Reviving Salmagundi

Claiborne—and All Who Sailed in him—declared, “There is something about the word ‘salmagundi’ that has an unmistakable appeal for savants with a leaning toward gourmandism.” (Honestly. I can’t count number of times I’ve wanted to kick that pontifical old queen under the table).

I certainly have no ambition of being a savant, much less one learning towards gourmandism. Like many others, I simply find salmagundi—like pettifoggery, kittywampus, or hullabaloo—one of those words you want to just pick off the page, cuddle and tease with a string.

The dish is just as playful. Actually, salmagundi isn’t so much a dish as it is a presentation along the lines of an antipasto or a smorgasbord, of a selection of cold vegetables, pickles, meats, and fruit mounded on a tray.

By precedent, you want your meat, cold poached chicken atop salad greens ringed with pickles, cooked eggs, raw or blanched vegetables, citrus, nuts, sausages, and cold fish—anchovies are a classic addition, but I like smoked salmon, too. Pretty much anything goes with the notable exception of cheese, which isn’t included in any reliable historic recipe. The emphasis should be on piquancy set off by elements that are crisp and bland.

Chard in the Yard

Like many gardeners in the Deep South, I grow leaf vegetables and greens during our mild winters as much for their beauty as for their taste—the lemon-yellow spikes of bolting mustard and collard provide luminous company for spring dandelions and daffodils. For many years, I’ve dismissed rainbow chard, with its bold greens, sassy yellows and reds, as gaudy, but this year, I decided I was just being a closet case and planted a plot of them. They thrived. Every time I pass them I feel like putting on a pair of heels and tossing glitter. Mix chard with spinach, bib lettuce and bok choy, dress with vinegar and oil.