Seduced by Salad

 

As much as I like salads, I’ve never thought of them as being particulary sensual.
To me, a salad is light and refreshing, a fitting finish (or beginning) to a meal. It’s not an
aphrosdisiac. I never think of lettuce as lascivious or carrots as carnal.

In the first book on salads, Robert Evelyn’s Acetaria, published at the end of the 17th century, Evelyn defined salad as “a particular Composition of certain Crude and fresh Herbs, such as usually are, or may safely be eaten with some Acetous Juice, Oyl, Salt, &c. to give them a grateful Gust and Vehicle.”

Within a few years, gusty salads were leading to seduction. Whether it was the tang of vinegar, the heat of mustard, or the frisson of frissée, salads became salacious. And extraordinarily popular.

At the time the French, especially, were blazing new culinary trails, leaving old ways of eating behind and turning to lighter, fresher foods. Exotic spices gave way to green herbs. Fresh fruits and vegetables became popular with aristocrats. Simplicity, relatively speaking, was preferred to complexity.

The style of eating was changing, too. Elites took delight in intimate suppers for two or four, preferring them to banquets for dozens. They dined by candlelight in a small, elegant salons furnished with sofas as well as tables and chairs. According to a contemporary account “everything breathed an air of the most exquisite sensual pleasure.”

At these new soupers intimes, the nobles amused themselves by preparing their own food, to a degree. The practice was similar to Marie Antoinette’s play at tending sheep. Servants would see to all the preparations for the meal, and disappear discreetly. Then the nobleman or lady would put the finishing touches on a dish to the delight of the guests. He or she might sauté a slice of partridge, pour oil on the salad greens, or stir liqueurs into a bowl of punch – all by his or her self. When dinner was just for two, mixing the punch or tossing a salad was transformed into a sensuous amusement.

Casanova, famously, enjoyed these intimate dinners. When he and a young nun met for a clandestine dinner at an elegant private apartment in Venice in 1753, they drank Champagne and Burgundy and ate “a choice and delicious supper.” Although Casanova did not record exactly what they ate, he did note that it was “she who dressed the salad; her appetite was equal to mine.” We may assume the appetite he referred to was not limited to the lettuce.

I do not make any claims for its aphrodisiac qualities, but this orange and olive salad is a sunny addition to a wintertime table. When you make it, dismiss the servants and enjoy it with someone special.

Orange and Olive Salad

Two navel oranges
Handful of good (not canned) black or green olives. Kalamata, picholine, Niçoise – your preference
Olive oil
Lemon juice
Salt, pepper
Greens, optional

Peel oranges, preferably with a knife to remove all of the white pith. Then slice thinly crosswise. Arrange on a platter with the olives. Top with the olive oil, a spritz of lemon juice, salt and pepper.

If you want to make it a green salad, toss some mixed greens with oil and lemon juice then top with the oranges and olives and a bit more oil and lemon, salt and pepper.

Serves two.

Comments

[KMWall]

Oranges - and lemons - were pretty common in the Grand salads of the 17th century. Gervase Markham has A Salad fit for Prince in the early part of the century but Robert May is the salad king in the post English Civil War period. That is, until John Evelyn comes along, who thinks he's being nostalgic but in fact is re-inventing the form. It's adding exotics like olives and oranges that make this class of salads Grand in the 17th century. There is a similar sold - with oranges and date, not olives, that Paula Wolfort has in one of her books of Mediterranean food... Either way I'm having a salad with oranges and olives tonight!

[Kathy flynn]

I've assembled this type of salad a few times. and my 'eaters' (ages 6 to 60+) , have loved it, even though they first tried it to be 'polite'. It's an Irish family?....need I say more. But, again, they loved it. We're so unaccustomed to such a pairing as 'fruit with olives'. But, essentially, it is 'fruit' with 'fruit'.

Your "frisson of frissee' wording is elegant.

I'm happy to see your blog developing so well! ksf