Endive Salad

Three lines of instruction, but one of them works against the promise of the last word: leaves left in vinaigrette for an hour do not stay crisp. Everything else is a matter of knowing what "endive" and "French dressing" meant in 1907.

• The hinge: dress at the last minuteSalt and acid draw water out of leaves, and an hour in dressing will leave curly endive limp and weeping. Chill the washed, thoroughly dried leaves for the hour, then toss with the dressing immediately before it goes to the table.
• Which endiveIn American books of this period "endive" usually means the curly-leaved sort now sold as frisée or chicory, not the pale forced spears called Belgian endive or witloof. Either works; frisée holds dressing better, Belgian endive is milder and best left in whole spears.
• French dressingAt the time this generally meant oil, vinegar, salt and pepper whisked together, without the ketchup or sugar of later bottled versions, though period recipes often add paprika or a little mustard. Proportions vary, commonly from two to three parts oil to one of vinegar, and it was made in the quantity needed rather than kept in a bottle.
• BitternessBoth chicories are bitter, and older heads more so. A pinch of sugar or a spoonful of cream in the dressing tempers it, as does removing the tough dark outer leaves and using the pale heart.
• Drying mattersWet leaves refuse dressing and dilute it. Spin or blot them dry before chilling; a damp cloth over the bowl in the refrigerator keeps them turgid without wetting them.
• ChivesSnip them with scissors rather than chopping with a knife, which bruises them and turns them dark. Add them with the dressing, not before.
• YieldOne large head of curly endive, or three or four Belgian spears, dresses four small side salads.