The way each of us meets summer is often wrapped in nostalgia. No matter what our age, we anticipate it as we did in childhood, as if we can play our way through its long days in carefree, barefoot abandon, refreshed from the heat by endless wedges of cold watermelon and dripping cones of ice cream. It's a bit odd, then, that for most of my adult life, I've welcomed summer by making something I never had in my childhood: a classic French salade niçoise.
In a convoluted way it does go back: As a boy I loved canned tuna and olives, and this is both—with a French accent, no less. But that's a real stretch.
After all these years of making it, like most who love it, I've of course developed some very definite ideas about what belongs in a good salade niçoise—and doesn't. But an important lesson I've learned as a student of culinary history is that being narrow-minded and opinionated doesn't make us sound authoritative, just silly. Researching this salad's history for a newspaper column a few years ago reminded me of the truth that there's no "one true" way to make anything.
The most vocal advocates of "one true way" to make this salad are of course the citizens of Nice, where the name and core idea really did originate. On its home turf, it's a simple mélange of tomatoes, anchovies, and olive oil, with perhaps (perhaps) the region's famous tiny black olives and maybe canned tuna instead of (but not in addition to) anchovies. That's pretty much all—and yet the variations on it are legion.
Well, as you may have noticed, I'm not from Nice and have never even been there. And besides, the salad that I love isn't theirs, but the one that became a staple of Parisian cafés in the last century. It really has little to do with Nice and is full of things that I'm told most of that city's citizens would never allow: tuna, lettuce, capers, boiled eggs, and cooked but cold vegetables.
Like its namesake from Nice, there are truly as many variations of this one as there are cooks, admitting a wide range of additions from avocados and artichokes to fava beans and cooked fresh tuna or even salmon. But when it comes down to it, what anyone thinks may or may not go into a salade niçoise really doesn't matter that much. What matters is the quality of what does go into it, the care with which you treat those things, and the tastes of those who will be eating it.
The most sensible advice I read while researching for that newspaper column came from Daniel Gritzer, managing culinary director of Serious Eats, who wrote: "Want to make the best Niçoise Salad? Stop making it like everyone else." In the end, you're not making it for a citizen of Nice, a pompous tourist who thinks a single visit to that city made him or her an authority on Niçoise cookery, nor, for that matter, a Parisian, Escoffier, Julia Child, Mr. Gritzer, or even me.
You're making it for yourself and your loved ones, so give it your best and put into it whatever makes you happy. This is the way that makes me happy.
My Salade Niçoise
My best memories of making this salad are the times when friend and fellow cook Josh Gannam and I made it as a staff lunch for the now-closed cookware store where we worked and often cooked together. Those were the best I ever made, mainly because of the camaraderie.
The key to mastering this salad lies in understanding that, underneath its rather splashy presentation, it's really quite simple. And like most simple things, it requires rather more care than less. In other words, use the best ingredients you can afford and treat them with respect. If by chance you've never made a salade niçoise, I've included a few notes on the ingredients at the end which might be helpful.
Serves 2-to-3 persons, depending on appetites, and doubles easily for 4-to-6
For the eggs:
3 large eggs, not too fresh, at room temperature (see the notes below)
For the Haricots Verts and Potato Salads:
Salt
½ pound (8 ounces) haricots verts (thin French green beans), washed and trimmed
4-6 small red-skinned or Yukon gold potatoes
Dry white wine, dry white vermouth, or chicken broth
Red wine vinegar
1 small or ½ medium shallot, peeled and minced or 2 small scallions, very thinly sliced
Extra virgin olive oil
For Finishing and Serving the Salad:
6-8 crisp Boston or Romaine lettuce leaves, washed and thoroughly dried
2 6-ounce cans olive-oil packed solid light tuna (or white albacore if preferred), drained
2 small ripe tomatoes cut in wedges or 8-12 grape or cherry tomatoes cut in half
4-8 anchovy filets packed in olive oil
12-16 dry-oil or brine-cured black olives, preferably little Nicoise olives
2-3 tablespoons capers, to taste
2-3 large sprigs parsley or chervil, washed, drained, and thoroughly patted dry
For the Dressing:
1 small or ½ large clove garlic
Salt
¼ cup freshly squeezed lemon juice or 3 tablespoons lemon juice and 1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
1 heaped teaspoon Dijon-style mustard, optional (I don't always add this)
Whole black pepper in a mill
½ cup extra virgin olive oil
1. Prepare the eggs: Put them in a heavy-bottomed 2-quart pan and completely cover with water by 1 inch. Bring to a rolling boil over medium-high heat, let boil 1 minute, then cover the pan and take it from the heat. Let stand for 6-10 minutes. I like the yolks medium-well done, cooked through but still moist at the center (about 8 minutes); others prefer the yolk soft and wet at the center (about 6 minutes) and others really want them well-done and dry at the center (at least 9-10 minutes). Drain, cover with cold water, slightly cracking the shells against the sides of the pan, let sit just until they're cool enough to handle, and then peel them. They can be made a day ahead, covered, and refrigerated until half an hour before they're needed.
