better.  I miss that restaurant to tears, I ate so many meals there (the rising property values of property on the lake pretty much decimated all the good restaurants, it was just too good of a deal to sell the land).

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Basic vinaigrette for me always includes either garlic or shallot squeezed in a press, dijon mustard, salt, black or white pepper. I vary the flavors by using lemon or lime juice in place of vinegar, or a combination of citrus and rice wine vinegar, cider vinegar, red wine or sherry vinegar. Maybe a splash of balsamic. And then the choice of oil-- all olive, or a combination of olive and grapeseed. J. loves Annie's shiitake-sesame dressing, and I often buy it for him. Sometimes I'll make an Asian flavored dressing with ginger and toasted sesame oil, but I prefer French-style vinaigrettes.

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Basic vinaigrette for me always includes either garlic or shallot squeezed in a press, dijon mustard, salt, black or white pepper. I vary the flavors by using lemon or lime juice in place of vinegar, or a combination of citrus and rice wine vinegar, cider vinegar, red wine or sherry vinegar. Maybe a splash of balsamic. And then the choice of oil-- all olive, or a combination of olive and grapeseed. J. loves Annie's shiitake-sesame dressing, and I often buy it for him. Sometimes I'll make an Asian flavored dressing with ginger and toasted sesame oil, but I prefer French-style vinaigrettes.

I began my vinaigrette career (a laughable notion really) by using a press but then stopped when I developed sufficient knife skills to quickly chop garlic very finely and the salt trick of grinding the chop into a paste with the side of a heavy knife. Then didn't lose any garlic stuck to the press and one less thing to clean up, I'm a little surprised you don't do that too but guessing I'm about to learn something else here which, of course, was the not-so-hidden agenda of this thread. :-)

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I've always liked my vinaigrettes heavy on the vinegar.  It's funny this came up here.  I was just having a conversation with some people yesterday about how much vinegar we like in our vinaigrettes.

I think my enjoyment of the heavy vinegar goes back to childhood.  At home we ate salads only occasionally and mostly with bottled French/Catalina/Russian dressing.  Our most frequented restaurant, however, was an Italian place where the house salad (which was basically chopped iceberg lettuce, onion, and tomato) came dressed with an amazingly vinegar-y vinaigrette.  I wasn't allowed to order my own salad, since my parents thought it was too big for me to eat in addition to the spaghetti and meatballs I always got, but I'd beg for some of my mother's salad just to get that crunch and blast of vinegar.

I intend no odious comparisons, but consider this, from George Gissing's masterpiece about London slum life, the novel The Nether World:

Of late Amy Hewett had become the victim of a singular propensity; whenever she could obtain vinegar, she drank it as a toper does spirits. Inadequate nourishment, and especially an unsatisfied palate, frequently have this result in female children among the poor; it is an anticipation of what will befall them as soon as they find their way to the publichouse.

Something about your comment recalled this immediately to my mind, so I had to look up the passage. All of Gissing's novels are in the public domain, so you can read them for free online (in many formats, including Kindle). Perhaps I should start a Gissing thread in the Literature forum. Any Gissing fanciers within the sound of my virtual voice?

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I began my vinaigrette career (a laughable notion really) by using a press but then stopped when I developed sufficient knife skills to quickly chop garlic very finely and the salt trick of grinding the chop into a paste with the side of a heavy knife. Then didn't lose any garlic stuck to the press and one less thing to clean up, I'm a little surprised you don't do that too but guessing I'm about to learn something else here which, of course, was the not-so-hidden agenda of this thread. :-)

I use a press for different reasons: one, because I'm often in a big hurry to make salad dressing because we're about to sit down to eat and I've just noticed that there isn't any already made in a jar in the refrigerator; two, I use it for chunks of shallot, onion, or ginger when I just want the juice; three, because I'm lazy and I haven't been able to notice a damn bit of difference between garlic pureed by squeezing it in a press or laboriously grinding it into a paste with salt and the back of a knife. I use a knife with garlic when I want it sliced or rough chopped. When I don't want to bite into pieces of raw garlic, I use a press.

Sometimes I make vinaigrette in the blender, and then I just throw the whole clove of garlic in--after peeling it. That's actually the best way, because then it stays emulsified for a long time. Especially if you put a fair amount of mustard in, and a tablespoon of water. But sometimes, I don't want to have to wash the blender jar, and I just make it in a pint mason jar and shake it.

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I intend no odious comparisons, but consider this, from George Gissing's masterpiece about London slum life, the novel The Nether World:

Something about your comment recalled this immediately to my mind, so I had to look up the passage. All of Gissing's novels are in the public domain, so you can read them for free online (in many formats, including Kindle). Perhaps I should start a Gissing thread in the Literature forum. Any Gissing fanciers within the sound of my virtual voice?

I'm not a Gissing fancier per se. But, this is mildly interesting. On the other hand, this isn't going to help make my next vinaigrette any better. :-)

I use a press for different reasons: one, because I'm often in a big hurry to make salad dressing because we're about to sit down to eat and I've just noticed that there isn't any already made in a jar in the refrigerator; two, I use it for chunks of shallot, onion, or ginger when I just want the juice; three, because I'm lazy and I haven't been able to notice a damn bit of difference between garlic pureed by squeezing it in a press or laboriously grinding it into a paste with salt and the back of a knife. I use a knife with garlic when I want it sliced or rough chopped. When I don't want to bite into pieces of raw garlic, I use a press.Sometimes I make vinaigrette in the blender, and then I just throw the whole clove of garlic in--after peeling it. That's actually the best way, because then it stays emulsified for a long time. Especially if you put a fair amount of mustard in, and a tablespoon of water. But sometimes, I don't want to have to wash the blender jar, and I just make it in a pint mason jar and shake it.

Thank you. Totally makes sense on the press. That seems really just personal preference but maybe not such different results. Haven't ever used a blender for vinaigrette but may try that next time I'm making a larger batch. I live the mason jar trick too. Maybe it's just because this topic is current in my brain but vinaigrettes (and salads generally) seem to have an especially good number of inside baseball type tricks relative to other types of dishes and relative to the ease of learning for laypeople/non-professionals, Not sure if that hypothesis is valid or not.
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I'm not a Gissing fancier per se. But, this is mildly interesting. On the other hand, this isn't going to help make my next vinaigrette any better. :-)

Alas, too true: You will search Gissing's works in vain for culinary tips.

But you might find some vivid culinary description. From the same novel:

A cloth was already spread across one end of the deal table, with such other preparations for a meal as Clem deemed adequate. The sausages"”five in number"”she had emptied from the frying-pan directly on to her plate, and with them all the black rich juice that had exuded in the process of cooking"”particularly rich, owing to its having several times caught fire and blazed triumphantly. On sitting down and squaring her comely frame to work, the first thing Clem did was to take a long draught out of the beer-jug; refreshed thus, she poured the remaining liquor into a glass. Ready at hand was mustard, made in a tea-cup; having taken a certain quantity of this condiment on to her knife, she proceeded to spread each sausage with it from end to end, patting them in a friendly way as she finished the operation. Next she sprinkled them with pepper, and after that she constructed a little pile of salt on the side of the plate, using her fingers to convey it from the salt-cellar. It remained to cut a thick slice of bread"”she held the loaf pressed to her bosom whilst doing this"”and to crush it down well into the black grease beside the sausages; then Clem was ready to begin.

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