A Winter Slaw
There is much that appeals about the crude crunch of a winter slaw—white, purple, and moss green—eaten under a gray and watery sky. The snap of raw cabbage under the teeth can be exhilarating, especially when there is some sharpness in the dressing. I use yogurt sometimes, or a vinaigrette with lemon instead of vinegar, and occasionally introduce a fiery flash of blood orange or even grapefruit. The pink variety works particularly well. The crucial point is that this salad has a clean bite to it. The idea of gummy mayonnaise and the traditional coleslaw doesn’t really enter into my head any more.
Ingredients
Preparation
Step 1
White cabbage, or maybe a slice across the brainlike interior of the red version, shreds of celery root, long gratings of carrot, and the occasional ice-white chevron of fennel regularly appear in my recipe. Several times each winter I find myself tossing in a ribbon of grated beet, added at the last moment so it fails to send its trail of blood through the ivory-white celery root. A little bleeding of the ingredients can be quite beautiful, but it is best not to mix too much, unless pink is your thing.
Step 2
To the raw vegetable base, I will often add a caper or two, a handful of toasted almonds, a pinch of poppy seeds the color of torrential rain. I might add sesame or pumpkin seeds or jewels from a pomegranate. If an herb is included, it is most likely whatever happens to be at hand, but preferably dill, echoing the chill of Scandinavia, or flat-leaf parsley torn from its stem but not chopped. If luxury is wanted, then a little crème fraîche can be stirred in with the yogurt and olive oil that I use as a quick, light, and ultimately flattering dressing.
Step 3
If protein is needed, I edge the plate with cuts of salami, coppa, or prosciutto straight from the deli slicing machine (my local deli cuts it thin enough to read a book through, then rolls it in cellophane so that each piece has a distinct curl to it, like an almond tuile). On a whim, I flick crisp gherkins, the tiny ones, in with the shredded roots, or fat, tadpolelike caper berries. Adding such piquant ingredients is a good wheeze with cabbage, to the point where I occasionally include some blue cheese too, such as Spanish Picos or Beenleigh Blue. They work in a similar way to the sourness that makes sauerkraut so tantalizing on the tongue.
Step 4
The exact contents will depend on the roots and brassicas I use as the backbone. There may be walnuts or pecans, particularly if I have included celery root; almonds, sometimes smoked or salted, especially with red cabbage; sprouted azuki or lentils, though never alfalfa, which forms soggy nests among the layers of crisp cabbage. Cavolo nero, blanched for twenty seconds in boiling water, then dunked into iced water and shaken dry, is a regular once the frosts have set its flavor.
Step 5
The dressing is invariably a 7-ounce (200g) tub of goat or sheep’s yogurt stirred through with three or four tablespoons of olive oil, a scattering of chopped dill or parsley, and maybe the grated zest of a blood orange or perhaps a Sicilian lemon. Freshness and a snap of acidity are vital with a salad of roots and cabbage.