2. Prepare the beans: Put 2 quarts of water in a heavy-bottomed, lidded 3-quart pot that will eventually hold a steamer insert, but don't yet add the insert. Cover and bring it to a boil over high heat. Meanwhile, prepare a large basin of ice water. Add a generous pinch of salt and the beans to the boiling water, cover, and bring it back to a boil. Uncover and cook until crisp-tender, about 2-4 minutes. Remove them with a frying skimmer or slotted spoon, drop them into the ice water, and stir until cold. Drain, and spread them to dry. They can be cooked up to 2 days ahead; cover and refrigerate until half an hour before they're needed.
3. Prepare the potatoes: The potato salad should be made at least an hour ahead and can made up to 2 days ahead. Drain off all but about an inch of the water from the pot in which the beans cooked, add the steamer insert, cover, and return it to the heat. While it's coming back to a boil, slice or large dice the potatoes. You can peel them if you like, but I never do. Add them to the steamer insert and steam until just tender, about 6-to-8 minutes. Carefully transfer them to a wide, shallow bowl, let cool slightly, and lightly sprinkle with wine or broth. Let that soak in for a few minutes, then while the potatoes are still quite warm add the shallots or scallions and sprinkle lightly with vinegar. Gently toss and drizzle with oil. Again toss gently until evenly coated, season with salt and pepper to taste, and toss to mix. If you've made them more than two hours ahead, cover and refrigerate until half an hour before they're needed.
4. Half an hour before you're ready to finish the salad, take anything you made ahead from the refrigerator. Pat the lettuce dry and leave it whole and tear it into bite-sized pieces. Drain the tuna and break it into chunks or if you'd rather, flake it. Wash and dry the tomatoes, cut out the stem, then cut them into wedges or, if very small, halves. Drain and pat the anchovies, olives, and capers dry. You may leave the olives whole or lightly crush them to loosen the pits, cut a slit on one side, and remove the pit. If they're large, I halve or quarter them. Finely mince the herb.
5. Now make the dressing: Lay the garlic on a cutting board and put the flat side of a large knife on top. Firmly tap the side of the knife blade to lightly crush the clove, then peel and coarsely chop it. Sprinkle it lightly with salt, and rub it to a paste with the side of the knife's blade. Put it in a bowl and whisk in the lemon juice and, if using, the mustard. Add a liberal grinding of pepper and slowly whisk in the oil a few drops at a time. Taste and adjust the salt and pepper.
6. To finish the salad, spread the lettuce on a platter. Whisk the dressing to recombine it and put the tuna in a wide bowl. Drizzle it with a little dressing, gently toss to coat, and mound it in the center of the platter. Put the beans in the bowl where you dressed the tuna, drizzle with dressing, toss, and arrange in clusters around the tuna. Arrange the potato salad between the beans. Dress the tomatoes as you did the beans and arrange them on the platter. Cut the eggs lengthwise in half with a wet knife, arrange them on the platter, and drizzle a little dressing over them. Arrange the anchovies over the salad, then arrange the capers, olives, and herb over it. I also like to put a caper in the center of each egg. Serve immediately, passing the remaining dressing separately.
Notes on the Ingredients: At the risk of being preachy and pedantic, I've learned a bit about how to select ingredients for this salad and get the best from them. They're here at the end so those of you who do think I am preachy and pedantic anyway don't have to scroll past them to the recipe.
The Tuna: Use the best solid-packed tuna in olive oil your budget allows. There are adherents of white albacore, solid light, and ventresca (belly meat). What you don't want is water-packed tuna, which is as dull as it is popular.
The Anchovies and Capers: Salt-packed whole anchovies and capers are better than oil-packed fillets and brine-packed capers, but can be hard to find. If you get them, separately rinse and soak them for 15-30 minutes in cold water to cover, then drain and pat dry. The capers are ready after that, but fillet the anchovies by carefully working each side off the backbone. They can be used at once or marinated for a few minutes in olive oil.
The Olives: Little niçoise olives, available at some specialty grocers, either dry-cured in oil or in brine, really are the best for this. If you can't find them, use the smallest brine- or oil-cured black olives you can get. I often substitute Calamatas, and to tame their bolder flavor, rinse, pit, and halve them. I prefer whole olives because the brine gets inside the pitted ones and makes them a little too intense. If you use whole ones, be sure everyone knows to expect pits. What you don't want to use is canned black olives, which have even less flavor than water-packed tuna.
The Tomatoes: These are the one ingredient that most everyone considers essential, and it should go without saying that they must be first rate. If you're not growing your own, get them from a local produce vendor. Smaller ones are better than the large ones we use for sandwiches.
The Green Beans: The best type for this are the slender young ones that usually go by their French name, "haricots verts." If you can't get those, get the smallest green beans you can find and if necessary "French" them, that is, cut them in half lengthwise before they're cooked.
The Potatoes: Use waxy, young and preferably small ones. Traditionally they're peeled, but I like to leave the skins on. If they're sliced before cooking and steamed rather than boiled, the skins stay in place. When I don't have really small potatoes, I dice rather than slice them.
Eggs: It's important that they not be too fresh; when they are, the whites cling to the shells and tear when you peel them. They should also be at room temperature, so take them from the refrigerator at least half an hour before you cook them, or put them (still in shell) in a large bowl, cover them with very hot tap water for 2 minutes, then drain and cook them at once.