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Parisian Dressing
Beat together one tablespoon of pear vinegar, four of olive oil, and one teaspoon each of chopped parsley, capers and olives. Add one saltspoon of salt, paprika and a few drops of onion juice.
A vinaigrette with chopped garnish, close to what a French kitchen would call a sauce ravigote. Nothing here is difficult; the only real questions are the old measures and the vinegar.
- SaltspoonA saltspoon is a quarter teaspoon. The instruction means a quarter teaspoon each of salt and paprika, which is generous for five tablespoons of dressing — first taste, then adjust.
- Pear vinegarFruit vinegars turn up in period recipe books, and a pear vinegar of this kind was most likely homemade, mild and slightly sweet. Champagne vinegar or a white wine vinegar softened with a few drops of pear juice is the nearest thing on a modern shelf; cider vinegar also works but is sharper.
- The ratioFour parts oil to one part vinegar is on the oily side even by classical standards. If your vinegar is a modern 5 percent acidity rather than a mellow homemade one, three to one tastes better.
- Onion juiceGrate a peeled onion on the fine side of a box grater and use the liquid that collects, or press a cut half against the grater and catch the drips. Chopped onion is not a substitute here; the point is aroma without texture.
- Capers and olivesDrain and blot the capers, and chop the olives fine enough that they suspend rather than sink. Both bring salt of their own, which is another reason to hold back on the quarter teaspoon until the end.
- Beating itWhisk hard in a small bowl or shake in a jar. With no mustard or egg it will separate within minutes, so dress the salad immediately or re-shake at the table.
- YieldAbout a third of a cup, enough for a salad for four. It does not keep well once the fresh parsley and onion juice are in — make it the day you want it.
Nineteenth and early twentieth century American cookbooks used "Parisian" loosely as a badge of French refinement, and a dressing under that name could mean plain oil and vinegar lifted with fine-chopped parsley, capers and olives essentially the ravigote family of cold sauces, reduced to something a household cook could assemble in a minute. The pear vinegar is the telling detail: before commercial flavored vinegars were widely bottled, households made their own from windfall fruit, and books of this period assumed a shelf of them.