The Herby Dressing That Saved Aretha Franklin’s Birthday

Welcome toDressed to Impress, our new series on the homemade sauces and dressings we can’t live without.

There are few things in this country as widely beloved—and maligned—asranch dressing. Some might be tempted to think of it as theCaesar’smullet-haircut-sporting cousin. But ranch is far more nuanced and technique-driven than most give it credit for.

Growing up in Chicago, my mother always had a bottle of store-bought ranch or a packet of the dry mix somewhere in our kitchen, and every once in a while she’d even make a homemade batch to dip potato chips and crudités into. I never gave it much thought other than when we ordered pizza and Ihadto have it to dip my crusts in. The tanginess, richness, herbaceousness, and deeply-savory-yet-slightly-sweet flavor made everything better. I had no idea what was actuallyinranch, but I knew it had the Midas touch.

That lack of knowledge caught up with me when I was in my 20s and had been working at one of New York’s most revered restaurants, Le Bernardin, for a little under a year. By that time, I was devoting every minute to learning and perfecting every classic French sauce, emulsification, and dish possible. I had already professionally eschewed anything associated with American cuisine and the food I grew up eating, no matter how delicious, in favor of what I was taught to revere as a chef. I could角多佛唯一in my sleep, but if asked to make a decent cheese ball, I’d be clueless.

Then one day Ms. Aretha Franklin walked into Le Bernardin for her annual birthday dinner after her yearly show at Radio City Music Hall wrapped. She and a dozen of her guests sat at the largest table in the center of the dining room, and her presence commanded the attention of everyone around.

Her first course request wasn’t the kind of secret off-menu dish that we had at the ready to serve to VIP guests and in-the-know regulars—it was a personal favorite of hers that needed to be made from scratch. When the handwritten ticket came into the kitchen, the chef looked over to the garde manger (cold appetizer) station and yelled at me, “AC, make me a shredded carrot salad with raisins and ranch for Ms. Franklin.” At first, I was honored that he called me out among the five other line cooks for this special order. Then fear crept in, because I had no idea how to make ranch dressing, let alone how to cook for someone as iconic and venerated as Aretha Franklin.

I immediately called back, “Oui, chef!” and went to the walk-in refrigerator to look up a recipe that didn’t require a packet of Hidden Valley seasoning, which I didn’t have at my disposal. I only had enough time to glean the main points and flavor notes: an emulsified base likemayonnaisefor richness;buttermilk, yogurt, or sour cream for tang and acid; a little onion and garlic for roundness and depth; herbs (chives, parsley, dill) for lightness; dry spices (paprika, black pepper, mustard) for dimension and depth; and salt.

With this information, I was ready. I blended together buttermilk, minced shallot, finely grated garlic, lemon zest, paprika, dry mustard, black pepper, and chopped herbs, slowly bringing the speed up until the herbs were teeny tiny but not yet fully puréed. (I didn’t want to turn the buttermilk green.) I whisked the magical mixture into a few large spoonfuls of our house-made mayonnaise until I had the perfect flavor and consistency, adjusted with a couple pinches of salt, and brought it to the chef to taste. “Niiiiice ranch,” was the response, so I ran back to the line smiling to finish the dish.

I grated andjuliennedsome peeled carrots, then quickly plumped some raisins in sherry vinegar with water and sugar. I drained the raisins and tossed them into the carrots with a healthy amount of the ranch dressing, and some freshly chopped parsley. I plated the salad in a nice mound, drizzled a little additional ranch around and finished it with a few sprigs of dill and parsley (and a few pickled shallots we had on the station for another dish).

The plate went out and I waited for a sign of approval or disgust but heard nothing from the waiters attending the table until the plates were cleared. Aretha Franklin’s plate was clean and the additional ranch I sent was also gone. I savored the brief moment of joy before jumping back into service.

That was when I started looking at American cuisine in a new way, with some R-E-S-P-E-C-T. If someone who has travelled the world and eaten at the best restaurants with chefs clamoring to impress her can boldly request ranch at a French, three-Michelin-star restaurant, why can’t I admit to myself that it’s freaking delicious? Although American cuisine is much younger than the cuisines of some other countries, it incorporates techniques, ingredients, and flavors from every culture that has set foot on this soil.

Ranch is the quintessential American salad dressing in my book—both literally and figuratively. It has been the best-selling salad dressing in the U.S. since 1992, it hits every flavor note you want, andmy Aretha Franklin-approved recipeis in my actual cookbook,Sunday Best. Ranch can be adapted for any need: as a spread on sandwiches, thickened for a dip, thinned out for a sauce, drizzled over warm roasted vegetables, or brushed on sliced baguette before grilling or toasting. And although it classically has egg yolk as an emulsifier, it can just as easily be made completely vegan by swapping Dijon mustard for the egg yolk (as I have), and lemon juice for the buttermilk.

Even if you never make ranch completely from scratch, I highly recommend keeping a couple packets of the dry seasoning in your pantry so you can whip up a dip, dressing, or sprinkle it on proteins and vegetables before cooking. We’ve finally put some respect on the mullet. Now it’s time for ranch to get its due.

Buttermilk Vinaigrette

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