my favorite: arugula salad with figs, fresh peaches, prosciutto, parmesan, and truffle oil

A few years ago, when I was in my early twenties, I was invited to a business dinner at Il Mulino. This was back before the economy started its slide on into hell in a hand basket, and before Il Mulino had become an empire of sorts, with outposts in Las Vegas, Aspen, Miami, and…..{shudder}….Atlantic City.

Way back then (cough), Il Mulino was still a singular quaint and crowded little Italian restaurant tucked up into a tiny little space in the village, on West 3rd Street. It was the kind of miniscule space where you would gnash elbows with strangers when you would back out your chair, and the sort that had grape vines painted on the walls, mustachioed older-male waiters clad in double-breasted suits, and dusty magnum bottles of expensive Barolos lining the walls.

Not exactly a decorators dream, admittedly, but Il Mulino was charming in that respect, and over the years that it had been open for business (since 1981) it had become a favorite haunt of a (very) well heeled crowd of celebrities, high profile businessmen, and those who were simply willing to pony up for a fantastic plate of pasta.

It was there, young and decidedly not well-heeled, crowded around a round table in the back of house, that I had my first taste of real truffles. Shaved thinly over a twirled and twisted mound of cream soaked pasta and tucked up into pillows of ravioli, the knobby little fungi that I had read so much about were finally placed within my forks reach, and the scent that wafted up from them was intoxicating – almost obscenely so.

I tried my best to wait patiently as the waiter presented me with a sample of each of the pastas spooned upon my plate, and just as the last platter was gently laid upon the table, I dug in with gusto.  Though the scent alone partially gave away the treat that I was in for, I was completely unprepared for their incredibly unique flavor, and I was floored.  I’m not even going to pretend that I can accurately describe what a truffle tastes like in words, except for saying that they are at once earthy, but complicated; heady, and utterly rich.

Since that dinner years ago I, along with the rest of the world, have been plunged into truffle overload. Granted this overload started happening sometime in the 90′s, when truffles really became de rigueur - but back in the 90s I was still a kid, and a kid that couldn’t be further from taking a seat at Il Mulino. In my experiences, over the past 8 or so years, truffles have sprung off of the menus of Michelin-starred dining establishments and onto those of bistros, pubs, trattorias, and even — gasp — sports bars. No longer reserved for topping or being folded into only the finest of presentations, suddenly there was an abundance of truffle oil flavored things: truffle fries, truffle ‘tots,’ truffled grilled cheese, truffled egg benedicts….

You get the idea.

And, of course, all of this superfluousness comes with a price. Considering real truffles are worth thousands of dollars a pound, most of us plebeians cannot afford to eat them on a regular basis – if ever. And though truffle oil is looked at by most serious chefs as an equal to synthetic vanilla extract (read: even less than than the proverbial chopped liver), if you happen upon a good one and use it very sparingly, it’s just about the only way (save maxing out your AMEX) to impart some of that intoxicating flavor into your meal at home. I am in total agreement that the over-truffleication of everything these days is about as annoying as it gets….but I also must admit to occasionally indulging in it myself; namely at home, and namely in salads like this one.

It’s a bit cheeky to even call this a recipe when in all reality it’s just a list of ingredients that take all of six minutes to toss together, but this is one of my favorite salads to make and eat lately, just before I head off for a hot night spent in the kitchen. I toss a handful of peppery arugula with just the tiniest drizzle of a good quality black truffle oil, a bit of kosher salt, and few grinds of black pepper – just barely dressing the lettuce with the pungent oil, and relying only on the flavor of it and the seasoning to dress the salad. On top goes quartered figs, sweet slices of fresh peaches, thin ribbons of salty prosciutto, and a few shards of good Parmesan.

The combination of the sweet (figs, peaches), savory (prosciutto), salty (Parmesan), and rich (truffle oil) contrasts so well with the fluffy and slightly spicy arugula, and the simplicity of it all totally belies the complex flavors of the final dish. I’ll be the first one to call out a dish for relying on truffle oil to be ‘fancy,’ and am in more than total agreement that truffle oil does not a good dish make.

But here, in this little not-so-fancy salad, I truly think it not only adds to the salad – it all together makes it.

Arugula Salad with Figs, Fresh Peaches, Prosciutto, Parmesan, and Truffle Oil
Makes a large sized salad for one, perfect for lunch or a light supper (or, makes an appetizer salad for two)

I think that the unique and intense flavor of prosciutto is key here; if you can, find a butcher who will slice it for you on the spot (hint: they do this at most large Whole Foods). The prepackaged stuff will do in a pinch, but it’s taste is never as delicate, and its texture is never as light and feathery, as it is never sliced quite as thinly. If you can’t find prosciutto in your area, ask your butcher for the best ham they have, sliced as thinly as they can manage.

I recommend only making this salad with peaches and figs are in season (late summer to very early fall); they are the star here, and it isn’t worth forcing it in a season when the are just not quite there. If you can’t find great peaches, try using ripe but firm plums, nectarines, or apricots.  This recipe makes a lunch or light dinner salad for one, and this amount would also make a great starter sized salad for two; duplicate from there as you see fit.

You’ll notice that the amounts called for below are very loose; this is less a recipe and more a suggestion, so feel free to add more or less of anything, according to your tastes. Since truffle oil is so pungent and flavorful, just a bit of the oil and some salt and pepper is all this salad needs to be fully dressed.

A note on truffle oil – try to buy the best black truffle oil that you can afford. Like with most things, you get what you pay for, and steer clear of any that list much other than extra virgin olive oil and truffle on their lists. Use your common sense – truffle oil is never in-expensive, but a little goes a long way, and you’ll get some good mileage out of even a small bottle.  You can find black truffle oil at specialty markets, or online, at Dean and Deluca.

one large handful arugula
3 fresh figs, stems trimmed and cut into quarters
1/2 of a fresh peach, sliced thinly
2 slices very thinly sliced prosciutto
fresh parmesan shavings or shards – a small handful
1-2 tsp truffle oil, as needed
kosher salt and fresh cracked pepper

In a mixing bowl, gently toss your arugula with 1 tsp of the truffle oil; each leaf should be very lightly coated. If the lettuce is dry at all, drizzle just a tiny bit more truffle oil over the top, but be careful not to add too much – truffle oil is pungent and you don’t want it to overwhelm the salad. Season the greens with plenty of kosher salt and fresh cracked pepper to taste.

Mound the greens on a dinner plate, and then arrange the quartered figs and thinly sliced peaches over the top. Gently tear the prosciutto into smaller pieces, and drape them over the salad. Scatter the parmesan shavings over the top of the salad, and finally grind a few additional grinds of pepper over the top. Taste a bit and adjust for seasoning; serve immediately.